When I entered the doctor’s office, I expected it to be just another routine checkup of my pregnancy. I was twelve weeks along, and although the nausea was relentless, I took comfort in thinking it was all part of the process. Dr. Herrera, a man who was always calm, greeted me with his usual smile, although that morning there was something dull in his eyes.

“Let’s see how that baby is doing,” she said as she prepared the ultrasound machine.

I lay back and lifted my blouse. The cold gel made me shiver. The blurry image began to take shape on the screen: the small body, the irregular but constant heartbeat, the contours I had learned to recognize from videos and books. It was my baby. My first emotion was relief… but it didn’t last long.

The doctor stopped moving the transducer. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment I thought he was evaluating something complex, but then I noticed a gesture I had never seen before: his hands trembled.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, feeling the air grow thicker.

He didn’t respond immediately. He swallowed, took a step back, and checked the monitor, as if trying to confirm something he didn’t want to accept.

“I’m going to print out the results for you… and I want you to listen carefully to what I’m about to say,” she finally whispered.

She printed the images, but before handing them to me, she seemed to be internally conflicted. Her breathing was heavy. Then, in a low, almost broken voice, she said to me:

—When you leave here… stay away from your husband.

I felt the blood drain from my face.
“What…? Doctor, why do you say that?”

He handed me the papers with trembling hands.
“I can’t give you details here, not without further tests. But what I see in these images isn’t normal… and it could be related to something serious. Very serious. I need you to come in first thing tomorrow for more detailed studies. And until then… don’t confront him, don’t say anything to him. It’s for your safety.”

My breathing became erratic. I thought of Luis, how he had accompanied me to all the previous appointments, his enthusiasm for becoming a father. I never would have imagined that the doctor could link it to something dangerous.

“Is my baby at risk?” I managed to ask.

Herrera closed his eyes for a moment.
“I don’t know… but I need to make sure you’re safe.”

I left the doctor’s office as if my steps weren’t my own. I didn’t understand anything. I clutched the envelope with the results to my chest. Outside, I saw my husband waiting for me in the car, smiling, waving… and for the first time, I felt fear.

I put the ultrasound images in my bag before Luis could see them. I got in the car trying to stay calm, but my hands betrayed my anxiety. He looked at me with concern.

“Everything alright?” he asked, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

I nodded quickly.
“Yes, I just feel a little dizzy. You know, normal.”

Luis started the engine without insisting. He had always been understanding, but that day his silence seemed different, as if he were also hiding something. The drive home felt endless. Every word the doctor said echoed in my head: stay away from your husband .

That night, I pretended to be tired and went to bed early. I waited until Luis fell asleep to open the envelope with the results. I looked at the images carefully, comparing them to normal ultrasounds I had seen before. I didn’t understand anything. Then I discovered a handwritten note from the doctor on the back of one of the printouts:

“Don’t use the home phone. If you need to make contact, call from a secure number.”

My heart started pounding in my chest. What did this have to do with my husband?
I decided I needed to get answers on my own before I succumbed to paranoia. So I waited until Luis left for work the next morning and headed to Dr. Herrera’s office without telling him.

When I arrived, the receptionist informed me that the doctor wasn’t there. He had called earlier saying he had to leave due to a “personal emergency.” Something didn’t add up. I stood in the waiting room, uncertain. Finally, the receptionist approached.

“He asked me to give this to him if you came,” she said, handing me a small envelope.

Inside there was an address and a time: 16:30 — Torres Clinical Laboratory .

I looked at the clock. Four hours to go. I couldn’t go home; I was afraid Luis would suspect something. So I went to a nearby coffee shop and passed the time trying not to imagine the worst.

At the appointed time, I went to the laboratory. The building was old, almost empty. A nurse showed me into a small room where Dr. Herrera was waiting for me, visibly nervous.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, closing the door. “I couldn’t receive you at the clinic.”

—Doctor, please tell me the truth. What does this have to do with my husband?

He took a deep breath.
“Your ultrasound results show abnormalities consistent with prolonged exposure to a specific type of toxic substance. A substance that isn’t found by chance… but is typically used in certain highly restricted work environments. Your medical history doesn’t point to any possible source.”
He looked at me intently.
“But your husband does work in a place where that substance is present. And he shouldn’t be bringing it home. Ever.”

The ground seemed to move beneath my feet.

I remained silent, unable to react. Luis had always been reserved about his work. I knew he was in a chemical handling company, but he never spoke of details. I hadn’t asked too many questions either, thinking they were routine procedures. But now everything took on a completely different dimension.

“Doctor… are you saying that he’s been… poisoning me?” I asked in a whisper.

“I’m not stating it as fact,” Herrera replied. “I’m saying there’s evidence of exposure. And if he didn’t tell you, or if he ignored protocols, it could pose a risk to you and the baby. I need more testing to determine the exact extent of the harm, but my duty is to protect you. That’s why I asked you to stay away.”

I felt a mixture of anger and terror. Why hadn’t Luis explained anything to me? Was it negligence… or something worse? We decided to have additional blood and urine tests done right there. The doctor promised preliminary results in 24 hours.

As I left, I hesitated between going home or seeking shelter. I ended up asking for a room in a small hotel and turning off my phone. I didn’t want Luis to track my location.

That night, as I tried to sleep, I went over the past few months: the times Luis came home with his clothes smelling “strange,” the recent arguments over trivial matters, his insistence that I not visit his workplace. Everything that had once seemed normal now felt tinged with suspicion.

The next morning, the doctor called me from an unknown number.

“The results confirm exposure,” she said bluntly. “Not in lethal quantities, but enough to affect the development of the pregnancy. I want you to come to the hospital for immediate follow-up.”

“And what about Luis?” I asked.

There was silence.
—The detected substance matches the one used at your plant. I’ve already informed the health authorities. They will assess whether there was workplace negligence… or something else.

My body was trembling. I took a taxi to the hospital. While I waited in a white room, the doctor came in with a folder in his hand.

“There’s something else you should know,” she said seriously. “I reviewed your previous tests and the estimated exposure dates. They coincide with the period your husband was working on a highly restricted experimental project. He signed protocols that strictly prohibit taking any contaminant particles outside the designated area. If he did… it was a serious violation.”
She looked at me sympathetically.
“But there’s no indication he did it deliberately. It could have been careless or an attempt to hide the work-related stress he was under.”

I felt a lump in my throat. I didn’t know if that comforted me or hurt me more.

That afternoon, Luis finally called me. He sounded desperate.
“Where are you? The company received an unexpected audit. They say there was a leak… I need to talk to you.”