22. Beatriz #2
His eyes stay on me for what feels like forever, like they don't need to blink. I can see it—how badly he wants to shut this down, how much easier it would be for him to just dismiss me like he has before. But I don’t let him. Not this time.
“You think I’m wrong about him? Fine. Pero dime—tell me—how many times have you even tried to see him for who he is now? Not the boy you made up in your head years ago, not the story you’ve told yourself to keep from admitting you might have been wrong.”
Papi’s fingers tap once against the armrest of his chair, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “I don’t need to watch a man for years to know what he is.”
“Yes, you do,” I shoot back. “Because people change, Papi. They grow. And the Alejandro you’ve been hating in your mind all this time never existed. He wasn’t the one who hurt me, not back then, not ever. That was you —keeping me from him.”
His mouth tightens, and I can see Andrea shift in her seat, like she’s ready to step in. But I don’t need her yet. I’ve been waiting too long to say this.
“All my life,” I continue, “you’ve raised the bar so high I could barely breathe under it.
And every time I almost reached it—every time I started to find something for myself—you pushed it further away.
You told me it was for my own good. That you wanted the best for me.
But you never asked what I wanted. You never thought maybe I already knew. ”
He leans forward slightly, his elbows on the table. “I gave you everything, Beatriz. Every opportunity, every chance—”
“No,” I cut in, my voice cracking for the first time.
“You gave me the version of life you thought I should want. And you were so sure it was right for me that you didn’t see what it cost. You didn’t see me shrinking inside it.
You didn’t see how lonely it made me. And when I finally found something—someone—who made me feel like I could be myself, lo quitaste de mi vida, you ripped it away. ”
Alejandro’s hand shifts, his thumb brushing my knuckles again. It’s not to calm me, I realize—it’s to tell me to keep going.
Papi shakes his head slowly, like he’s disappointed. “You’re still young. You think love is enough to build a life on, but it’s not.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “And what is enough? Doing exactly what you say until I’m too old to want more? Pretending I’m happy because it makes you comfortable?”
“Cuidado con tu tono, Beatriz.”
Careful with your tone, Beatriz.
Andrea finally speaks up, her voice sharper than I’ve heard it all morning. “She is watching her tone, Papi. She’s just not softening it for you anymore.”
He turns to her, his brows pulling together, but she doesn’t back down.
“You told us to be strong,” she says. “To fight for what matters. That's what she's doing. And you’re angry because it doesn’t align with what you want.”
Papi exhales through his nose, slow, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. But the silence he gives us now feels heavier than anything he could’ve shouted.
I lean forward, my voice quieter but more raw than before.
“You changed after Mami died. You were always strict, but after that… it felt like you locked yourself away. And us with you. You wanted control over everything, maybe because you lost her and you didn’t want to lose anything else.
But in the process, you lost me anyway.”
Something flickers in his expression—grief, maybe, or the memory of Mami—but it’s gone just as quickly as it came.
“And I think…” My throat tightens, my voice trembling now, “I think Mami would be so disappointed in you right now. In the way you’re treating Alejandro. Y lo sabes.” And you know it. It’s the truth.
The words hang in the air, heavy and unmovable.
For the first time since we walked in, Papi looks away. Not down, not defeated, but away—like he can’t meet my eyes without something in him cracking.
Andrea's gaze moves between us, her lips pressed together like she’s holding something back. Alejandro stays silent, but his hand is still in mine, and I know without looking that his eyes are on me.
I blink hard, and suddenly the tears I’ve been holding back all morning are spilling over. “Do you have any idea,” I whisper, “what it feels like to love someone so much you’d give up everything, but to also know that your own father sees him as nothing?”
Papi’s jaw shifts, but he doesn’t answer.
“I’ve been carrying this for years,” I say, my voice breaking. “The weight of trying to be who you wanted, while hiding who I really was. Pretending your approval was enough to make me happy, when all it did was make me feel… small. Like nothing I did would ever be mine.”
Andrea pushes a box of tissues toward me, but I don’t take one yet. I don’t want to stop.
“I’m not small with him,” I continue, gesturing toward Alejandro. “I’m not weak, or less than. He doesn’t put me in a box. He doesn’t ask me to be someone I’m not. He loves me exactly as I am, and I love him. And if you can’t accept that, then… then I don’t know where that leaves us.”
The tears are steady now, my voice shaking with every word, but I don’t back down.
Alejandro finally speaks, his voice quiet but certain. “Senor Ayala… I’m not here to take her away from her family. I’m here because I want to be part of it. I love her, and I will protect her with my life. All I’m asking is for the chance to prove that to you.”
Papi doesn’t look at him. He looks at me. And for a long moment, it’s just the two of us staring across the table, years of unspoken things sitting between us.
When he finally speaks, his voice is softer. “I don’t know if I can change what I see when I look at him.”
“Then start with what you see when you look at me. Porque soy tu hija.” Because I’m your daughter, I say, my voice raw. “And I’m telling you—this is the man I choose.”
Papi doesn’t answer right away. He sits back in his chair, his eyes still on me, and I can feel the tension in the air, thick enough to choke on.
“Por Dios, Beatriz…” he finally says, shaking his head. “You think I don’t want you to be happy?”
I swallow hard. “I think you want me to be happy your way. And that’s not the same thing.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. That’s the thing about Papi—silence from him is never nothing. It’s him turning my words over in his head, deciding whether to let them in or shut them out completely.
Andrea leans forward, her elbows on the table. “Mira, he’s not perfect. None of us are. But you’ve been holding him in a cage for years, and it’s not fair. Not to her. Not to him.”
Alejandro’s voice is steady, even when the weight of the moment hangs heavy on him. “Senor Ayala, I can’t go back and fix the past. All I can do is show you, now, who I am. And hope you believe it.”
Papi’s eyes flicker to him, then back to me. “And if I can’t?”
I feel my throat tighten again, but I force the words out anyway. “Then you’ll be choosing your pride over me. And you’ll lose me for good this time.”
The words hang there, sharper than I meant them to be, but I don’t take them back. I can’t.
For the first time since we sat down, his face shifts—not into anger, but into something else. Fear. Worry. He blinks, once, like maybe the thought of losing me just hit him in a way nothing else has.
“Beatriz…” His voice is softer now. Almost careful.
“After your Mami died, I told myself I’d never let anyone hurt you.
I thought that meant protecting you from the kind of men who take and take until there’s nothing left.
I saw him and thought…” He trails off, his gaze sliding toward Alejandro. “I thought he was one of them.”
I wipe at my cheek with the back of my hand, my voice low. “You thought wrong, Papi. He’s never taken from me. He’s only ever given. Even when I didn’t make it easy.”
Alejandro glances at me, his expression unreadable but warm, like he’s memorizing every word of how I truly feel about him.
Papi exhales slowly, like the air is heavier than it should be. “I don’t trust easily.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “But Andrea and I are telling you the truth about him.”
Andrea nods, her voice steady. “Sí, Papi. He’s not who you think he is.”
There’s another long stretch of silence, but it’s different now.
I push one more time, my voice soft but certain. “Please, Papi. I’m not asking you to forget the past. I’m asking you to see the present. To see him the way I do.”
His gaze shifts between us—me, Alejandro, Andrea—and then back to me. For a second, I swear I see something in his eyes soften, just barely.
Finally, he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “We’ll see.”
It’s not forgiveness. It’s not approval. But it’s not a no. And for now, that’s enough.
Alejandro’s hand tightens around mine under the table. Andrea exhales, a small smile flickering at the corner of her mouth.
The fight isn’t over—not even close—but for the first time in years, I feel like we might actually be on the same side.