My name is Laura Martínez and this is my story.
It all started when I was 34. All of a sudden, I started feeling pain that my husband, a respected gynecologist who worked at a private Madrid clinic, treated for eight years.
At times, that pain was unbearable, but I trusted him every time he gave me medicine to help ease it and assured me it was just an infection that would eventually go away. Sadly, it never did, not until I visited another doctor while my husband was in Lisbon to a conference.
That day, the pain became so severe that I went straight to the ER where a gynecologist checked on me. I tried to cover my nervousness with occasional laughter, but it was very obvious the doctor didn’t find the situation funny… not at all.
“Who saw you before me?” he asked. “My husband,” I replied. His clipboard then slipped from his hands. “You need surgery immediately. There’s something inside you… that should never have been there.”
When I asked to call my husband and consult with him, Dr. Andrés Molina changed his expression yet again and said, “There’s a strange mass. It’s not recent. Someone saw it before. And someone decided not to act.”
It was then then I finally realized my husband was well aware about what was causing my pain, and for some reason, he decided not to do anything about it. My pain hadn’t been ignored by chance. No, it had been a conscious choice made by the person whom I loved and trusted with all my heart.
And it was that certainty, more than the diagnosis itself, that took my breath away. My mind replayed every appointment, every report Javier had signed, every moment he asked me to be patient. At that moment, it dawned on me that my health and my marriage were caught up in a reality I could no longer escape.
The operation took place that night, ran longer than anticipated, and the expression on the doctor’s face told me that everything had changed.
They had discovered an old IUD that had been left inside me for years. It was what was causing pain and infection, and it wasn’t even in my records.
And then all that fell apart. My husband denied it, tried to say it was a mistake, but the reports and ultrasounds showed he knew and did nothing. When I confronted him, he addressed me like a patient, not his wife. He tried to diminish my pain and discount my fear. That’s when I knew he never saw me as his equal.
It turned out that other women experienced the same. I filed a complaint, and months later, he was arrested. I didn’t feel any relief, only sadness, but I did get back one thing: my voice. It took time to heal, both physically and emotionally.
Now my life is not quite the same. I left, I rebuilt myself, and now I tell my story so people know this is a thing, and that silence, especially in the name of love or authority, is something you should always question.
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Bored Daddy
Love and Peace
