Chapter Twenty
“Pack your things, Isabella. We’re leaving tonight.”
“But the wedding is tomorrow,” I mumble.
“Y que? I don’t care, and you shouldn’t, either. These people are poison. I told you from the start, didn’t I? I have always told you.”
I don’t answer her. I slowly start grabbing my luggage from the closet and placing it on the bed.
I finally feel grateful that I’m the kind of traveler who completely unpacked all her things.
The more time I can waste figuring out my next step, the better chance I have of convincing her to stay.
I can’t leave yet. Not until I solve the secret. I’m so close.
“And look at you,” she continues. “Dressing like you’re some high-class Latina, finally. I’ve been trying for years to get you to look presentable, and you wait until you’re with the ‘other’ family to do so? Who are you trying to impress? Because it better not be them.”
I continue ignoring her and walk into the bathroom.
The space is compact yet efficient, with everything I need in arm’s reach.
The walls are painted a pale shade of green, which Valentina so endearingly described as the color of puke after a dog overeats grass.
I personally like it. I start grabbing my toiletries, one by one, and placing them neatly into my bag.
“What are all these gift bags doing here? They’re full of expensive things, mija. Where did you get these? Did you buy these as gifts for them? I can’t believe you would do that when your poor mother is at home, lonely and sad. I like gifts too, mija.”
“They’re wedding favors, Mami!” I shout.
I grab my toothbrush off the holder on the sink. My eyes drift to the little empty space next to it where Valentina had hers. I sigh deeply.
Above the sink is a large, frameless mirror that stretches from one side of the wall to the other, reflecting every detail of my face.
I look at my reflection. My dress. My elaborate updo the on-site hairstylist did.
My makeup. It’s all so much. Even the necklace I’m wearing is from one of the wedding favors and cost at least $500.
I look like I belong, but I feel like such a fraud.
The shower, tucked in the opposite corner of the room, is enclosed with a clear glass door.
A small shelf is built into the wall, holding soap, shampoo, and conditioner bars.
I grab them all and shove them in my bag, starting to care less about the mess the soap will make against the rest of my products.
I step outside to see my mother sitting on the bed, looking through all of the wedding favors, probably finding things she wants to keep for herself. At this point, I wish she’d take them all and leave. I slowly approach the dresser to start filling my luggage up.
She scoffs, struggling to put on one of the tennis bracelets. “I just can’t even understand why you wanted to come here in the first place.”
Should I just tell her the truth, finally? That we’re dirt poor, and the restaurant will undoubtedly close now? That I came here in hopes of saving the restaurant and being the hero? That now everything is ruined because of her?
“I—”
But I hesitate. I already failed at impressing everyone here as I planned. I failed to show them how successful I was and how great we were doing. The last thing I need is for my mother to think I genuinely am the failure she’s been worried I am. I refuse to give her the pleasure of being right.
“—I knew there’d be free gifts. I wanted to grab some for you,” I finally say.
“Hmm. Well, that’s the one thing you’ve done right in a long time, Isa.
” She laughs. “Maybe next, you can change the horrid paint job in La Mariposa and make me proud. Or finally, get a new car, so we don’t have to go home in that basura your father gave you.
I can’t even believe you showed up in that. I’m so embarrassed they saw it.”
“Miss Piggy,” I murmur low enough that she doesn’t hear me.
“What was that?”
“I said, how is the restaurant? Everything running smoothly?”
“Oh, I didn’t check on that, mija,” she says while lying on the bed, looking at how the bracelet glimmers in the light.
“You haven’t even gone in to see the restaurant? What if they didn’t open? Or there was a robbery? Or the employees all quit and left the place?”
“Eh,” she says, shrugging. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“You don’t care, do you?” I turn around to look at my mother, my blood boiling.
Just as I was about to say something I would undoubtedly regret, I hear a banging on the door, jolting me back to reality.
“Isa. Open up.”
I rush to the door to find Sofia standing there, her makeup ruined again.
“Sofia.”
“You ruined everything!”
She barges inside and starts pacing around as if she’s looking for something but is not sure what it is.
Mari perks up and watches as if she just started her favorite telenovela.
“Sof, please. I didn’t—”
“Save it. I don’t want to hear it. I just want to know one thing.”
She grabs a note from her pocket, unfolds it, and holds it to my face. I take a few steps back to read it and bump into the bedpost.
Isabella will have the answer. You just need to trust her.
“So what is it then, Isa?”
I grab the note from her, inspecting it closer. It’s my father’s handwriting.
“Where did you get this?”
“Doesn’t matter. Tell me the answer.”
“Sofia, please. Where did you get this?”
“Gabriel gave it to me. He said it was a letter from Roberto to me. I didn’t believe him initially, but I have felt a lingering emptiness since our quince.
Since that fight. So I thought maybe he was talking about what happened that night and why we stopped talking.
So I invited you to the wedding, hoping to connect and finally get some answers. ”
“So you only invited me to find out the truth?”
“At first, yes. I just needed to know. But then I realized how much I missed you and wanted you in my life. You seemed so happy and excited to be back with the family. Now I realize it was all a lie.”
“It wasn’t a lie, Sof,” I cry.
I step toward her, but she moves backward, closer to the door.
“You single-handedly managed to ruin my wedding, Isa. And you embarrassed me. Don’t even worry about giving me the rings back that you stole. You can keep them. Use them for the inv—”
“Sofia,” I chime in quickly. “I didn’t take the rings.”
“Isa, stop lying to me. And to yourself. Aren’t you tired of it at this point? Just be real for once. All I wanted was closure, but I guess I’ll never get it. Neither of us will since it seems you don’t have the answer like he said you would.”
“I’m so sorry for everything. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Rosita, or anyone.”
“Well, you did,” Sofia cries.
“I know. I fucked everything up. I’m so sorry.”
Sofia’s face crumples, and for a moment, I think she’s going to say something else, but instead, she spins on her heel, her dress swishing around her ankles.
She storms out of the room, leaving a trail of silence in her wake.
The door slams behind her, echoing loudly in the empty space.
I stand frozen, staring at the spot where she was just moments ago.
The weight of everything presses down on me—the lies, the secrets, the guilt. I’ve destroyed her trust, shattered the fragile bond we had. My stomach churns as I replay her words in my head. She wanted closure, answers, and all I gave her was more pain.
I stand there, frozen, my breath catching in my throat.
The tension in the room hasn’t lifted. It’s heavier now, because even though Sofia’s gone, my mother is still here—watching everything.
She’s been standing in the corner this entire time, silent, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes piercing into me, just waiting to remind me why I should listen to her.
I don’t dare look at her, but I can feel the weight of her judgment bearing down on me. The knot in my stomach tightens, twisting into something unbearable. I want to leave. I want to run out of this room, out of this mess I’ve created, and never look back.
I sink slowly onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands.
The urge to flee is overwhelming, but my legs feel like lead.
What would be the point? Wherever I go, she’ll still be there.
She always is. Her silence is louder than any words she could say.
I can almost hear the thoughts running through her mind—You’re a disappointment. You’ve ruined everything.
I steal a glance at her, and she’s just standing there, unmoving. Watching me unravel. I half expect her to say something—to yell at me, to scold me—but she says nothing. And somehow, that’s worse. The shame crawls under my skin, itching, burning, making me want to disappear.
I close my eyes, willing myself to breathe, to think, to do something. Anything but stand here and crumble under her gaze. But nothing comes. Just the crushing weight of failure and the unbearable presence of my mother’s silent disapproval. There is nothing left to do but pack.