18. Beatriz #2
The students’ papers blur together, the words meaningless in my mind. My fingers move mechanically, grading one after the other, zoning out. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to think about any of it.
But it doesn’t go away.
By the time the bell rings and the students file out, I feel the exhaustion in every bone in my body. But it’s not from work. It’s from the constant pull of my thoughts, my emotions, everything I’ve been avoiding.
I grab my things slowly, not in any hurry, but what I have to do next looms over me. The drive to my father’s house will be a blur, and I know I won’t be able to shake the nerves. I can’t back out, though. I can’t leave things like this.
I step out of the classroom, the hallways echoing with the sound of lockers slamming and kids laughing as they leave for the day. But it all feels distant, like I’m moving through a fog. My car’s parked a few spots down, and I make my way to it, dragging my feet with every step.
What am I even going to say?
I wish I knew. But I can’t keep avoiding this. I can’t keep quiet anymore, can’t just let him have his way. Not when I know what he did to Alejandro.
I get in the car, the cool leather of the seat familiar beneath me, but it feels out of place today. I turn the key in the ignition and drive, my hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than they should, my mind running wild with the idea of what comes next.
I know this confrontation is inevitable. It’s been brewing for too long, and I can’t keep avoiding it. I can’t keep running from him, from his disapproval.
As I drive through the streets, I can’t help but wonder how I’ve gotten here.
How my father’s judgment has shaped so much of my life.
How he’s always had the power to make me feel small.
I’ve always been his daughter first, everything else second.
Always trying to earn his approval, always trying to meet his expectations.
And Alejandro... he’s never been enough for him. I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand that. How could he be so blind to what an amazing man Alejandro is?
The closer I get to the house, the more the anxiety builds in my chest. My heart pounds with each mile. The house looks the same as it always does—imposing, solid, but empty in a way that makes my chest feel hollow.
I pull into the driveway and sit there for a moment, staring at the house. The decision presses on me, heavy and unrelenting, and I don’t know if I’m ready. But I can’t keep avoiding it.
With a deep breath, I get out of the car. My hands tremble as I grab my purse, feeling the nerves start to take over. This is it. This is the moment I confront him.
I walk up the steps slowly, each footstep louder than the last against the gravel. When I reach the door, I pause for just a second, key in hand, and try to gather my courage. I’m not sure if I’m more scared of what I’m about to say or what he’s going to say back.
I unlock the door, the familiar click echoing in the stillness. I push the door open, calling out to him. “Papi?”
“Aquí. I’m in the office,” he replies, his voice as calm as ever, as if this conversation has been expected for days.
I hesitate just a moment longer, but I know there’s no turning back now. With one last deep breath, I walk toward his office, my heart hammering with each step. This place—it doesn’t feel like home anymore. It hasn’t for a long time.
His office is exactly as I remember—impeccably neat, with everything in its place. I stand outside the door for a second, knowing that this conversation is going to tear me apart, but I’ve come too far to back out now.
I knock once and then open the door, already knowing what I’ll find. My father, sitting behind his desk, eyes fixed on whatever paperwork he's working on. No surprise. Just routine. Just... him.
“Beatriz,” he says, his voice cold but not unwelcoming. Like this is some formality to him, not the confrontation it’s become for me. He looks up briefly, eyes scanning me, lingering on my left hand as if he’s looking for something before fixing his gaze back on my face.
I don’t say anything, just step in, closing the door behind me.
“I was expecting you,” he continues, still unphased.
I can’t decide if his calmness is infuriating or comforting. It’s like I’m still his little girl, no matter how much I try to stand on my own.
“I need to talk to you,” I start, my voice steady, but I can hear the edge in it. The anger I’ve been trying to hold back. He just watches me, waiting for me to continue.
“About you and Alejandro,” he finally says, his voice measured, like he’s already prepared to shut this down.
I meet his eyes, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “We need to talk about what happened between you two. And I need you to hear me out. I know you think you’re protecting me, but this—” I shake my head. “This isn’t protection. It’s control. And I won’t let you keep doing this.”
He sighs, a long, exasperated sound. “I’m protecting you from someone who’s not good for you, Beatriz. You’re too blinded by your emotions to see it, but I know what’s best for you.”
There's a sick sort of ache settling in my stomach. “You’ve never seen him. You’ve only seen what you think he is. And it’s wrong.”
His gaze hardens, but his posture stays unchanged. “I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing this for you. I’ve spent my whole life trying to make sure you’re safe. You think you know him, but you don’t. You don’t understand how far from right he is for you.”
I’m shaking my head before I realize it.
“You’re wrong, Dad. You don’t get it. You’ve never gotten it.
” The words burn in my throat, thick with everything I’ve been holding in.
“You’ve always treated me like a child, like I couldn’t think for myself.
Like I couldn’t decide what was best for me.
But you’ve never once stopped to ask what I wanted. ”
He doesn’t flinch. Not even when I raise my voice, a little more than I should, maybe. But it’s not fear I’m feeling right now. It’s just... frustration. The years of it all coming to a head.
“I’m doing this because I love you, Beatriz. You’re my daughter. I don’t want you to end up like your mother, always choosing the wrong people to trust.”
The mention of my mother hangs in the air, thick and heavy. I can feel the sting of her absence, the way her memory looms between us, both of us trying to protect her name, her memory, in different ways.
My voice cracks, barely audible. “You’re wrong. About me, about him... about everything.”
He stands, the chair scraping behind him as he crosses the room toward me. He’s closing the distance like it’s the final move in a chess game. He’s trying to show me that he’s in control. Always in control.
“You can’t see it, Beatriz. You’re blinded by love.”
“I’m not blinded by anything,” I bite back, the frustration surging.
“You’ve never even let me try. You’ve never let me love him, not the way I want to.
You made him leave me! It’s you who caused my heart to shatter into a million pieces back then.
You’ve always been here, watching over me, telling me what I can’t have.
What I can’t do. And I’m done with it. I’m done letting you control everything. ”
The silence that follows feels heavy, like we’re both waiting for something to break.
“Listen to me,” he starts again, and I know what’s coming. He’s going to tell me again that I’m wrong, that I’ve made the wrong choice. But this time, I’m not backing down.
“You don’t get it,” he continues, his voice dropping lower. “I saw your sister and him together. I saw what those two were doing. I saw her hugging him, late at night. I saw it, Beatriz. And I knew.”
I freeze, the words hitting me like a slap. “What are you talking about?” I whisper, my voice so small, so fragile.
He presses on, oblivious to the shock spreading across my face. “Andrea was with him late one night. When I saw him sneak out of her window, I knew he was no good for you. That he never would be again.”
I can feel my heart stop. My throat constricts. “No. You’re wrong. That wasn’t—” I start, but the words won’t come out. The disbelief is too much to bear.
Andrea would never.
He would never.
Right?
He doesn’t let me finish. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve let him manipulate you. And now you’re too far gone to see it.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not when he’s just going to dismiss me anyway.
“Papi, no, Andrea would never do that.,” I say, my voice shaking. “You don’t understand. That hug… it was probably nothing.”
“Don’t you hear yourself Beatriz? Andrea would never do it. Not Alejandro. Probably nothing?” He shakes his head, and I see it—there’s no room for logic here. There’s no room for me to explain. “You’re saying it yourself, Mija, and yet you refuse to believe it.”
“You’re wrong. You’re wrong, Papi,” I repeat, but it feels weaker each time. The seed of doubt he’s planted is already sprouting, and I hate it.
“You’re just too emotional to see it,” he says, dismissive again. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll only hurt you. I can’t stand by and watch that happen.”
I feel it all crashing down on me. “No. He won’t.” My voice is barely above a whisper as I turn and walk out of the room.
“Beatriz!” he calls, but I don’t stop.
I can’t stop. Not after everything he’s said.
Not after everything he’s done.