A baby only a few months old slept against her chest. Beside her, a toddler clung to the edge of her white habit and stared up at Mother Caridad with wide, trusting eyes.

Mother Caridad had been bent over the account books, sorting through the day’s expenses. Now she pressed one hand against her chest and struggled to breathe.

“Pregnant? Again?”

Esperanza nodded gently.

“It is happening just like before. The nausea, the dizziness—and my body is already beginning to change.”

She said it with the peaceful certainty of someone announcing good news.

That frightened Mother Caridad more than panic would have.

She stepped closer and searched Esperanza’s face for shame, confusion, or even the smallest sign that she was hiding something.

There was nothing.

“Are you certain?”

“I have felt this twice before, Mother. I know the signs. Another little one will bring joy to this house.”

The older nun looked at the sleeping infant, then at the child holding Esperanza’s habit.

Three pregnancies in three years.

Inside a cloistered convent where no man was allowed through the gate.

The entrances were watched. The doors were locked each night. No window had been forced, no lock had been broken, and no stranger had ever been seen crossing the courtyard.

Yet Esperanza had become pregnant twice—and now claimed it had happened again.

“How is this possible?” Mother Caridad whispered. “There is only one way a woman becomes pregnant.”

“I know. But I have never broken my vows.”

Esperanza lowered her eyes to the baby in her arms.

“God has sent another gift. I am ready to receive it.”

Mother Caridad turned away so the young nun would not see the fear on her face.

She remembered the first pregnancy, when Esperanza collapsed in the vegetable garden and woke crying after Doctor Paloma found a heartbeat.

She remembered the second pregnancy arriving before the first child could speak.

Both times, Esperanza insisted she had no memory of being touched by anyone.

Both times, the convent searched every room, gate, storage space, and garden path.

They found nothing.

“I am calling Doctor Paloma,” Mother Caridad said. “She must examine you today.”

Esperanza seemed almost relieved.

“Of course, Mother. I am going to prepare Miguel’s bottle. He must be hungry.”

She adjusted the sleeping baby, touched the toddler’s hair, and walked into the hallway with calm, steady steps.

Mother Caridad remained behind, staring at the empty doorway.

Then something white near the leg of Esperanza’s chair caught the morning light.

She crouched and picked it up.

It was not thread from a habit.

It was a narrow strip of medical tape—clean, flexible, and recently torn. A faint clinical smell clung to the adhesive, the same sharp scent that followed Doctor Paloma whenever she opened her medical bag.

Mother Caridad’s fingers tightened around it.

Doctor Paloma had not visited that morning.

No one had requested medical supplies.

And the tape was too clean to have been lying on the stone floor for long.

Mother Caridad reached for the phone and called the doctor’s number.

When Doctor Paloma answered, Mother Caridad did not mention the pregnancy first.

“Doctor, were you inside the convent this morning?”

A pause followed.

“No,” Doctor Paloma said. “I have not been there since Miguel was born. Why?”

Mother Caridad looked again at the fresh tape.

“Could a strip from your bag remain clean and sticky for months?”

“Not on that floor. It would be gray with dust.”

The doctor’s voice changed.

“Mother Caridad, what did you find?”

Before she could answer, Doctor Paloma spoke again, lower this time.

“Lock the infirmary. Do not let Esperanza drink or eat anything prepared for her—and do not tell anyone why.”

Mother Caridad slowly lifted her eyes toward the silent church hallway.

For three years, she had been asking how a man could enter a locked convent.

Now she understood that she might have been asking the wrong question.

Someone already inside had access to medical supplies—and possibly to Esperanza while she could not remember what had happened.