“SHE IS NOT HIS MOTHER”: MY HUSBAND SENT HIS MISTRESS TO THE HOSPITAL TO SIGN MY SON’S MEDICAL AUTHORIZATION

— AND I UNCOVERED A MACABRE PLAN.

Until that day, everything seemed perfectly normal. I was at the office, in the middle of our quarterly sales meeting, analyzing charts and projections when my phone vibrated on the mahogany table. The moment I saw the name of my son’s school, “San José,” a chill ran through me. Mothers have that sixth sense that shatters the air before tragedy is even spoken.

I excused myself quickly and answered in the hallway.

“Mrs. Pérez? This is Principal García.”

Her tone said everything.

“Izan had a severe allergic reaction during lunch. The paramedics are taking him to La Paz University Hospital. You need to come immediately.”

My world collapsed.

I don’t remember grabbing my purse, nor telling my boss I was leaving. I just ran. In the parking garage, my hands trembled so much I could barely unlock the car. I drove along the M-30 like someone trying to outrun fate, weaving through Madrid’s traffic with my hazard lights on and my mind in pieces.

Izan was only eight years old. My little boy, my entire life.

He’d always been allergic to peanuts, but the school had strict protocols. How could this have happened? Was he conscious? Breathing? The questions struck me like stones, one after another.

When I reached the hospital, I abandoned the car wherever it landed and ran through the emergency entrance. The automatic doors felt painfully slow. The smell of antiseptic twisted my stomach. I could barely breathe.

“My son, Izan Pérez!” I cried at reception. “He just arrived by ambulance. Where is he?”

The receptionist barely had time to respond.

That’s when I saw something that froze my blood.

At the nurses’ station, holding a clipboard and a pen, stood her: Fiona — my husband’s supposed “business partner.” The woman I had always suspected wasn’t just a colleague.

The nurse looked between us, confused.

“Excuse me… who are you?” she asked, noticing my frantic entrance.
“I’m Natalia Pérez, Izan’s mother.” My voice came out shaky… with rage.

The nurse paled.

“But… she said she was his mother. She was signing the consent forms for his treatment.”

The ground vanished beneath me.
Fiona widened her eyes but didn’t step back. She looked… prepared.

In that moment, pain gave way to fury.

That woman wasn’t only sleeping with my husband — she was trying to take my place in the most vulnerable moment of my son’s life.

And the question exploded inside me: Why?

Before I could react, a doctor rushed over.

“You… you’re the real mother?” he asked, looking directly at me.
I nodded quickly.
“We need the correct signature. Your son is stable, but the reaction was severe.”

My hands trembled as I signed, feeling Fiona’s stare burning into me.

When the doctor left, I turned to her.

“What are you doing here? Who called you?” I demanded.
She hesitated for a moment… then confessed:
“Javier asked me to come. He said you… might take too long.”

Too long? I answered the school’s call within seconds.
Why would he think I’d delay?

The truth struck me like a blow:
He wanted her here. He wanted her to sign.

But for what purpose?

Before I could press further, my phone vibrated. It was my husband, Javier.

“Natalia? Are you already at the hospital?” he asked, with a calmness that made me nauseous.
“Yes. And guess who I found signing in my place?”

Silence.

“Natalia… I can explain.”
“Then try. Why did you send your mistress to pretend to be me to authorize a medical procedure for my son?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Long, suffocating seconds passed.

“It was for his own good. The school called me first. I was closer to the hospital. I… I just asked Fiona to help until you arrived.”
“Signing as if she were me is NOT helping.”

Something didn’t add up.

Why would the school call him first if all emergency contacts belonged to me?
Why did he know about the reaction before I did?
And most of all…

Why did Fiona seem so comfortable, so confident, so… entitled?

The final piece came later, when Principal García called me back — and the nightmare unfolded.

“Mrs. Pérez… I checked our records. This morning, for the first time, the primary emergency contact had been changed. Your number was replaced by your husband’s at 8:12 a.m.”

I hadn’t changed anything.
The school wouldn’t alter records without permission.
Javier had access to the online parent portal.

He changed the contacts.

If my phone wasn’t listed, the school would call…
Who?
Him.

And if he told them that I was far away…
And that someone else could go in my place…
The hospital would accept it without question.

It was a plan.

A plan to remove me from decisions about my own child.

But why?

I discovered days later, when I finally confronted Javier face-to-face.

He confessed.

Fiona had been pressuring him to build a life together — a life that included my son. They were considering moving to another city, maybe even another country.

She wanted to prove she could act as Izan’s “mother.”

Her signature at the hospital wasn’t an accident.
It was a test.
A rehearsal to see if institutions would accept her as his legal guardian.

Javier cried, begged for forgiveness, said he had lost control of his own life…

But not a single tear fell from my face.

“You almost put our son at risk. You planned to erase me as his mother. This isn’t a mistake. It’s cruelty.”

From that night on, I filed for divorce, updated all school records, spoke with lawyers, and ensured that no one but me could make medical decisions for Izan.

Fiona disappeared from our lives.
Javier now sees his son only under supervision.

And I?

I continue caring for Izan, who thankfully made a full recovery.

But I will never forget what I saw that day at the hospital:

My husband’s mistress, holding a pen, ready to sign in my place…

As if she could replace me.
As if I didn’t exist.