22. Beatriz
Beatriz
All my life, I’ve been the good daughter.
Respectful. Intelligent. Kind. I learned early how to nod, smile, and never cross a line with my father.
And for years, I never did—until a few months ago when I told him I was with Alejandro again.
That one choice, that one truth, shattered it, and he cut me off completely.
Now, I’m walking the halls of my childhood home, heading straight for the man who taught me to stand on my own feet…
only to hate it when I finally did. Today, I’m ready to put it all on the table.
To make him hear the weight of every expectation, every impossible standard, every box he’s locked me in.
I want him to accept me. To accept Alejandro. To understand that I love this man, and I will not leave him—no matter what he has to say.
Alejandro’s hand is warm in mine as we step toward the dining room.
The room smells like home—garlic and onions simmered down into sofrito, the sharp tang of lime over freshly fried plantains, the slow-cooked richness of ropa vieja.
A steaming platter of arroz blanco sits in the center, brightened with black beans glistening from a drizzle of olive oil.
Beside it, golden tostones glisten with sea salt, stacked high on a serving plate.
At the far end of the table, a clay pot of picadillo still lets off a curl of steam, the scent of ground beef, olives, and sweet raisins mixing with the air. A small basket of warm Cuban bread is tucked close to Papi’s side, the butter already softening in its dish.
Andrea's already there, sitting at the table like she’s been waiting for this moment all morning. And Papi… Papi sits at the head of the table, still and silent, his eyes fixed on us, a storm brewing behind his gaze.
We don’t drop each other’s hands when we walk in. I make sure of it. If Papi wants to glare, let him. If he wants to see what I chose, I’ll make sure he sees it in full.
The chair beside Andrea scrapes against the tile as I pull it out, and Alejandro sits next to me. He stays composed, respectful, but I can feel the way his thumb strokes the inside of my palm—steady, grounding, as if telling me without words, I’m here.
Papi’s gaze drops to our hands, and then to Alejandro. “?Tú otra vez?” His voice is low, but it lands like a challenge.
Alejandro straightens in his chair. “Yes, me—again. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Papi’s eyes flick back to mine. “You bring him here like I’m supposed to forget everything?”
Andrea leans forward. “Papi—”
“Let her speak,” Alejandro says quietly, his voice respectful but unyielding.
And so I do. “I didn’t bring him here for you to forget, Papi. I brought him here for you to see him for who he is. Not for the story you’ve made up in your head.”
His stare sharpens. “The story I’ve made up? I know what I saw.”
“And I’m telling you,” I say, holding his gaze, “you’re wrong.”
Alejandro’s hand tightens around mine. “Senor Ayala,” he says carefully, his voice deep but controlled, “you misunderstood what you saw. Andrea and I were never together. Not once. Not in the way you think. The only thing between us has been friendship and respect, because she’s your daughter’s sister. Nothing more.”
Papi looks like he wants to dismiss it outright, but Andrea jumps in, her tone calm and unwavering. “Es verdad, Papi. It’s true. He never crossed that line with me. Not ever.”
For a second, his eyes flick to her. Then back to Alejandro. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Yes!” She shouts, her anger simmering too close to the surface. “I'm your daughter, Papi. You should know better—should know me better—than to think I would ever do that to Bee!”
Alejandro nods once. “You should believe your daughters. Because Beatriz deserves for you to believe her, and so does Drea. And because I’d never dishonor her like that.”
Papi leans back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. “Then tell me,” he says slowly, each word clipped like it’s meant to cut, “what were you two doing that night? Because I know what I saw. You, outside, with your arms around Andrea.”
The question hangs heavy between us. My stomach knots—part of me afraid Alejandro might flinch under the scrutiny, the other part certain he won’t.
Alejandro doesn’t drop his gaze. “I was asking for her help,” he says simply.
Papi’s brow furrows. “Help?”
“Yes,” Alejandro says, voice steady but firm. “To convince Beatriz to choose her dream school, not follow me to mine.”
The silence that follows feels like it’s pressing in on all sides.
Papi blinks once, slow. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t expect you to do anything but listen,” Alejandro says, his tone sharp enough to match my father’s but never disrespectful.
“You think I’m the kind of man who’d drag her away from what she’d worked for, just because I wanted her near me?
You think I’d make her smaller when I’ve only ever wanted to see her stand taller? ”
My chest tightens. I squeeze his hand under the table, not because he needs reassurance, but because I do.
Andrea's voice cuts in softly but with weight. “It’s true, Papi. That night, he came to me because he knew she wouldn’t listen to him. He wanted her to choose what was right for her. And I told him I’d talk to her. You saw us hug because we’d just agreed on what we needed to do for her.”
Papi’s jaw works, but he says nothing.
Alejandro’s gaze stays locked on him. “You’ve been holding this picture in your head for years—a picture of me betraying her. But it’s been wrong. And you’ve been letting that false image keep you from knowing the truth about the man who loves your daughter.”
The words hit me harder than I expect, even though I know them by heart.
Loves.
Present tense.
Papi exhales slowly, but the stubbornness doesn’t leave his face. It coils in the tight set of his jaw, the way pride keeps his shoulders square. “Even if that’s true, back then you weren’t worthy of her.”
Alejandro doesn’t blink. “I am now.”
“He always was,” I cut in, my voice sharper than I intend, but I don’t pull it back. “You just refused to see it.”
Papi’s eyes narrow, his voice heavy with doubt. “Worthy now because you’ve finally grown up? Because you’ve learned how to hold a steady job and pay your bills? That’s not worthiness, Alejandro. That’s survival.”
Alejandro leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table.
“No. Worthy because I know what it means to take care of her in every way. Because I’ve built something real—something that lasts—and I want her to share it, not shrink inside it.
I’ve worked for the kind of life where she can choose every dream she wants, and I’ll be there making sure no one tries to take them from her. ”
Papi’s gaze sharpens, but there’s the faintest pause before his reply, like he’s weighing whether to argue or listen.
“Anyone can talk about what they’ll do,” he says finally. “Doing it is different.”
Alejandro’s tone doesn’t waver. “Then watch me.”
The air between them feels thick enough to choke on, but neither man looks away.
Andrea shifts in her seat, glancing between them like she’s waiting for one of them to break the silence.
I keep my hand wrapped around Alejandro’s, unwilling to give my father the satisfaction of seeing distance between us.
“Papi,” I say quietly, but not soft enough to be ignored, “you’re still judging him like he’s the same boy from years ago. He’s not. And I'm not the same girl either.”
His eyes snap to mine, sharp and unyielding. “And what does that mean?”
“It means you raised me to know my own worth. To fight for what matters. This is me doing exactly that.”
The muscle in his jaw ticks, but he doesn’t answer. He just leans back in his chair, eyes still locked on mine, as if daring me to keep going.
So I do.
“Every time one of my relationships ended for me,” I say, my voice low but steady, “you never asked how I was. You never asked if I was okay. You just… looked at me like it was my fault. Like I should’ve seen it coming. Like I didn’t know how to pick a man worth my time.”
Papi’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the slight shift in his eyes—the way he blinks once, slowly, as if weighing whether to deny it.
“You think I didn’t notice?” I press. “You think I didn’t see the way you’d look at me after every breakup? I was already hurting, Papi, and then I’d feel like I’d disappointed you, too. Like I’d failed twice.”
Andrea's gaze drops to her hands, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. Alejandro doesn’t move, but his grip on my hand tightens just enough for me to feel it.
“I know you think you’re protecting me,” I go on, “because maybe you believe I can’t see a man for who he is until it’s too late.
But I can see Alejandro. I’m more sure of him than I’ve ever been about anyone in my life.
He never cheated. Never played games. Never wanted anything from me except to be with me, to go through life together.
There’s no ulterior motive here. Just love.
And the need to share this life with me. ”
Alejandro glances at me then, the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—pride, maybe, or the way a person looks when you’ve just spoken the words they’ve been carrying for years.
Papi’s gaze moves between us, slow and deliberate. “And if you’re wrong?” he asks finally.
“I’m not,” I answer, without even a beat of hesitation.
The room goes quiet again, but it’s different this time. Less of a storm, more of a stillness where something is shifting, even if he’s not ready to admit it yet.
Andrea leans back in her chair, eyes on Papi. “You don’t have to like him today,” she says softly, “but you can’t keep pretending he’s the villain.”
We’re not begging, we’re trying to get him to listen. Just listen. For once.
Papi’s jaw stays tight, but he doesn’t tell her to stop. And for my father, that’s as close to listening as it gets.