I was a second-year ob-gyn resident, back in the mid-1980s, when I met her in the clinic. She stood out because she could speak English—Queen’s English, to boot. She was friendly and happy. She anticipated her delivery with joy. I saw her several times in the clinic and again in the labor room, when we celebrated her son’s birth.
But here’s what she didn’t tell me: She had been a sex worker.
Shortly after her delivery, her much-loved baby fell ill. That was when we learned that he had AIDS. And, of course, she did, too.
Two days after her baby died, her English boyfriend flew across the Atlantic and shot her dead.
She was buried with her baby.
San Antonio, Texas