NOT THIS TIME

Lucía caught him before he hit the floor.

The sharp sound of his knees cracking against the tile echoed through the small apartment as his mother knelt beside him, her breath catching in her throat.

"Alonso!" Her hands trembled as she cradled his face, fingers brushing against the clammy sheen of sweat on his forehead. His eyes fluttered weakly, mouth slack, as his breathing grew shallower.

"Stay with me, mi hijo," she whispered, the fear rising in her chest. She could feel the faint tremor in his frame, the fragile, irregular rhythm of his pulse beneath her fingertips.

With a sharp inhale, she pushed herself to her feet and rushed to the counter where the old, corded phone sat. Her hands fumbled as she dialed emergency services, the weight of panic clouding her thoughts.

"Por favor," she pleaded when the operator answered. "My son, he's—he can't breathe properly. He collapsed. I think something is broken."

The voice on the other end was calm, too calm, asking questions she struggled to answer as she knelt again beside Alonso. His lips had taken on a bluish tint, his body curling in on itself as though the pain were consuming him from within.

The wait for the ambulance felt like an eternity.

When the paramedics finally arrived, the burst of movement and sound was overwhelming in the cramped space.

Lucía hovered anxiously as they worked, their gloved hands moving with practiced efficiency. One of them, a young woman with a steady gaze, pressed gently against his ribs. Alonso flinched even in his weakened state.

"Possible fracture," she murmured to her partner. "We need to get him to the hospital."

Lucía followed them out, her heart pounding, as they eased her son onto a stretcher.

The cold night air bit through her thin sweater, but she barely felt it. She climbed into the ambulance beside him, gripping his hand as the vehicle lurched forward, lights flashing against the darkened streets.

"I should have stopped this," she whispered to herself, her voice shaking. Guilt coiled tight in her stomach. She had known about Javi and his friends. She had seen the bruises before. And yet, she had told herself it would pass—that her son was strong enough to endure it.

But everyone had their breaking point.

At the hospital, the fluorescent lights were too bright, the air too sterile.

Lucía hovered in the waiting room while the doctors took Alonso beyond the heavy double doors. Each passing minute gnawed at her resolve. When a nurse finally returned, she leapt to her feet.

"He's stable," the nurse assured her. "We've managed his pain, but he has two fractured ribs and signs of internal bruising. He'll need to stay overnight for observation."

Relief surged through her, leaving her light-headed. " Oh my God. Can I see him?"

The nurse nodded, leading her to a small, dimly lit room.

Alonso lay pale against the stark white sheets, an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose. He stirred as she entered, his eyes opening slowly.

"Mámá?" His voice was a rough whisper.

"I'm here, mi amor," she murmured, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed and brushing his damp hair from his forehead. "You scared me."

He tried to smile, but the pain pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Sorry."

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You don't have to be sorry. Just rest, okay?"

His eyelids grew heavy again, the medication lulling him into sleep.

Even as he drifted off, Lucía stayed by his side, unwilling to leave him alone with his pain.

The next morning came too soon.

When Alonso woke, the ache in his ribs was sharper, but the worst of the dizziness had faded.

His mother was still there, her face drawn and exhausted. He hated that he had made her worry. Hated that he wasn't stronger.

"Mámá," he began, but she shook her head.

"No more hiding this," she said firmly. "I'm going to the school. I won't let them hurt you again."

Fear twisted in his stomach, but there was no arguing with the fierce determination in her voice. And maybe, just maybe, he was too tired to fight anymore.

By the time they returned home, word had already spread.

The school called a meeting. Javi and his friends were suspended. The principal spoke in rehearsed, sympathetic tones, promising a safer environment.

But Alonso knew words wouldn't change anything. Javi might be gone for now, but there were always others. Always someone ready to remind him of where he came from, of the things he could never have.

Yet, something shifted inside him that day.

The bruises still hurt, the stares still burned, but he was done being afraid. Done being weak.

If he wanted a different life—a better life—he would have to fight for it.

In the weeks that followed, Alonso couldn't go to school. Early mornings in the park became his sanctuary. Alone beneath the gray Bilbao sky, he pushed his body beyond its limits.

Each ache and breathless moment was a reminder that he was still standing. Still fighting.

And one day, he would be more than a boy the world tried to break.

One day, he would be unstoppable.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon one cold evening, the past came back with a vengeance.

Alonso was leaving the practice field when a shadow emerged from the alley.

His pulse quickened as Javi stepped into view, flanked by two unfamiliar boys. Their eyes gleamed with malice beneath the flickering streetlights.

"Thought you were done with us, pendejo?" Javi sneered, cracking his knuckles.

Fear coiled low in Alonso's stomach, but he stood his ground. He wouldn't run. Not again.

Javi took a step closer. "We're not finished with you."

Alonso squared his shoulders, fists clenching at his sides as adrenaline surged through his veins.

This time, he wouldn't break.

But deep down, he knew this fight was only beginning.