She leaned close.

“Renata, if you can hear me, blink once.” It took an effort that felt like lifting a car, but I opened my eyes, and I blinked.

And Rocio, God bless her instincts, did not run to fetch my family.

She called the neurologist on duty and the hospital’s patient-protection unit.

Once they confirmed I was conscious but barely able to move, they documented my true condition and — at my request, given the blink-code we established and then my first whispered words — restricted all clinical information from Emiliano and my mother while they assessed what I was telling them: that I was in danger from the people listed as my family.

I want to describe what those hours were actually like, because the word coma makes people picture a peaceful sleep, and it was nothing like sleep.