I never imagined that a single morning could change my life completely. I, Lucía Morales , was seven months pregnant and living with my husband, Javier, in a small rented apartment in Valencia . He had lost his job at a logistics company a few months earlier, and I was trying to support us with graphic design jobs I did from home. Financial uncertainty was a constant shadow, but I still believed that, somehow, everything would work out.

One afternoon, while shopping at a nearby tobacconist, I decided to play a lottery ticket. I didn’t think about it much; I just wanted to take my mind off the weight I was carrying. Two days later, when I checked the results, I felt a chill run down my spine: I had won 600,000 euros . I couldn’t believe it. I cried with relief, imagining for the first time a future without anxiety: paying off debts, preparing a safe room for the baby, maybe even buying a small apartment.

But Javier’s reaction wasn’t what I expected. When I told him the news, he didn’t smile. He remained silent, rigid, as if my victory were a threat. I thought he needed time to process it… Until, the next day, his mother, Isabel , a woman of strong character who had never approved of our marriage, showed up at our house.

“That money belongs to the family,” she said bluntly. “Javier needs it to start over, and you, Lucía, wouldn’t know how to manage it.”

I tried to explain my plans to her, but she wouldn’t listen. She insisted that I had to transfer the prize money to her to “protect the baby’s future.” Javier, distant and tense, confirmed it with a simple gesture.

I refused. For the first time in a long time, I heard myself clearly: that money would save my life and my son’s.

Javier’s reaction was immediate. His face darkened, and he began yelling at me, accusing me of being selfish and ungrateful. I backed away, feeling like I was facing a stranger. When I tried to move away, his hand flew out faster than I could have anticipated. The blow sent me flying backward, slamming me against the table. A sharp pain shot through my abdomen.

And then I noticed it.

A sudden heat between my legs.
My breath caught in my throat.
My water had broken .

Isabel stared at me, her eyes wide. Javier took a step back.

But the worst was yet to come…

The pain pierced me with an intensity I had never imagined. I leaned against the wall as best I could, trying to stay upright. The contractions were rapid, erratic, far too strong for that stage of the pregnancy. Javier paced back and forth, muttering incoherently about money, while his younger sister, Marta , pulled out her phone and started recording.

“Half the country is going to see this,” he mocked. “Let’s see if you learn something this way.”

I tried to snatch the phone from him, but my body wouldn’t respond. I yelled for someone to call an ambulance, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. Fear mingled with a recurring thought: I was alone .

Suddenly, Javier bent down, not to help me, but to pick up my bag. He took out my bankbook with trembling hands.

“You’ll sign it now,” he spat. “You’re not going to ruin our lives over a whim.”

I tried to push him away, but another contraction doubled me over. Isabel, finally aware of gravity, raised her voice:

—Javier, stop! Lucía is going into labor!

He stopped, but not to help me. He stepped back, nervous, still staring at me as if I were the cause of everything that had gone wrong. I couldn’t take it anymore. I could barely breathe.

Finally, a neighbor heard my screams and called 112. When the paramedics rushed in, I felt the first real relief. They took my blood pressure, stabilized me, and put me on the stretcher while Javier demanded they wait because “there were still papers to sign.”

They ignored him.

At La Fe Hospital, they took me straight to the operating room. My baby was in fetal distress, and I was on the verge of collapse. Everything went blurry: lights, voices, hands holding mine. Then, a cry. Then another.
My son had been born , small but alive.

As they took me to the recovery room, I asked about Javier. The nurse looked at me with sympathy.

—He hasn’t gone into surgery. He’s outside… arguing.

Those were the longest hours of my life. Between pain, fear, and exhaustion, I thought about the video Marta had recorded. I thought about how they could use it against me. I thought about my son’s future if I stayed with that family.

Then came the news that changed everything:
the video had been made public . And not in the way they expected.

Within hours, the video Marta had recorded was circulating on social media, shared by hundreds of people denouncing what had happened. Neighbors, friends, even strangers recognized my voice, my screams, the exact moment I collapsed. And the recording left no room for doubt: Javier had assaulted me while I was seven months pregnant.

When the police arrived at the hospital, I was breastfeeding my son, Mateo , for the first time . My hands trembled at the sight of their uniforms, but their words gave me back some of my strength:

—Mrs. Morales, we have arrested your husband for assault and endangering the life of a minor.

Javier did not resist. Isabel tried to defend him, claiming that “it was just a misunderstanding,” but the video, combined with my medical history and the testimonies of the healthcare staff, was enough for the judge to order immediate protective measures for me and my baby.

In the following days, while Mateo remained in the neonatal unit recovering, I began to rebuild my life from scratch. I regained control of my lottery winnings; the administration confirmed that the money was legally mine alone. With that backing, I found a small apartment in Ruzafa and hired a lawyer specializing in gender-based violence.

The legal process was tough, but liberating. Javier was convicted of assault, coercion, and gross neglect during my pregnancy. Marta received a sanction for the unauthorized distribution of images, and Isabel lost any chance of claiming custody of the child, something she had incredibly attempted to do.

When I finally got to take Mateo home, I hugged him, feeling that we had both survived something greater than I could ever have imagined. The prize money allowed me to do something I had always dreamed of: found an organization called “Refugio Valencia para Madres en Riesgo” (Valencia Shelter for Mothers at Risk) , dedicated to helping pregnant women experiencing violence.

I learned about stories similar to my own, stories of strong women who had been forced into silence for far too long. They inspired me to speak out, to share my truth without shame or fear.

Today, as I watch Mateo sleep on my chest, I know that everything changed that day: the blow, the fear, the betrayal… but also the strength I discovered within myself.

And that’s why I tell my story, so that no woman has to go through the hell I lived through alone.

If you know someone in danger, speak up, accompany them, and share: a single voice can save a life.