I only saw blurred forms.

But I saw Dr. Serrano’s face suddenly harden, as if an invisible line had been crossed.

His gaze fixed on a point in the image, unmoving, incredulous. His fingers stopped on the ultrasound controls.

“My God…” he whispered.

“What’s wrong?” I insisted, now feeling terror mixing with sudden nausea.

He took a deep breath and turned toward me with complete seriousness.

“Lucía, there’s something here that… looks like a previous surgical procedure. One that, according to your medical history, you never had. And the type of procedure I’m seeing… is never done without very clear consent.”

I dressed with trembling hands. The paper on the exam table crinkled under my steps like dry leaves. The nurse slipped out quietly, leaving us alone in the office.

Álvaro offered me a seat in front of his desk. For several seconds neither of us spoke. Only the distant sound of the building’s elevator filled the silence.

“Explain,” I finally said.

He turned the computer screen toward me. The ultrasound images were frozen in gray tones with small measurement markers.

“Here,” he pointed. “This structure… appears to be a tubal ligation. But not a conventional one. These look like small implants that block the fallopian tubes. It’s a newer technique. It’s done in an operating room with sedation, and it certainly doesn’t go unnoticed by the patient.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“I’ve never…” My voice failed me.

I remembered every time Diego and I had talked about having children “later.” When the clinic was doing better. When I got promoted at the law firm. When…

There was always a later.

“Have you had any gynecological procedures in the last few years?” Álvaro asked carefully. “Any sedation, any ‘minor’ procedure in your husband’s clinic perhaps?”

My memory returned to a Friday afternoon a year and a half ago.

I had gone to see Diego at his clinic in Salamanca. He had complained that he had very few patients that day.

“Perfect,” he said with a smile. “I’ll give you a full checkup since I never have time with you.”

I remembered the smell of disinfectant. The metallic shine of instruments. I remembered him offering me a mild sedative because I was tense from work.

I remembered waking up slightly dizzy with a mild abdominal pain that he blamed on “the examination.”

Then we went out to dinner as if nothing had happened.

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