I’m cold. My fingers close around something soft, but it’s gone a moment later. A baby cries out then it’s quiet again. Dark again. I don’t know for how long until I feel something pinch at my arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” a voice booms as I pull my arm away as much as I am able.

It’s too loud all of a sudden. Too bright when I manage to partially open one eye, so I close it, and I’m drifting off when I hear him again. Hear the baby cry again.

“Ivy?”

I want to sleep, but something inside me responds to that voice. Whatever it is wants to wake up. Is fighting to.

“Ivy, can you hear me?” It’s another man’s voice this time. It's quieter and calmer than the first one. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

I try. I manage to open one, but again, it’s too bright.

“Turn out the overhead light,” the first man commands, and it’s gone, the light softer now. Natural so I can rest.

“Sir, we need you to step out of the room.”

“Like hell I will!”

I hear a scuffle and then the baby again. “I’ll take her outside,” a woman says. “I’ll just be right out here.”

“Ivy. Can you hear me?” It’s the other man, the calmer one, and this time, he doesn’t ask me to open my eyes but pulls one lid up and shines a bright light into my pupil. When I try to pull away, someone laughs. It’s the loud man. And it’s a strange laugh. Relieved. Happy and sad at the same time.

“Ivy, angel. Ivy. I’m here.”

“Sir, please.”

A warm hand takes mine. I squeeze it. I try to at least because I don’t want him to let go.

“There. She did it again. I felt it. I swear I felt it!”

“Mr. De La Rosa, if you can come with me, we can give the doctors room to do their work.”

Mr. De La Rosa.

Santiago.

“Your wife is really in the best possible hands. But you need to give them some space to do their work.”

Someone pinches me again, and when I make a sound of protest, they laugh. Why are they laughing?

“There she is. Ivy, my name is Dr. Singh. Do you think you can open your eyes for me?”

I want to. Where is Santiago? I don’t hear him anymore.

“You’re upsetting her! Whatever you’re doing is fucking upsetting her!”

There he is, and he has my hand again.

“Ivy, it’s me, angel. Santiago. Your Santi.”

Santi.

He didn’t let me call him that. Not at first anyway.

I remember Mercedes then. That’s her nickname for him. And I remember how mean she is, at least toward me.