28. Mariana
Mariana
T he room was too quiet. That was the first thing I noticed as I stepped inside.
The usual hum of machines was still there, the steady beeping of the monitors keeping rhythm in the background.
But the sound that used to make me feel safe, the sound of my mother’s voice filling the space, talking, teasing, scolding, laughing, was softer now, thinner. I hated that.
She looked up when I walked in, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. “Ah,” she murmured, her voice raspier than usual. “Mi amor.”
I swallowed against the tightness in my throat and lifted the bouquet of lilies in my hand. “They didn’t have flor de maga,” I said, stepping toward her bed. “But these aren’t bad, right?”
She hummed in approval. “These are beautiful. Thank you, mi amorcito.”
“I know flor de magas reminds you of home.”
“They do. But now these… these will remind me of you.”
I smiled, setting the flowers in the vase by her bedside. “I’ll go somewhere else next time and make sure I find the flor de magas.”
She let out a soft laugh. “My sweet, stubborn girl.”
It was easier to focus on arranging the flowers than to look at her too closely. She was tired, more than last time. Her skin was paler, her frame even smaller beneath the blankets.
I wasn’t stupid; I knew what was coming. I just wasn’t ready for it. I sat in the chair beside her bed, pressing my hands between my knees to keep them from shaking.
She reached for my wrist, her grip weak but warm. She always did that. Held onto me, even when she was the one barely holding it together. She held me. Used what little strength she had for me.
“You look like your mind is running a mile a minute,” she observed.
I let out a slow breath. “Just thinking.”
Her eyes twinkled with something familiar. Something amused. “About my Sebastián?”
I groaned. “Why do you call him that?”
She chuckled, but her fingers squeezed mine lightly. “Because I’ve known that boy since before he could walk. He’s always been one of mine.”
Something about that sentence made my chest ache. Because she was right. Sebastian had always been hers. And in some ways, he had always been mine too.
Since we were kids. Anna, Sebastian, and I were known as the three musketeers. Running around, causing chaos, creating our own adventures in our little town.
Anna and I would force Sebastian to learn dance routines and perform them in front of our parents. We were all best friends. Anna was like my sister.
But Sebastian and I? We had always felt… connected. Two parts of a whole.
“He’s treating you well, right?” she asked, watching me closely.
I nodded. “Of course he is.”
“And you’re happy?”
That made my throat tighten. Because the answer was a resounding yes. I am. So. Damn. Happy.
But happiness has never been the problem. Sebastian had always known how to make me happy. She must’ve seen the hesitation in my face because she exhaled, shifting slightly in the bed.
“Mariana…”
I didn’t like the way she said my name. Like she already knew. Like she saw the doubt creeping into my chest before I even spoke it out loud.
“You don’t have to protect yourself from love, mi vida,” she said, her voice softer now.
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
She just gave me a look. The sort of look only a mother could give. The type of look that said she saw through every lie I was telling myself. She always knew.
“You think I don’t know you?” she murmured, a quiet laugh slipping out as she shook her head. “You’ve been protecting yourself from love since you were a little girl. Always so independent. Always needing to do everything on your own.”
I looked away. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“No,” she agreed. “But letting someone love you isn’t a weakness either.”
My stomach twisted. She was right. I knew she was right. But knowing something and believing it were two different things.
“It’s not just about losing them, Mami,” I whispered.
Her gaze stayed steady, patient. “Then tell me what it is about.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Andrew…” I forced his name out. “He hurt me, Mami.”
She stilled. Her fingers tightened around mine. “What?
“You always told me to call you, Mami. But I didn’t. Because I knew if you heard my voice, you’d hear the truth.The truth I couldn’t admit to myself. That I wasn’t okay. That my marriage wasn’t okay. That I wasn’t safe.”
A tear slipped down my cheek. “Andrew. He…he wasn’t who you thought he was.”
Her expression shifted—shock, confusion, then something darker.
I exhaled sharply. “It wasn’t just words, Mami.
It was control. It was…” I sucked in a breath, my voice barely a whisper.
“It was bruises. Shoving. Grabbing my wrist so hard I thought he’d snap it.
Screaming in my face so close I could feel his spit on my skin.
And every time I thought about leaving, every time I even tried… ”
A sob cracked through me. “He made me believe I had nowhere to go.”
She made a soft, pained noise—a sound that broke something inside me. “Mariana,” she whispered, eyes glassy. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew.” My voice shook, “I knew that if I called you, if I heard your voice, I’d break. I knew you’d tell me to come home. And I knew…that if I let myself hope and then failed to leave…it would be worse.”
Her breathing was uneven now, grief and guilt lining every inch of her face.
“Mami, he convinced me I was nothing. That I was only worth something because he loved me. And I let him. I let him take everything away from me.”
Her grip on my hand tightened—weak, but full of fury. Her dark eyes flashed, and for the first time in months, she looked like herself. Like Lucia Vargas, the woman who could level a grown man with just one look.
She reached up, cupping my cheek, “No.”
The ferocity in her voice startled me.
“Ese cabrón didn’t take anything from you, Mariana.
” She pushed herself up straighter, her voice gaining strength, the rage fueling her.
“That man?” She let out a sharp, bitter laugh.
“Ese hombre no era hombre. él era basura. He was nothing. A coward, a weak, pathetic excuse for a man who had to tear you down because he knew—HE KNEW he could never stand next to you as an equal.”
My throat tightened, tears pooling in my eyes. She wasn’t done.
“And you?” She pointed at me, her chest rising and falling as her breath shook with emotion.
“Tu, mi amor? You survived. You endured. You made it out. No me digas ni por un segundo that he took anything from you—because look at you. You are here. You are standing, breathing, fighting, even when you think you can’t. He tried to break you, and he failed.”
She gripped my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. Her eyes blazed with something raw. Something fierce. “You are my daughter. Tu eres boricua. You come from a long line of women who do not bow. We do not break. He tried to destroy you, and look at you—you are still here.”
My lip quivered, a sob pushing at my chest. She exhaled, softer now, cupping my face like she used to when I was little. “You are not what he did to you, Mariana. You are not his words. You are not his hands. You are yours. Always you.”
I broke. A ragged sob tore through me, shaking me down to my bones.
My face crumpled, tears spilling freely now, no longer held back, no longer swallowed down like I had learned to do for years.
“I don’t know how to let someone love me the right way, Mami.
I don’t know how to need someone without being afraid. Without waiting for the hurt.”
She reached up, her hands trembling but steady, and wiped the tears from my face like she had when I was little.
“Mariana, mi amor… You already know how.” Her voice was fierce, but so damn gentle, like she was willing me to believe it.
“The way you love me. The way you love Anna. The way you loved your father. Dios mío, the way you still love that man even now. You already know what love is. And Sebastian?” She shook her head, gripping my chin, making me look at her.
“He is not Andrew. He never was. He never will be.”
I sucked in a shaky breath, my throat aching.
She gave me a knowing, tearful smile. “And you? You were never broken, mi vida. Just scared. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”
“Te quiero, Mami.”
“Te quiero, mi amor.”
I turned and walked out, feeling the weight of her words settling into my bones.
The cemetery was quiet, except for the whisper of the wind rustling through the trees. I pulled my jacket tighter around myself as I stepped onto the worn path, my sneakers crunching softly against the gravel. It had been too long since I’d last come here.
Maybe because I hated the way it made everything feel too damn real, or maybe because standing in front of this gravestone always left me feeling like I was still that broken girl from all those years ago.
A senior in high school, standing at his funeral, clutching my mother’s hand, trying so hard to be strong. I wasn’t strong, though. Not then, and definitely not now.
I swallowed hard as I approached his headstone, my breath catching the second my fingers brushed against the cool, engraved surface.
Luis Vargas
Beloved Husband. Cherished Father.
I traced the letter with trembling fingers, my throat tightening. The words were too small. Too simple. A single stone, a few carved words, could never sum up the great man that he was. The best husband. The best father. He loved us so fiercely.
My knees gave out before I even realized I was falling. I sat there, knees pressed into the damp earth, the cold creeping in through the denim of my jeans.
“Papi, I miss you so much.” My voice cracked.
“There hasn’t been a single day that’s gone by where you aren’t in my thoughts. Where the sound of a song or the smell of cafecito doesn’t rush back a memory of you.” My lips trembled as I sucked in a shaky breath.
“Every day since you’ve been gone, I’ve wished for just one more day with you.
Just one more conversation. One more time hearing you say you love me.
One more time feeling one of your bear hugs—the one where you'd lift me off my feet, squeezing all the air out of me just to hear me laugh. Hell, I’d even take one more time of you grounding me, if it meant you were here. ”
I let out a weak, broken chuckle. “What I wouldn’t do to hear your voice right now.”
The wind picked up slightly, or maybe it was just my imagination, but I closed my eyes, pretending that, just for a second, I could hear him. Pretending that he was still here.
I wrapped my arms around myself, rocking slightly. “Everything feels so messed up right now, Papi. I feel so lost. So confused. I was never ready to lose you; I was just a kid. And now I have to be ready to lose Mami too.” My voice broke on the last word, my breath catching in my throat.
I sniffed hard, brushing the sleeve of my jacket against my face.
I hated crying. “There’s just been so much hurt.
So much loss. I can hardly bear it. My heart aches, Papi.
A world without either of you just feels so damn lonely.
” A single sob escaped my lips before I could stop it.
I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to breathe through it, trying to force down the weight of grief pressing into me.
But it wasn’t just grief. It was fear. I had spent my entire life trying to be strong, trying to be independent. Trying to prove that I could survive everything and anything.
But, my god. I didn’t want to keep surviving loss. I wanted to stop losing people. I wanted to stop feeling like love was just another countdown to my heartbreak.
My fingers curled into fists against my thighs as I shook my head.
“There’s so much that you both will never get to see.
You didn’t even get to see me graduate.” My voice was barely above a whisper now, too raw, too fragile.
I pressed my forehead against my knees, letting the silence settle between me and the grave.
I wiped at my eyes, sniffling hard. “I don’t know what to do, Papi. I really don’t.”
And for a second, I closed my eyes and imagined what he would have said if he were sitting beside me. That I was being too stubborn. That life didn’t wait for people to figure their shit out. That love was meant to be held onto, even when it was terrifying.
I exhaled shakily, tilting my head toward the sky. The stars flickered against the inky black, endless and vast. I couldn’t keep people forever. But maybe, I could stop running from them while they were still here.
I reached forward, brushing my fingers lightly over the engraved letters one last time. “I love you, Papi. Always.”