Saint Beltran

Argentina had just won a crucial World Cup qualifier. Santiago was chosen as the man of the match, and as always, we were waiting for him on the sidelines. I was holding five-year-old Amadeo's hand while with the other I caressed my seven-month pregnant belly. As soon as he saw us, Santiago smiled, hugged Amadeo first, and then leaned down to kiss my belly.

"And how is my other champion?" he asked with a smile.

Before I could answer, a group of journalists surrounded us.

—Beltrán! A photo with the family!

We agreed for a few seconds, until the questions started.

—Santiago, what does it mean to have them here today?

—Everything. They are my safe place.

Another journalist took the microphone.

—And for you... how's the pregnancy going?

I smiled politely.

—Very well, luckily.

But the man insisted.

—It's quite noticeable... Aren't you worried about getting your figure back afterwards? There are athletes who say that pregnancy changes women a lot.

The air became heavy.

I looked down, feeling uncomfortable.

Before I could answer, I felt Santiago's hand intertwine with mine.

He looked the journalist directly in the eyes.

—The only thing that changed was that now I admire my wife even more.

Nobody said a word.

He continued, with the same calm.

—While you all are looking at whether a belly has grown or a body has changed, I see the woman who is bringing our child into the world. And that deserves respect, not comments.

The journalist tried to change the subject.

—It wasn't with bad intentions...

Santiago slowly shook his head.

—Then take advantage of this to learn that not everything you think about should be questioned.

Amadeo, who had listened to everything in silence, looked up and gently pulled at his dad's shirt.

—Shall we go home?

Santiago's expression changed instantly.

He smiled, ruffled the boy's hair, and put the backpack back on his shoulder.

—Yes, champ... we've been away from home for too long.