19. Adriana
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Adriana
The news comes through Amelia.
It always comes through Amelia. She’s plugged into the gossip network in a way I never was, never wanted to be. But now I’m grateful for it.
“You need to sit down,” she says when I answer the phone.
“I’m already sitting.”
“Good. Because this is big.”
I’m on Enzo’s couch, laptop open, pretending to do research for my first class. He’s in his office on a call. The apartment is quiet except for the muffled sound of his voice through the closed door.
“Just tell me,” I say.
“Viviana’s baby isn’t Rafael’s.”
The words don’t register at first. I hear them, but they don’t make sense.
“What?”
“The baby. It’s not his. Apparently Rafael finally cornered her and demanded answers about the timeline, and she broke down and admitted the whole thing. She got pregnant before she came back. By someone else. Some guy she ran off with.”
I set down my laptop. My hands are shaking.
“How do you know this?”
“Because Rafael told Marco. You remember Marco, his friend from the club, the one who can’t keep his mouth shut about anything?
Marco told his sister, and she told half the city before lunch.
” Amelia’s voice is a mix of glee and disbelief.
“It’s everywhere, Ana. The whole story. Viviana ran off with some guy, nobody knows who, she won’t say, and when he dumped her, she came crawling back and tried to pass the baby off as Rafael’s.
Except the math didn’t work. She’s almost three months along, and she and Rafael only started sleeping together again like six weeks ago. ”
Three months. Six weeks.
The numbers I’d been avoiding. The math I didn’t want to do.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
“It gets better. Or worse, depending on your perspective. Your father found out.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“Someone told Fernando. I don’t know who, maybe Rafael, maybe one of the gossips, maybe Viviana herself in some delusional attempt at honesty. But he knows. And apparently he completely lost it. Threw her out of the house. Told her she’s dead to him. The whole dramatic disowning thing.”
I can picture it. My father’s face, purple with rage. The things he would have said. The cruelty he’s capable of when someone embarrasses him.
“Where is she now?”
“No idea. Staying with a friend, maybe? Or a hotel? Nobody knows and honestly nobody cares.” Amelia pauses. “Are you okay? You’ve gone really quiet.”
“I’m processing.”
“Take your time. It’s a lot.”
It is a lot. It’s everything I wanted. Viviana exposed, humiliated, thrown out the way I was. The golden child finally facing consequences. The lies finally catching up to her.
So why don’t I feel anything?
“Ana?”
“I’m here. I just…” I trail off. I don’t know how to finish that sentence.
“You thought you’d feel better,” Amelia says. Not a question.
“Yeah. I thought I would.”
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t know what I feel. Numb, maybe. Like it’s happening to someone else.
” I lean back against the couch, stare at the ceiling.
“She’s my sister. I know she’s awful. I know she’s done terrible things.
But she’s still my sister. And now she’s alone and pregnant and our father’s disowned her and I can’t even… ”
“You can’t even enjoy it.”
“No. I can’t.”
Amelia is quiet for a moment. When she speaks again, her voice is softer.
“That’s not a bad thing, you know. That you can’t enjoy it. It means you’re not like them. You’re not cruel just because you can be.”
“Sometimes I wish I was. It would make things easier.”
“No it wouldn’t. Trust me.” She sighs. “Look, I have to go. But call me later, okay? We can talk more. Or not talk. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks, Amelia.”
“Always.”
She hangs up. I sit there with the phone in my hand, trying to make sense of what I’m feeling.
Nothing. I’m feeling nothing.
No, that’s not true. There’s a hollow ache in my chest. The sense of an ending I can’t quite name.
The door to Enzo’s office opens. He emerges, phone in hand, and stops when he sees my face.
“What happened?”
“Viviana’s baby isn’t Rafael’s.”
He crosses to me slowly. Sits down on the couch. Waits.
So I tell him. Everything Amelia said. The timeline, the confession, my father throwing Viviana out. All of it.
When I’m done, he’s quiet for a moment.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Empty, I think. I wanted this. I wanted her to face consequences. But now that it’s happening…”
“It doesn’t feel like victory.”
“No. It just feels sad.” I shake my head. “Is that stupid? After everything she’s done to me?”
“It’s not stupid. She’s your sister. You’re allowed to feel complicated things about her.”
“I spent so long hating her. Or trying to hate her. And now…” I press my hands to my face.
“Here’s the stupid part. We were never close.
Not once. She spent our whole childhood looking at me like I was something stuck to her shoe, the plain one, the spare, the sister who existed to make her look better in a room.
I used to lie awake making up reasons she’d come around one day.
She never did.” I shake my head. “And I still don’t want this for her.
I wanted her to be sorry. I didn’t want her to be ruined.
I don’t even know what that says about me. ”
Enzo doesn’t say anything. Just puts his hand on my back, warm and grounding.
“I’m not going to forgive her,” I say. “I’m not that generous. But I don’t want to gloat either. I just want to be done. With all of it. The revenge, the drama, the constant circus. I want to move on.”
“Then move on.”
“Is it that simple?”
“It can be. If you let it.”
I drop my hands. Look at him.
“What about Rafael? He’s going to be…”
“Rafael’s not your problem. He made his choices. Now he gets to live with them.”
“But the divorce…”
“Will happen faster now. He’s got no reason to drag it out. No reason to hold on to something that was never a marriage in the first place.” Enzo’s jaw tightens. “If anything, this makes everything easier. For you.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. With Viviana exposed and Rafael reeling, the obstacles that were in my way have crumbled. The divorce will go through. My father’s already disowned me, so there’s nothing left for him to take. The war I thought I’d have to fight is already over.
I won.
So why does winning feel so hollow?
“Hey,” Enzo says. “Come here.”
He pulls me into his arms. I go without resistance, tucking myself against his chest, breathing in the familiar smell of him.
“You’re allowed to feel however you feel,” he says into my hair. “There’s no right way to react to this. No emotion you’re supposed to have. Just let yourself feel it.”
“I don’t know what I feel.”
“Then don’t name it. Just feel it.”
I close my eyes. Let the tension drain out of my body. Let myself exist in this moment, in his arms, without trying to make sense of anything.
It is over, all of it. The story I thought I was living, the wronged woman finally getting her justice, has reached the ending I once would have killed for.
But I don’t feel triumphant. I don’t feel vindicated.
I just feel tired.
And underneath the tiredness, something else. A question I’ve been avoiding.
What now?
We don’t talk for a while. Just sit there, tangled together on the couch, watching the afternoon light shift across the room.
My phone buzzes a few times. I ignore it. Probably more people wanting to dish about the scandal. I don’t have the energy.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Enzo says eventually.
“How can you tell?”
“Your forehead does this thing. Like you’re trying to solve a math problem.”
“Maybe I am.” I shift to look at him. “I keep thinking about what comes next. The revenge is done. Viviana’s exposed. Rafael’s going to sign the papers, probably today, if he has any sense. So what do I do now?”
“Whatever you want.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know what I want. I’ve spent so long reacting, to my family, to Rafael, to Viviana, that I don’t know what I actually want for myself.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to figure it out today.”
“But I want to figure it out. I want to know who I am when I’m not running from someone or fighting someone or trying to prove myself to them.
” I sit up, pull my knees to my chest. “My whole life, I’ve been defined by other people.
My father’s disappointment. My sister’s shadow.
Rafael’s wife. Your… whatever I am to you. ”
“You’re not defined by me.”
“Aren’t I? We’ve been together for weeks. I live in your apartment. I wear your clothes. I use your money…”
“I told you that money doesn’t…”
“I know what you told me. But it still feels like… like I traded one dependency for another. Like I can’t stand on my own.”
The words come out harsher than I intended. I see something flicker across his face. Hurt, maybe, or understanding.
“Is that how you feel?” he asks. “Dependent?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes. And I hate it.
” I press my forehead to my knees. “I hate that I don’t know who I am without someone else holding me up.
I hate that the first thing I did when my marriage fell apart was run to another man.
I hate that I’ve never had to take care of myself, never had to prove I could survive alone. ”
“You’re not weak, Ana.”
“I don’t feel strong.”
“Strength isn’t about doing everything alone.
It’s about knowing when to accept help and when to stand on your own feet.
” He reaches out, touches my arm. “You’ve been through hell these past few months.
You’ve made choices that terrified you. You’ve stood up to people who spent your whole life making you feel small. That’s not weakness. That’s courage.”
“Then why do I feel like I’m still running?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at me with those dark eyes that see too much.
“What do you need?” he asks finally. “Not what you think you should need. What do you actually need, right now?”
I think about it. Really think.