Chapter 8

• We often choose anger when we’re hurt, but bleeding on someone else will never heal our wounds.
• ARLET
• It’s often said that people bleed on those they love, but what do you call it when they punish the innocent, wounding them with words that cut deeper than intended?
• We choose anger when we are hurt. It’s easy to hide the fragile heart behind a mask of rage, pretending it doesn’t ache for healing. But hurting someone else won’t mend us. If it did, would there still be room for love?
• I jotted these thoughts into my journal, the pen trembling slightly in my grip.
• I wasn’t angry at him—just deeply hurt. And, in a way, I knew he was hurting too.
• Staring out the window, my thoughts churned like a ship battling a tempest. I couldn’t let myself drown, yet fighting the storm seemed futile.
• So, what should I do?
• If my life were a book, every page would belong to him. And today, he left a stain on one by tearing a part of it away. I wish he could understand me before he turns to the final page and pulls it out entirely.
• “Raya is coming. I hope you’re ready to meet her,” Magda’s voice interrupted my reverie.
• I turned to her, masking my emotions with a practiced, bright smile. Over the years, I’d trained myself well. Just as I had silenced my voice, I’d learned never to let my face betray the storm inside me.
• Satisfied, Magda left the room.
• I adjusted my dress, lightly patted my cheeks to restore a touch of color, and practiced my expression until it seemed welcoming.
• I’d seen the little angel at the wedding. She was beautiful, like a tiny beacon of light.
• A soft knock at the door drew my attention.
• “Hello,” Magda called as she wheeled into the room.
• Beside her was a child with large, curious eyes—honeyed and dewy, like morning light filtering through leaves. She hesitated as her gaze met mine. Understandably so—I was a stranger.
• But children have a way of sensing things that adults often miss.
• I knelt beside her wheelchair, meeting her eyes with my own. Her gaze was so pure, her small smile so captivating, that my heart softened instantly. Without a word spoken between us, I felt a connection, deep and unshakable.
• She understood me, and I understood her.
• She reached out, her tiny hands brushing my cheeks and softly caressing the area around my eyes with a touch so delicate it felt like a whisper.
• “You’re so beautiful. Just like Ariel,” she said, her voice gentle yet confident.
• Her compliment made my lips curve into a smile.
• “She is,” Magda agreed warmly. “Do you know her name?”
• Raya’s eyes stayed fixed on mine as if trying to uncover the answer on her own.
• “What’s your name?” she asked, tilting her head in curiosity.
• I hesitated, biting my lip, unsure how to respond.
• “Arlet,” Magda answered for me, sensing my unease.
• “Wow! Ariel and Arlet rhyme, don’t they?” Raya exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she turned to Magda for confirmation.
• Magda nodded with a smile.
• I picked up a piece of paper from the table by the lamp and wrote:
• What’s your name?
• Raya frowned for a moment, perhaps thinking I was playing a game by writing instead of speaking.
• “I’m Raya Rodriguez,” she replied, her tone carrying a touch of pride—just like her father’s.
• “What’s your favorite princess?” I gestured with a smile and pointed at her.
• “Raya?” she asked, her face glowing with excitement.
• I nodded enthusiastically.
• “Why?” she asked, leaning in closer.
• Because she’s strong and fights for what’s right. Like you.
• I signed my response carefully, hoping she’d understand.
• But her smile faltered. My words seemed to touch a tender spot, and her gaze dropped.
• “I’m not strong,” she whispered, her voice so soft it almost broke my heart. She stared down at her hands, a small child battling feelings no one her age should have to face.
• I gently lifted her hand and placed it over my chest.
• Magda smiled from the corner of the room, stepping in to help interpret. Before working here, she had been an interpreter, a skill I was now grateful for.
• “What do you feel?” she asked Raya, translating my gestures.
• “Your heart,” Raya replied softly.
• I took her hand and guided it to her own chest.
• “What do you feel?”
• “My heart,” she answered.
• “Is it the same?”
• Raya nodded, her eyes meeting mine again.
• I kissed her hand gently, then rested it over my heart once more.
• “It’s love that matters. Love makes you strong,” Magda said, giving voice to my actions.
• Raya tilted her head, her curiosity growing. “But why aren’t you talking to me?”
• I wrote on the paper again:
• Because I can’t. I’m mute.
• Her honey-dew eyes widened, glistening with unshed tears as she read the words. For a moment, she stared at me, her gaze filled with understanding and something deeper—compassion.
• Then, without hesitation, she wrapped her tiny arms around me in a hug.
• It was pure, unspoken bliss as if my soul had been yearning for this moment. Her warmth filled a void I hadn’t realized was there, and in her embrace, I found a quiet euphoria.
• “You’re right, Mom. Love makes us strong,” she murmured, her words soft but full of conviction.
• Her soft voice echoed in the room, but it hit me with the force of a tidal wave. I froze, staring at her blankly. Mom? Did she just call me that?
• Had she accepted me as her mother? The thought left me speechless, stirring something deep within me. Wasn’t this the very reason Reile left her? Because she couldn’t accept this angel?
• I didn’t know if this was right or wrong. All I knew was that being called “Mom” by this little girl made me feel something I hadn’t felt in years—home. If it meant claiming her as my own, I would do it a hundred times over.
• She had this rare, indescribable energy—a way of pulling the pain from your soul and replacing it with pure, unfiltered love. She could teach unconditional love without even trying, and I needed that more than ever.
• I needed to be the source of unconditional love too. Especially knowing who I’d soon have to face.
• “I hope you don’t mind me calling...”
• “M...oomm,” I said, forcing the word out. My throat burned with the effort, but I pushed through, stretching my strained nerves to say the name that felt synonymous with strength.
• It wasn’t that I was entirely mute. My voice could return with therapy. But I had chosen silence when life had left me with no one to hear me. Yet, in this moment, something about Raya gave me the courage to break through my self-imposed wall.
• Maybe it was temporary. Maybe Ruben would soon take everything from me, including her. But until then, I wanted to cherish this fragile bond. I wanted to nurture the flame of unconditional love she had ignited in me.
• Magda and Raya’s widened eyes reflected their shock.
• “You can talk?” Raya asked, her voice filled with wonder and excitement.
• I gave a slight nod, though I wasn’t entirely convinced myself. Speaking took a tremendous amount of effort—an uphill battle against nerves and old wounds.
• “But you can talk, right, Aunt Magda?” she chirped, her smile brighter than the sun. I had never seen anyone this happy about such a simple thing.
• Magda nodded with a knowing smile. “I believe you need therapy to make it easier,” she said.
• I agreed, the truth undeniable.
• “From now on, you’ll talk with me,” Raya declared with a tone that left no room for argument.
• And for the first time in years, I wanted to follow someone’s orders wholeheartedly. Sometimes, you just need to wait for the right person to pull you out of your misery.
• For me, I think she was that person—sent by my mother, or fate, to make me stronger.
• “I’m lucky to have you, Mom. Now our family is complete.” Her words filled the room like a melody, but before I could respond, a loud thud echoed from the door.
• “What are you doing here?”
• Ruben’s voice cut through the air, sharp and disapproving. His gaze flicked between us, his eyes brimming with judgment as though the mere sight of me offended him.
• “Take her to her room. Her teacher is waiting,” he barked at Magda.
• The room felt hollow the moment Raya left. She waved a small hand at me, her innocent smile a stark contrast to the storm brewing in the man behind her.
• The silence that followed was suffocating, charged with an unspoken threat. I could feel the weight of his gray eyes fixed on me, piercing and unforgiving. Then, before I could process my racing thoughts, he strode toward me, his presence looming like a shadow.
• “What do you think you’re doing?”
• His hand shot out, clamping around my upper arm with a grip that demanded my full attention. Pain shot through my body as he squeezed, his anger tangible in the force of his hold.
• “Stay away from my daughter,” he hissed, his words dripping with venom. “Don’t you dare play with her emotions?”
• He shook me, the force of it making me stumble on my wounded feet. My body flinched, but it wasn’t just the physical pain—it was the crushing weight of his words, slicing through the fragile hope I had begun to hold.
• “Just because you’re staying here doesn’t make you my wife,” he spat, his voice cold enough to freeze the air around us. “I would never choose you.”
• His words were laced with bitterness, but his eyes betrayed him. They weren’t just filled with anger; they were mirrors of pain, shards of a broken soul desperately trying to shield itself with cruelty.
• “Arlet Amor. That’s your name, isn’t it?” he sneered, grinding out each syllable as if my very existence left a bitter taste in his mouth.
• “Don’t ever think you could be a part of this family. You deserve nothing but my hatred.”
• The finality of his words hit me like a blow to the chest. How could someone hate a stranger so deeply?
• I stood frozen, my heart grasping for hope in a room filled with nothing but the suffocating darkness of his disdain.
• How am I supposed to love you, Ruben, when all you want is to drown me in your hatred? My phone buzzed, pulling my attention away from the suffocating silence Ruben left behind.
• The message was unexpected—a single line that sent chills down my spine:
• "We need to talk. Now."
• Attached was an image. My breath hitched when I opened it—a property document bearing my name.
• Before I could process the weight of it, another message followed:
• "Don’t even think about it."
• My heart pounded as I stared at the screen, my mind racing. Who could it be? And what did they want from me?