9. Beatriz #2
I swallow hard and keep walking, past the hall where I once overheard my parents arguing, past the corner where I used to wait for Alejandro to sneak in after dark. Everything in here remembers us, and the memories I pushed down so long ago are all resurfacing now that he’s back in my life.
The sounds of conversation drift from the dining room—Papi’s deep voice, Drea's lighter one, and someone else’s laugh, lower, unfamiliar for a second. But then I turn the corner and freeze.
Martin.
Sitting at the table like he belongs there. Wearing that stupid smug smile, a collared shirt, and the audacity to look comfortable in my family’s house after what he did to me.
He thinks he can still come to Sunday lunches?
My heart drops and something cold threads its way up my spine. Papi didn’t tell me he’d be here, and judging by Drea’s face, he didn’t tell her either.
Of course he didn’t.
And just like that, all the warmth from the room disappears, replaced by something sharp, something sour in my throat.
I stand there frozen in the doorway, stomach twisting as his eyes lock onto mine and that smile widens.
Like nothing ever happened. Like he didn’t rip me apart and then lie about the pieces.
“What is he doing here?” I say it low, my eyes locked on him even though I’m asking my father the question.
He looks up with that calm, collected face I used to think meant maturity. Now it just feels smug.
“I thought we could talk,” he says. “Clear the air.”
I step further into the room, the scent of rice, frijoles, and plátanos twisting in my stomach now, not from hunger but fury. “We’ve got nothing to clear.”
“Beatriz,” Papi’s voice cuts in before I can say more. He rises slowly, hands braced on the edge of the table. “He told me what happened.”
“Oh, did he?” I ask, my laugh humorless. “Go on then. What exactly did he say?”
“That you stayed out all night last week without saying anything, and he couldn’t find you until the next morning.
That he went looking for you and found you in a coffee shop and caught you with Alejandro—that boy,” he says the words like a curse, “took you away without even letting Martin speak. That you still hadn’t told Martin it was over. ”
“He’s lying.”
“Then why didn’t you call me when you found out?” he asks, face like stone. “Why didn’t you let him explain before running off?”
“Because I was worried you’d judge me for finding out yet another boyfriend cheated on me,” I snap. “And because I already knew what I saw when I walked into that house.”
Martin lifts his chin slightly. “You think you saw something—”
“Oh, I saw it. Don’t you dare stand there and pretend I didn’t.”
The words spill too fast now, too much all at once—but I can’t stop.
“I went back to your place to grab my lunch. I heard her. Heard the moaning through the bedroom door, heard her laughing. Your shirt was on the floor, your shoes too. And hers—heels by the door. A badge with her name on the counter.”
It’s because of that badge that I was able to look her up and see that she’s known Martin for years. That this wasn’t a one-time thing. That they’d been dating when he met me.
Martin’s face tightens, but he keeps that calm tone. “You jumped to conclusions. If you’d stayed, I would’ve explained.”
“You shouldn’t have to explain why there was another woman in your bedroom!”
“There wasn’t—”
“I looked her up,” I bite. “She’s from your past, isn’t she? She’s never been out of the picture. You were never done with her.”
He opens his mouth, but Papi beats him to it.
“Beatriz,” Papi cuts in, saying my name in that scolding voice he gives me when he thinks I’m throwing a tantrum. “That doesn’t excuse what you did.”
I stare at him. “What I did?”
“Yes, what you did. You cheated, mija. Plain and simple.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“You slept with Alejandro without ending things with Martin. That’s cheating, Beatriz.”
“I was done with him the second I saw what he did!”
“But you didn’t say it. You didn’t end it first. That makes you just as wrong.”
That stops me. Not because he’s right—but because it’s exactly what I feared he would do. Take Martin’s side.
But for once I don’t stay silent. “Maybe I didn’t say the words. Maybe I was so disgusted and blindsided that I ran. But I was done. I was done, and I owed him nothing after that.”
“You should’ve had the decency to talk to him first,” Papi says, quieter now. Not soft, just cold.
“And what? Give him the chance to gaslight me into staying? I saw enough to know he’s not who I thought he was.”
“He says you misunderstood.”
My laugh is sharp. “Oh, did he try to convince you that the moaning I heard was a spa video playing while they were working? Part of a campaign? It’s such bullshit.”
Martin shrugs, still playing hurt. “It’s the truth.”
“And the badge? The heels? The clothes everywhere?”
“I spilled something, and I didn’t want to stain the couch. She took her shoes off out of respect. You were upset, Beatriz. You didn’t ask. You ran and let your imagination get the best of you.”
My fists clench at my sides. “You’re unbelievable.”
Papi raises a hand. “That’s enough. I don’t care who did what. This is not how my daughter behaves.”
I scoff. “You think I embarrassed you? That I’m the shameful one here?”
“I raised you better than this.”
“No, you raised me to be quiet. To be obedient. To smile even when everything was burning around me.”
“That’s enough.”
“No! Because you keep saying he told you, but you never once asked me. You don’t care what I saw, or how I felt. You care that I didn’t act the way you think a woman should.”
“You’re supposed to be better than this, Beatriz.”
“Better than what? Better than standing up for myself for once? Better than not letting a man take advantage of me? Better than to stay with a slimy, cheating bastard?” I bite back, hard enough to surprise everyone at the table, even myself.
“You don’t see him for who he is. You think he’s better than what he is.
And Alejandro? He’s not even a person to you. He’s just that boy . Still.”
“He’s nothing more than the gardener’s son. Always will be.”
“He’s more than that, and you know it. He’s kind. Honest. And he never once treated me like I was less.”
Papi’s expression doesn’t budge. “He’s not enough. Not for the kind of life you should have. Not for the kind of life I gave you.”
Drea slams her hand down on the table, hard. “You didn’t give her anything but control, Papi. You made her scared to live. That boy may have been the only real love she’s ever had, and you never approved of him.”
“Andrea,” he warns.
“No, I’m done biting my tongue. You sit here and take Martin’s word as truth like you didn’t see Beatriz lose herself in that relationship.
You never liked Alejandro, fine. But you don’t get to pretend like Martin’s a saint while calling my sister a puta because she decided to choose herself for once. ”
He glares at her, but it doesn’t stop her. It just fuels her.
“And maybe you should ask yourself why she was afraid to tell you Martin cheated. Maybe you’ve been too harsh, all the time, Papi. Mami would be so mad.”
He doesn’t answer.
And I take the opportunity to speak again.
“I’m not letting Alejandro go this time.”
“Then leave. Go play house with your poor boy and see how far love gets you.”
“If it gets me peace, it’s already farther than anything I had here.”
He stands. “I won’t give a single dollar to a daughter who throws everything away for some foolish teenage dream. If you think you’re grown enough to make these choices, then you can leave and be grown.”
“Gladly,” I say, voice cracking but sure.
And I walk.
I don’t look back. But the second the door slams behind me, it all crashes in on me at once. It’s not just the argument. It’s every word he didn’t let me say, every piece of me that still wanted to make him proud even after he gutted me.
I make it to the car before it hits me full force. My hands fumble with the door handle. I barely get inside before I grip the steering wheel, pressing my forehead to it like it might hold me together.
And then I break.
I cry the way I never let myself cry—loud, ugly, from the chest. My fists tighten around the leather until my knuckles ache, and I press harder because it feels like the only thing keeping me grounded.
I cry for the little girl who wanted nothing more than to be her daddy’s pride and joy, for the woman who thought she could finally stop proving herself, for the version of me that still wanted to believe I was allowed to be happy without permission.
The passenger door opens with a soft creak, and then Drea is there. She doesn’t say anything at first. She just slides into the seat, gently shuts the door, and reaches over to wrap her arms around me.
I let her.
I cry into her shoulder like I’m ten again, like we’re kids and she’s the older sister who always knew how to fix things. I cry until I don’t have any more left in me, until the shaking slows and all I can do is sit there, cheeks damp and chest hollow.
“You okay?” she asks softly, even though she knows I’m not.
“No,” I whisper.
She gives me a minute. Just breathes with me.
Then finally, she leans back and wipes a tear off my cheek with her thumb. “I’m proud of you.”
I huff out a laugh. “For what? Burning everything down?”
“For not shrinking. For finally choosing yourself. And for not decking Martin across the table. That’s real growth.”
I manage a weak smile. “I was close, honestly.”
“Look, I’m not saying I fully trust Alejandro yet, because if he breaks your heart again, I will kill him and bury the body with zero remorse—”
“Duly noted.”
“But whatever you decide, I’m on your side. Always.”
That squeezes something inside me in a different way—softer, warmer. I nod.
“If you need help… like, financially or whatever,” she adds, voice quieter, “I’ve got you. And I won’t tell Papi.”
I laugh again. This time it’s real. “You gonna Venmo me secret rent payments like a telenovela side character?”
“Duh,” she grins. “I’m already the dramatic sibling. Might as well live up to it.”
We both laugh, and then we’re quiet for a second. Like we’re breathing in the same rhythm again.
She gives my hand one last squeeze, then opens the door.
“I’m serious, Bee. Whatever you need.”
“I know.”
She steps out and closes the door. I watch her through the window as she waves, hand high, face tight with emotion she’s not letting show anymore.
I wave back.
Then I exhale, pick up my phone from the cupholder, and scroll through my contacts until I find his name.
Alejandro.
I hesitate. My thumb hovers over the screen. And then I tap call, backing out of the driveway as the phone rings.
It rings once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then clicks.
“Hola?” a woman answers.
And just like that, my stomach drops.