Chapter 9
Chapter nine
My father was already dressed when I came into the kitchen.
His suit was pressed, cuff links in place.
His hair, once thick and dark, was now flecked with gray at the temples and a little thinner, but, as always, perfectly coiffed.
He stood at the counter working the espresso machine, steam hissing softly as he tamped the coffee grounds.
He smiled when he saw me—the real one I hadn’t seen in a long time—and it made my heart ache.
He’d always made the coffee at home. For my mother first. Then for me, when I was old enough to pretend I liked the taste.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said softly, wishing I could have a genuine conversation with him.
He poured the espresso, added steamed milk, and handed me the cup.
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “You’ve grown into a truly amazing woman. The way you’ve handled our appearances since you’ve been here—so much grace. Exactly what I needed.” He nodded, pleased. “I’m glad you reached out and suggested a visit. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
I took a small sip, wondering what he’d think if he knew the truth about how I was living in Spain as he fixed his own cup.
“It was getting close to Christmas,” I said, licking a drop of cream off my lip.
“I’d been thinking about how long it’s been since I was home.
I guess I got nostalgic for how things are during the holidays here in the city.
” I rested my elbow on the counter and leaned in a little.
“Honestly, I was surprised you answered—it’s been two years.
I’ve called you from Spain several times, but you never called me back. ”
“What? No,” he said, frowning slightly. “It couldn’t have been that long.
” He waved a hand, already dismissing it.
“Being the city’s mayor and preparing for my Senate run has kept my mind occupied, that’s for sure.
But two years?” He shook his head. “Between the chaos of the city and your vow of silence, time must’ve just slipped away. ”
He turned to me with a lopsided grin.
“You know there’s talk about my running for president. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“Hmm, yes, that would be something.” I didn’t know how to respond to that possibility, so I took another sip of my espresso. Not that it really mattered what I thought. As usual, his focus was on himself.
“There’s a small event on New Year’s morning,” he continued casually. “St. Catherine’s Children’s Hospital. Just a photo op to show we care. It’ll mean a lot to the families.”
Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve—ringing in my twenty-second birthday.
“And then,” he added, as if it was an afterthought, “your flight back to Madrid leaves at five that evening. Everything’s booked. I used my points to upgrade you to business,” he said, winking as if he was doing me the biggest favor on earth.
My stomach dropped.
“So soon,” I said.
He nodded. “It’s for the best. After what happened at the church, it’s clear you’re not safe here.”
Out of nowhere, the words came out before I could stop them. “Do you ever miss Mom?”
He stilled.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Every day. She was everything to me. When she died, my heart died with her.”
My throat tightened. “I’m still here.”
His eyes flicked to mine.
“Do you still love me?” I asked. “Because after she died, you hid me away, as if you’d just as soon I disappeared.”
For a moment, guilt crossed his face. Real guilt.
Then he straightened.
“I had to know you were somewhere safe,” he said. “The world is dark, Scarlett. Powerful men do terrible things to young women. I needed you where nothing could touch you.”
I let out a short laugh. “You have no idea what my life’s been like. Trust me, darkness has already touched me.”
His jaw tightened. “That attack at the church proves my point.”
Of course, that’s where his mind went. He’d never in a million years think that the darkness I joked about was my everyday life now.
“Have they found the man?” I asked.
“That’s not something you need to worry about,” he said. “You’ll be safely back in Madrid on the first.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but footsteps sounded in the hall. An aide appeared at the doorway with a phone pressed to her ear.
“I love you,” my father said, kissing my cheek as he moved past me. “We’ll talk later.”
He was gone before I could say another word.
January first wasn’t just my birthday.
It was my deadline.
I walked the length of the kitchen twice, then set my cup down and pressed my hands on the counter.
I had no money. No credit cards. No way to escape that didn’t involve someone else’s help.
Spain wasn’t a future problem anymore.
I went back to my room and closed the door. Rummaging through my suitcase, I pulled out my phone and stared at the home screen.
It was time to do something radical.
Surely, if there were a God, he’d help me. I still believed, even though I’d turned my back on His church.
I didn’t have time to be embarrassed.
I didn’t have time to be afraid of rejection.
If I was going to save myself, it had to be now.
I locked the bedroom door and went straight to the closet, closing it behind me. With my back against the wall, I slid down and sat on the floor.
Until now, I hadn’t bothered adding any pictures to my social media accounts. I was just a faceless profile, lurking in the shadows. Not to be creepy, but because I didn’t have any social life.
I reached for the boxes I’d gone through earlier, flipping through the stack until I found a picture I could use as a profile photo.
Sophomore year—Sofia and me standing in the hallway outside our lockers, arms slung around each other, both of us wearing too much eyeliner and grinning as if we knew everything.
My hair was up in a crazy bun, freckles on full display, while her long, silky black hair fell in soft curls down her back.
I remembered being jealous of her smooth olive skin, flawless in a way mine never was.
I was taller than her in the picture—I’d forgotten that—as she leaned into me, mouth open mid-laugh, always louder, always fearless.
I lifted my phone and took a picture of the photo. The lighting was bad, but it would have to do—proof that I wasn’t a stranger.
Since I’d gotten the phone, I’d spent a lot of time scrolling late at night when I couldn’t sleep, watching other people live lives that seemed impossibly far away.
Sofia’s page came up the second I typed her name.
She was living her best life, the kind we used to talk about during sleepovers—fashion shoots, travel photos, rooftop parties, couture clothes. She stayed in hotels where the rich and famous stayed because, now with over two million followers, she was too.
She was still Sofia, just older and more put together. Not wild in the careless way she’d been as a teenager, but confident—she knew exactly who she was.
I scrolled back, pulled in by nostalgia.
There were birthdays I hadn’t been there for.
Dorm rooms and college move-ins. Graduation caps tilted sideways, arms wrapped around friends.
Trips with people who knew her well enough to act unapologetically silly around.
Relationships she’d lived out in the open.
All the normal things that were supposed to happen while we were growing up.
While Sofia had been moving forward, I’d been sent away—put into uniforms, told when to speak and when to be quiet, stripped down until there was nothing left that resembled the girl in that photo.
I didn’t have pictures from the years I’d spent in Spain, and the ones I’d had before were long gone. If I hadn’t scrimped and saved every bit I could to buy this phone, I’d still be in Spain without a chance to take my life back.
My chest tightened, and I set the phone down on the carpet until the feeling eased. Now wasn’t the time for a pity party or tears.
I missed Sofia. I missed the girl I’d been when Sofia was my best friend. And right now, she was the only person I could think of who might understand even a piece of what had happened to me. She was the only person who might be able to help me.
I picked the phone back up and changed my display name to my full name so she’d recognize me, then added the picture of us as my profile photo.
Then, I opened a new message and stared at the empty screen.
I typed. Deleted. Typed again.
Finally, I sent something safe.
Scarlett:
Hey Sofia. It’s Scarlett Hayes. I don’t know if you remember me, but I found your profile and wanted to say hi.
The message sent, most likely disappearing into the request folder.
No read receipt. No typing dots. Just silence.
I slouched against the wall and killed time doom-scrolling through whatever posts and reels were served to me. I watched short videos, read captions, and lost track of time.
Then my phone buzzed in my hand.
I froze.
The screen lit up with a notification.
Sofia:
Scarlett???
Oh my god. Yes, I remember you. Hi.
I can’t believe it’s you.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
Scarlett:
Hi.
It’s been a long time.
Sofia:
Yeah. It really has.
How’s life in Spain? Are you still living there? I heard you became a nun.
I tried texting you a long time ago, but my messages never went through.
I hesitated, then answered honestly, but carefully.
Scarlett:
Yes, I’ve been there since…Mom died.
And yes, I became a nun. I wasn’t allowed to have a phone.
But I have one now.
There was a pause.
Sofia:
Okay.
That sounds…intense.
I swallowed.
Scarlett:
It’s been complicated.
But I’m back in the city.
Sofia:
Wait. Back back?
Like actually here?
Scarlett:
Yes.
But not for long.
Another, longer pause.
Sofia:
Are you okay?
That simple question almost broke me.
Scarlett:
I’m hanging in there.
I’m reaching out because I didn’t know who else to talk to.
Sofia:
Oh, gosh. I’m really glad you did.
I always wondered what happened to you.