Seventeen Calls From a Dying Woman

“Mateo, please. I think our son is dying.””

My pregnant wife whispered those words through a phone call I almost rejected without listening. Thirty feet away, my mistress was pouring tequila into my glass, laughing at a joke I had already forgotten.

I had seventeen missed calls from my wife that night.

I answered the eighteenth only because her name kept appearing on my screen.

And when she begged me to come home, I told her I was too busy.

Twenty minutes later, while I was celebrating my freedom in a luxury nightclub, Camila Villarreal was lying on the marble floor of our mansion, bleeding, unable to stand, and fighting for the life of the child we had spent years praying for.

The man who eventually came to her rescue was the one person I had sworn to destroy.

My name is Mateo Villarreal. I was thirty-four years old, rich enough to buy almost anything I wanted, and arrogant enough to believe that nothing I owned could ever be taken away from me.

Three luxury car dealerships. Two commercial properties in Monterrey. A construction company carrying my family name. A black Mercedes-Benz that cost more than some people's homes.

I wore a Swiss watch worth a fortune and lived in a mansion where the marble floors were polished every morning.

People called me a businessman.

My father had called me his greatest achievement.

But the truth was that I had inherited most of my wealth, built my reputation on other people's sacrifices, and destroyed the friendship of the one man who had once saved me from losing everything.

That man was Alejandro Serrano.

And I hated him because, deep down, I knew I owed him more than I could ever repay.

But that Friday night, Alejandro was the last person on my mind.

I was sitting in a private room at a nightclub in San Pedro Garza García, surrounded by expensive liquor, booming music, and people who laughed whenever I opened my mouth.

Valeria Montes, my mistress of eight months, sat on my lap in a red silk dress. Her perfume mingled with the sharp smell of tequila and the smoke drifting from the cigar Diego, one of my business associates, had lit.

Valeria raised her glass.

"To the man who finally gets to enjoy himself before becoming a father.""

I laughed.

"Don't make it sound so tragic.""

"You're the one who keeps saying your wife has turned your life into a prison.""

"Because she has.""

Diego leaned forward, his gold cuff links catching the light.

"You're about to have an heir, Mateo. Most men would be celebrating.""

"Most men don't have a wife who calls every fifteen minutes to ask whether they've eaten.""

Valeria ran a finger along the collar of my shirt.

"Maybe she misses you.""

"She misses having someone to worry about.""

Diego burst out laughing.

I smiled because that was what I expected from people around me. Agreement. Admiration. The reassurance that every selfish decision I made was perfectly reasonable.

My phone vibrated against the glass table.

The screen displayed Camila's name.

Valeria rolled her eyes.

"Again?""

"Ignore it," Diego said.

"She'll stop eventually.""

I rejected the call.

The phone went dark.

Three seconds later, it vibrated again.

Camila.

I rejected it again.

"That's the eleventh," Diego announced, glancing at the screen.

Valeria lifted her eyebrows.

"Eleven calls in one evening? That's not a wife. That's a surveillance system.""

Everyone laughed.

I laughed the loudest.

I had forgotten that Camila used to be different.

Before the pregnancy, she had been the woman who waited for me at the door with a smile, who remembered the names of my employees, and who could tell from a single glance whether a business deal had gone badly.

She had helped me build my construction company when my father died and creditors began circling like vultures.

She had sold her grandmother's jewelry to cover a payroll shortfall without telling me until months later.

When I asked why she had done it, she had simply taken my hand.

"Your employees have families, Mateo. They shouldn't suffer because we're having a difficult month.""

I had kissed her forehead that night and promised that I would never let her regret marrying me.

That was before success made me mistake kindness for weakness.

That was before Valeria.

And that was before I began treating my wife like an inconvenience.

My phone vibrated again.

I stared at the screen.

This time, something about the repeated calls irritated me enough to make me answer.

"Camila, what is it?""

The music seemed to fade beneath the sound of her breathing.

It was uneven. Shallow.

Then she whispered my name.

"Mateo?""

"What?""

"Please come home.""

I straightened slightly.

"What happened?""

"I fell.""

"Fell where?""

"The stairs.""

I glanced at Valeria, who was examining her manicure.

"Camila, what do you mean you fell down the stairs?""

"I slipped. I tried to get up, but I can't.""

Her voice broke.

"There's blood, Mateo.""

My fingers tightened around the phone.

For one brief moment, I imagined her lying at the bottom of our staircase, one hand pressed against her stomach.

Then I forced the image away.

"Did you call the doctor?""

"I tried. I can't reach the phone in the hallway.""

"Then use your mobile.""

"This is my mobile.""

I closed my eyes.

She had always been practical. She never called me at work unless something genuinely mattered.

But the woman speaking to me now sounded terrified.

"Mateo, something is wrong with the baby.""

Valeria leaned toward me.

"Is she crying again?""

I covered the microphone.

"Be quiet.""

Valeria's smile disappeared.

I turned away from the table.

"Camila, listen to me. You're eight months pregnant. You need to stop panicking over every little thing.""

A silence followed.

Then she spoke so softly that I had to press the phone against my ear.

"I can't feel him moving the way he was before.""

My stomach tightened.

I knew enough about pregnancy to understand that this wasn't something to dismiss.

I also knew I could have been home in twenty-five minutes.

I could have called our private physician. I could have sent security to open the gate and arranged an ambulance before I even reached the car.

Instead, I looked at my watch.

"Mateo?"" she whispered.

"What?""

"Please. I don't want to die alone.""

Nobody laughed this time.

Diego lowered his glass.

Valeria stared at me, her lips slightly parted.

For the first time that evening, I heard the nightclub as if from a great distance. The bass throbbed through the walls. Ice clinked in someone's glass. Somewhere outside, a siren wailed and disappeared into the city.

I could have gone home.

I could have been the husband I had promised her I would be.

Instead, I chose to protect the life I wanted rather than the life I had built.

"Camila, I'm busy. Call an ambulance.""

"The gate is locked.""

"Call security.""

"I did. Nobody is answering.""

"Then keep trying.""

"Mateo, please—"

I ended the call.

Valeria looked at me as if she no longer recognized me.

"That was cruel.""

I slipped my phone into my pocket.

"Don't start.""

"She said she was bleeding.""

"And I'm sure she'll explain everything to the doctor.""

"What if something really is wrong?""

I turned toward her.

"Do you know what it's like to live with someone who turns every inconvenience into a catastrophe? Every headache is a medical emergency. Every late meeting means I don't love her. Every time I want an evening to myself, she acts as if I'm abandoning her.""

Valeria said nothing.

I mistook her silence for agreement.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out.

Camila.

The twelfth call.

I rejected it.

The thirteenth came two minutes later.

Then the fourteenth.

By the fifteenth, Diego had stopped pretending the situation was amusing.

"Mateo, maybe you should check on her.""

"She's an adult.""

"She's your pregnant wife.""

I stared at him.

"Are you suddenly an expert on marriage?""

Diego leaned back, raising both hands.

"Forget I said anything.""

My phone rang again.

The sixteenth call.

I switched it to airplane mode.

"There," I said, dropping it onto the leather couch.

"Problem solved.""

Valeria slid off my lap.

"You're unbelievable.""

I reached for her hand.

"Come on. Don't ruin the evening.""

She pulled away.

"You're going to be a father in a few weeks, Mateo. You should be thinking about the kind of man your son will grow up watching.""

I laughed, but it sounded forced.

"My son will grow up with everything he needs.""

"Except a decent example.""

Her words stung because I knew they were true.

I responded the only way I knew how.

I made them someone else's fault.

"You're here because you like me, Valeria. You know exactly who I am. Don't pretend you're suddenly better than me.""

Her face hardened.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then she picked up her glass and drank.

I interpreted that as surrender.

At 11:27 p.m., my phone vibrated again.

The seventeenth call.

I stared at Camila's name until the screen went dark.

Then I put the phone face down.

"To freedom," I announced.

Diego didn't raise his glass.

Valeria didn't smile.

But I drank anyway.

Twenty minutes later, I would discover that the seventeenth call had not been a wife's attempt to control her husband.

It had been a dying woman's final attempt to reach the person she trusted most.

And when she finally understood that I wasn't coming, she called someone else.

Someone who answered on the first ring.

Someone who had every reason to hate me.

Someone named Alejandro Serrano.

At 11:48 p.m., Alejandro was attending a business dinner when his phone lit up.

He nearly ignored the unfamiliar number.

Then he heard Camila's voice.

"Alejandro?""

He pushed back his chair.

"Camila? What's wrong?""

"I fell down the stairs.""

He was already standing.

"Where's Mateo?""

She began to cry.

"He won't answer.""

Alejandro's expression changed.

"Listen carefully. Are you bleeding?""

"Yes.""

"Can you move?""

"No. I can't feel my legs properly. And the baby—"

Her voice dissolved into a frightened gasp.

Alejandro grabbed his car keys.

"Don't try to stand up. Stay on the phone with me.""

"The gate is locked.""

"I'm coming.""

He turned toward his assistant, who had followed him from the dining room.

"Call an ambulance. Tell them we have an eight-month pregnant woman with a fall, bleeding, and possible obstetric complications. Get Dr. Reyes on the line.""

"Whose house?""

Alejandro didn't hesitate.

"The Villarreal estate.""

His assistant went pale.

"Mateo's house?""

"Yes.""

"Mr. Serrano, you know he has instructions against allowing you onto the property.""

Alejandro stopped beside the elevator.

Five years earlier, Mateo had stood in front of a room full of investors and accused Alejandro of stealing company funds. The accusation had destroyed Alejandro's reputation overnight. Contracts vanished.

Business partners withdrew. A friendship that had survived poverty and grief ended with a single public betrayal.

Alejandro had spent years rebuilding what Mateo had taken from him.

He had promised himself that he would never again step into Mateo Villarreal's world.

Then Camila whispered through the phone.

"Alejandro, I'm scared.""

His eyes closed for a fraction of a second.

When he opened them, the decision was already made.

"Tell the security team to get that gate open," he ordered.

"They may refuse.""

"Then tell them this."" Alejandro's voice turned cold.

"If they make me stand outside while a pregnant woman dies inside that house, I will make sure every person who ignored her call has to explain themselves to the police.""

He entered the elevator.

As the doors closed, he heard Camila whisper one final thing.

"Alejandro?""

"I'm here.""

"If something happens to me, please don't let Mateo—"

The call suddenly went silent.

Alejandro stared at his phone.

"Camila?""

Nothing.

"Camila, answer me!""

The elevator doors opened.

He ran.