6. Beatriz
Beatriz
It’s been almost a week since I saw Alejandro, but he hasn’t left me alone. Good morning and good night texts keep appearing on my screen. Out of politeness—and maybe a little desire—I’ve responded every time. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him.
What unsettles me most is how easily the feelings slip back in, like they’ve been waiting under the surface all along.
I used to imagine this man as my future.
The one I’d marry, grow old with, maybe even raise a family with.
I pictured Sunday mornings with his laughter filling a kitchen we shared, vacations we’d scrape pennies together to afford, a life that felt solid and ours.
That dream lived in me for years, so deep that when it shattered, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be whole again.
Because when he left, he didn’t just walk out of my room—he ripped every stitch of certainty from my chest and left me bleeding questions. Why? How could you? How do you stop loving someone who’s in your bones?
Even now, with his name lighting up my phone again, I still don’t have the answers. Only the ache. And the terrifying truth: I never stopped loving him. Not for a day. Not for a breath.
“Ms. Ayala, are you okay?” Piper, one of my more attentive students, asks, looking up from her desk as I round the room.
“Hmm?” I give myself a moment to come up with some lie. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired.” I smile at her before tapping on her paper. “Thank you for asking, but let’s focus on your work.”
These teenagers read me better than some of my friends.
And that’s the thing—I’m supposed to be fine.
I’ve built an entire life that looks fine on the outside.
I teach. I pay my bills. I meet my friends for dinner sometimes.
But the second Alejandro slipped back in, all the walls I thought I’d bricked up started to crack.
Because the truth is, I never stopped waiting for him in some small, stubborn part of me.
The bell rings a few minutes later, giving me a four-minute respite before the next class piles in. Such is the life of a middle school teacher. My mind stays busy while I’m teaching, but once it's working independently, it drifts.
And lately, it drifts to him. To how easily he still gets under my skin.
To how, despite the promises I made to myself, one text from him feels like pulling air into lungs I didn’t realize had been starved.
I hate that he still has that power. I hate that my heart is already betraying me, whispering that maybe, just maybe, he deserves another chance.
Alejandro
I have a surprise for you today.
His text scrolls across my smartwatch, tugging my mind to places it shouldn’t go during school hours. I leave him on read as I circle the room, monitoring my students. When the last bell finally rings for the day, my hand flies to my phone.
Beatriz
Surprise?
Beatriz
I hate those now.
Alejandro
You’ll love this one.
He’s wrong. I hate surprises with a passion, and I’m pretty sure he’s part of the reason why. I’ve been caught off guard one too many times, and not in a good way. After seeing things you never want to see, repeatedly, surprises lose their appeal.
Beatriz
Doubt it.
Alejandro
Give me a chance, Bee. Trust.
I roll my eyes but give in, too curious to resist. The years of ache I’ve buried have resurfaced with a vengeance. Now that he’s back in my life, it’s hard to keep that longing contained. Willpower and pride are all that stand between me and another heartbreak—and maybe a bit of self-preservation.
Beatriz
Why should I?
Alejandro
Because I have years of apologies to make up for.
He’s not wrong, but is that enough to trust him?
Alejandro
Because I won’t let you down again.
So he says, but don’t I need to trust him to know he won’t do that?
Alejandro
Because you’re still the person I care most about.
That one catches my breath and rips open my chest. Because I remember what it used to feel like—him leaning over to tuck my hair behind my ear, making me feel I was the only girl in the world worth noticing.
I remember how he never let me carry my own books if he could help it, how he’d sit through my favorite movies even when he hated them, how he’d look at me like I was made of something rare.
And I never doubted him. Not once. Back then, I never had to question if he meant it when he said he loved me, because every look, every word, every gesture proved it. He made me feel safe in his love—safe in myself, too. Like nothing about me was too much or not enough.
And now, he’s pulling me back there. To the girl who was sure of him. To the girl who believed they could survive anything.
Beatriz
Fine
Alejandro
Thanks, Bee. I’ll pick you up at 8.
My head is preoccupied with thoughts of Alejandro as I head out, so I don’t notice the figure by my car right away. It isn’t until I reach for the door handle that I see him, leaning against the hood. Martin. Again.
“Martin, what the hell are you doing here?” I whisper-shout, trying not to attract attention. “This is where I work. You can’t just show up here like this.”
“And why can’t I, Beatriz? I’m going to be your husband soon.” He steps closer, closing the distance between us as his hands clamp possessively onto my hips. I shove him away, but his grip only tightens.
“Let me go, Martin. You’re not my fiancé anymore.”
A low chuckle escapes him, pitying almost. “No, sweetheart. You’re wrong. Throwing away two years over something you think you saw? That's stupid.” His gaze sharpens, searching my face for a crack in my resolve. "You know this isn't over."
I take a steadying breath, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “It is, Martin. I know what I saw. And I’m done.” The words feel like armor as I reach for the door handle, cracking it open—but he slams it shut again, blocking my escape.
His face twists with disdain. "So, this is all because of him, isn’t it? Alejandro." He spits the name like it’s something foul. “You think he cares about you? He’s had girlfriend after girlfriend, Beatriz. Always someone new. You’re just the latest pretty face.”
I grit my teeth, refusing to take his bait. “You don’t know anything about him.”
“Oh, I know enough.” His voice drops, edged with a sneer. “He's using you, Beatriz. He sees a woman who can boost his name, make him look good. That’s what he does—he finds someone convenient, strings them along, and moves on when he’s bored.”
I try to shut out his words, but they worm their way in, feeding the small fears I’ve tried to ignore. Martin knows exactly where to strike. My insecurities and feelings of self-worth, or lack thereof.
“I know you, Beatriz. You fall too easily, trust too quickly,” he says, his tone almost patronizing. “And you’re going to throw everything away for a guy who’s going to drop you the second you’re not convenient anymore?”
I swallow hard, hating that he’s managed to plant those seeds of doubt, because he knows how many times it’s happened to me before. “Let me go, Martin. This is over. We are over”
His expression darkens, and his hand hovers by the door as if he’s about to reach for me again. But finally, he steps back, letting me open the door fully. I don’t look back as I get in, but his words cling to me, clawing at that last sliver of doubt I’d hoped I had killed.
He’s had girlfriend after girlfriend.
Even as I try to shake it off, his words cling to that gnawing fear inside me—the part that wonders if Alejandro is just like all the other guys, willing to cheat on me. He may not have before, but who’s to say he won’t now? He’s grown, no longer that same teenage boy I fell in love with.
What if his values have changed along with him?
As soon as I walk into my apartment, my phone buzzes.
Andrea's name lights up the screen, a picture of her and me smiling, hugging each other.
I hesitate, glancing up at the framed photo of our mother on the entryway table.
Her soft smile seems to watch me, as if she can see right through me.
I adjust the frame absently, trying to steady myself before answering my sister.
“Bee?” Andrea's voice cuts through, no-nonsense. “What’s going on?”
I feel a jolt in my chest, but I push my voice steady. “What do you mean?”
There’s a long sigh on the other end. “Martin called Papi. I was there visiting, and you know how Papi is, always putting his calls on speaker. Martin was saying all sorts of things… trying to make it sound like you were cheating on him. Is there something you need to tell me?”
Heat rises in my cheeks. Of course, Martin would twist everything to make me look guilty.
He probably called him shortly after I drove off, realizing he couldn’t convince me to stay with him.
But knowing Andrea's heard it makes it worse.
I can almost see her now, arms crossed, brow raised, waiting for me to explain myself.
I swallow hard, eyes drawn to Mom’s picture. “It’s… it’s not what he’s making it sound like,” I say finally, the shame catching in my throat. “I didn’t cheat on him, Andrea. He’s the one who was cheating. But I didn’t exactly tell you or Papi because—” I pause, my words cut short.
Andrea's voice softens, almost a whisper. “Because you’re embarrassed?”
Silence. She knows me too well.
“Bee, you can’t keep this bottled up just because he cheated. That doesn’t mean it’s your fault.” Her tone is protective, the kind that makes me want to break down, when I’m barely holding it together. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I let out a shaky breath, fingers brushing the edge of Mom’s frame. “I just… it’s happened before, right? This makes how many times now?” I try to laugh, but it comes out hollow. “Maybe I’m tired of being that girl who always seems to get it wrong. Who picks the wrong guy every time”