I never thought the most important day of my life would begin with a scream.

My name is María Fernández, and thirty years ago I gave birth to five babies in a public hospital in Seville. The labor was long, brutal, and exhausting. When I finally opened my eyes and saw five tiny cribs lined up beside my bed, I was overwhelmed by a feeling that was equal parts terror and love. They were so small, so fragile… and every one of them was Black.

Before I could even begin to understand what was happening, my husband, Javier Morales, entered the room. He looked into one crib, then another. His face tightened. His hands shook. Anger flooded his eyes.

“They’re not mine!” he shouted. “You lied to me!”

The nurses tried to intervene. They explained that nothing had been officially recorded yet, that medical reviews were still pending, that there could be explanations. But Javier wouldn’t listen. He pointed at me with disgust and said one final thing that shattered everything:

“I won’t live with this humiliation.”