She watched the prickly pears hit with such force it knocked them off the cacti and she tried to concentrate more on the storm and less on her mothers’ screams.

“I’m scared,” she whispered to her sister as Sonia approached, instinctively placing an arm around her shoulders.

“Mama will be fine.”

“But what if she has another girl? Papa said he’ll leave.”

“Let him leave,” Sonia snapped. At 15, she was fed up with the roles women were asked to take.

She looked determined as she grabbed her younger sister by the shoulders.

“He’s never around anyway and when he is, he’s always drunk. Mama doesn’t need him. Mama has us. I hope she has a girl. I want him gone.”

Petra could see the determination in her sister's eyes, but a sudden loud scream caused them both to run to the bedroom.

“Almost. Almost. Come on. Push a little more,” the midwife looked worried as she encouraged their mother.

“No puedo; no puedo,” she started crying in Spanish. “I can’t do this.”

“You have to do it. Just a little bit more. I see the head now.”

Petra gasped as she saw the squirmy, bloody child pass from her mother.

“It’s a boy!” the midwife exclaimed as Sonia’s expression fell. It was not that she didn’t want a brother. She just didn’t want her father to stay.

“Sonia, quick. Help me,” the midwife said as they rushed away with the baby.

“Dios mio,” Petra heard her mother scream. “Where’s my baby? Where are you taking him?”

At that moment, Petra realized she never heard the baby cry. Tears rolled down her cheeks and grief filled her heart as she remembered the pale and limp baby brush past her, the whitish-blue umbilical cord dangling from the tiny body.