“Stop! You’ll break the door!” I shouted on top of my lungs. The thin and fragile baby crying on my arms.
“Hush hush, son. It’s okay. Mommy will not give you to them,” I told him with a soft and sweet voice.
“Open the door, Maria!” shouted my husband.
“No! You won’t take him from me,” I replied adamantly.
“But they need that!” he replied, a hint of anger evident in his voice, “isn’t Joseph and Zach enough?!”
“Don’t bring them into this!” my voice cracked, “It’s… It’s God! Yes, it’s God! I’m sure he has a plan for them.”
“Don’t be stupid!” he shouted, “hand him over. There’s a damn dengue outbreak for God’s sake!”
“No!” I replied, “You will inject him with that poison that causes autism and death!”
“Arghh. Then go out of the shed!” he pleaded, “that’s heavily infested with mosquitoes!”
“No, you’re just trying to trick me!” I screamed once more, “I am not handing him over!”
As soon as I finished my last sentence, I noticed the swarm of tiny things flying around us. One of which just finished having a feast on my child’s arm. It has some white spots. So that’s why he was crying.