Episode 1

Friday dawned with a gray sky and the smell of wet earth still in the air, a remnant of the storm that had hit Velaris in the early hours. Patricia Navarre watched the city through the taxi window, her forehead resting against the cold glass. The traffic flowed slowly, and she took advantage of those minutes to try to organize her own thoughts.

At 28, Patricia was considered successful by the city's standards. A graduate in Administration, she worked as a manager in a logistics startup and lived with her boyfriend, Rafael, with whom she had been in a stable relationship for three years. She had a comfortable, peaceful, and predictable life — and that was exactly what she was looking for.

Or at least she thought she was.

That morning, Patricia was on her way to Clinica Vitta+, one of the most prestigious in Velaris. She had scheduled a routine gynecological exam that she had been postponing for months. It was the kind of thing she always put off, as if believing that her body would continue to function perfectly, even without care.

"We're here, ma'am," said the driver, stopping gently in front of the elegant glass facade.

Patricia thanked him, paid the fare, and got out. She ran her hand through her straight hair, adjusting her light blue coat before walking through the revolving door. The interior of the clinic was impeccable: comfortable sofas, soft lighting, background music, and the slightly sweet smell of chamomile tea.

She approached the reception desk and handed over her documents.

"Full name and CPF number, please," asked the receptionist, polite but automatic.

"Patricia Navarre. CPF ending in zero eight."

The woman typed quickly, confirmed the appointment, and handed over a form to sign.

What Patricia didn't realize — and no one there realized — was that there was another patient with an extremely similar name: Patricia Navarro. A coincidence of surname and the failure of an internal system were enough for their data to be confused. A silent, discreet... and fatal error.

Sitting in the waiting room, Patricia replied to some messages on her cell phone. Rafael had left a message earlier:

"Don't forget to confirm lunch with your mother on Sunday. My sister is coming."

She sighed, without replying immediately. Lately, she had felt exhausted. She wasn't sure if it was just work or if the relationship was starting to weigh more than comfort.

"Patricia Navarre?" called the nurse.

She got up, grabbed her bag, and walked through the white corridor, unaware that she was about to become the victim of a medical error that would change the course of her life.

The appointment started normally. First, a quick chat with the doctor, then blood collection, pelvic exams, ultrasound, routine measurements. Everything seemed to be in order.

"Since you signed the complete reproductive health protocol, we'll finish with the intrauterine hormonal response exam," explained the doctor in a white coat, pointing to the examination table. "It's a simple procedure, done in minutes."

Patricia didn't quite understand. Protocols were common. It was a modern clinic, used to high-end patients. She trusted that they knew what they were doing.

"Okay," she replied, lying down on the examination table.

During the procedure, she felt a strange, but bearable discomfort. The doctor acted professionally, and nothing seemed alarming. When leaving, she was instructed to rest for a few minutes in the reception area before being released. She simply nodded and followed the instructions.

On the way home, she slept in the taxi. She was strangely tired.

In the following weeks, Patricia felt her body begin to change. First came the nausea, then excessive sleep, a more sensitive sense of smell. She began to avoid coffee — something unthinkable until then — and felt repulsion for foods she once loved.

Rafael noticed, but treated it as a simple passing discomfort.

"It must be stress," he said, as she curled up on the sofa hugging a pillow. "It will pass."

She tried to believe it.

Until one day, when entering a pharmacy to buy painkillers, her eyes landed on the pregnancy tests. A cold sensation ran down her spine. She bought one, almost on impulse.

In the bathroom at home, trembling hands, short breath, she watched the result appear. Two lines. Clear. Undeniable.

Patricia sat on the toilet lid, in silence. A whirlwind of thoughts took over her mind.

"It's not possible."

"It must be wrong."

"Could it have been... on the day of the clinic?"

She did another test. And another. All positive.

The next morning, she made an appointment with Dr. Mirena, her trusted doctor.

"You're pregnant, Patricia," confirmed the doctor, in a gentle but direct tone. "Almost six weeks. Everything is within normal limits."

"That doesn't make sense. Rafael and I... always use condoms. And I didn't stop taking the pill."

The doctor tilted her head slightly.

"The clinic contacted me yesterday, Patricia. Something happened on the day of your exam. I don't have all the details, but it seems there was a mistake. A procedure that shouldn't have been done. You... may have been the victim of a very serious failure."

"What kind of failure?"

"Apparently, there was confusion between two medical records. They're still investigating, but the laboratory confirmed that a protocol was carried out incorrectly on a patient. What I can tell you for sure is that this embryo is not the result of common sexual intercourse. There was a medical intervention. Probably... an unauthorized implantation."

Patricia's world stopped.

"Are you saying that... I was... inseminated?"

"It's still early to confirm all the details. The clinic should contact you in the next few days with more explanations. But yes," said the doctor, with regret. "This is very serious. And you have every right to sue, if you want."

Patricia felt her stomach turn. A baby. A mistake. A pregnancy that was not the result of love, desire, choice. Just... negligence. Or worse: disregard.

She left the clinic in a state of shock. She walked aimlessly through the busy streets of Velaris. The honking of cars, the sound of hurried footsteps, everything seemed distant.

She didn't know whose baby it was. She didn't know if she wanted to have that baby. She only knew that she was alone, confused... and that nothing, absolutely nothing, would ever be the same.

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