Chapter Twenty Bianca #2
They sat in silence for a while, the weight of the conversation lingering between them. The room was dim, lit only by the porch light shining through the window and the soft glow of a nearby lamp. Bianca shifted slightly, adjusted her position.
“You hurting?” Mila asked gently.
Bianca gave her a light smile. “Mostly just tired.”
“Do you have meds?”
“Something for the nausea.” Bianca exhaled. “In the kitchen.”
Mila stood. “I’ll get them.”
She walked into the kitchen. Bianca heard her opening cabinets, then running water. She returned with Bianca’s orange prescription bottle and a glass filled with water.
“Here you go,” she said softly.
Bianca took a pill and drank slowly. “Thank you.”
Mila sat back down, gently reached for the blanket, and pulled it over her mother’s legs.
“You want to lie down?” she asked.
Bianca nodded.
Mila helped her ease back onto the couch. She adjusted the pillows, tucking one behind Bianca’s back. Mila sat beside her again, not speaking—just resting her hand lightly on her mother’s forearm.
“I’m glad you came,” Bianca whispered.
“I am too,” Mila said. “I didn’t know how much I needed to.”
Bianca closed her eyes, the tension slowly leaving. Her heart was full.
And for the first time in a long time, they sat—not in grief or anger—but in something that felt more like love.
Daylight poured in through the kitchen window. Bianca slid a pan of bacon into the oven, scrambled some eggs in a bowl, and dropped a few slices of bread into the toaster. The smell of coffee filled the space as it began to brew.
Mila walked into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, her hair tousled.
“How was the bed?” Bianca asked without turning.
“Super comfy.” Mila leaned against the counter.
“Good.” Bianca moved around the kitchen while Mila watched.
“I need to tell you something,” Mila began. “Something happened during Christmas break.”
Bianca poured coffee into a mug. Then she stopped and tensed up. “What kind of something?”
“I was at a frat party during Christmas. My friend Keisha and I. Somebody slipped something into my drink—I think. Next thing I knew, I was passed out, naked, alone. I didn’t know what happened. Still don’t.”
Bianca froze. Tears brimmed her eyes, but she fought them.
Mila kept going. “I went to the clinic. They confirmed that I was raped.”
A sound escaped Bianca’s mouth—sharp and involuntary. Her body became tense immediately. The pain in her chest was sharp. She wanted to scream as she listened to her daughter’s words. Had she really heard them correctly? She set down her coffee mug. “Oh my God, Mila …”
“I didn’t tell you because, well … we don’t really talk like that. Not about real stuff. Not really. And I couldn’t tell Dad.”
Bianca’s eyes filled with tears this time. Her words choked. “That’s my fault. That’s completely my fault.” She reached for Mila’s hand, her voice trembling.
She prayed she didn’t pull away. She didn’t. “That’s the reason for the head coverings.” Bianca nodded toward Mila’s head. A silk scarf had replaced the toboggan. “Can I see?”
Mila looked at her, breathing deeply. She trembled, and it looked as if she might cry. Slowly, she reached up to remove the scarf. Bianca blinked rapidly, her eyes fixed on the bald spot at the crown of her daughter’s head. She closed her eyes. Her fingers shook as she touched Mila’s scalp.
“I want to transfer to another school. I can’t go back there next year.”
“Then you won’t,” Bianca said instantly. Her heart ached, but she was on the verge of anger. Her eyes narrowed. She blew wind from her mouth. “Whatever it takes.”
“And my hair is falling out from the stress of holding it in.”
Bianca gathered her into her arms and hugged her fiercely. “You don’t have to hold anything in anymore, not with me.”
Mila clung to her, not completely trusting but not fighting it, either.
Later that night they sat on the deck listening to the cicadas humming loudly in the distance.
The air was much cooler than it had been earlier in the day.
Bianca played music on the stereo—soft Spanish melodies.
The slow, gentle strum of an acoustic guitar filled the house and spilled out onto the porch.
Mila curled her knees to her chest on the old wicker love seat.
Bianca sat nearby, barefoot, the blanket around her shoulders and a mug of ginger tea in her hands.
Neither of them spoke for a while. They just relaxed against the whisper of music and the faint scent of the ocean. Bianca was just grateful for Mila’s presence.
“I didn’t think you’d believe me,” Mila said eventually, her voice barely above a whisper.
Bianca looked over at her, startled. “Why would you think that?”
“Because …” Mila hesitated. “You always told me to be smart and careful. To not ever put myself in sticky situations.”
A flicker of pain crossed Bianca’s face. “Mila, telling you to be careful doesn’t mean I would blame you. That wasn’t your fault. None of it.”
Mila nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the dark sky. “I guess a part of me thought you’d be disappointed that I had ended up in such a stupid situation.”
Bianca reached over and took her daughter’s hand.
“I am furious someone hurt you. If I knew who it was, I’d probably—” She blew air from her mouth, feeling the heat in her face.
Her lips pursed. “It’s probably good I don’t know who it is right now.
” Bianca leaned back in her chair. “I’m ashamed that we weren’t close enough for you to tell me sooner. But disappointed in you? Never, baby.”
Mila’s throat seemed to tighten. She looked down, trying to blink the tears away before they could fall. “I didn’t know how to talk to you.”
“That’s my fault too. I thought if I raised you to be strong like me, you’d never feel broken. I didn’t realize I was teaching you to hide from me. It forced you to run to your father. You two were closer, I get it—he’s a great father—but it was hurtful watching you slip away from me.”
Mila looked at her.
Bianca sighed, then leaned in closer. “I want to fix this, Mila. Not just what happened at the party, but us too. I want us to be okay.”
Mila’s lip trembled. “I want that too.”
Bianca reached for her hand. “Then let’s start here. Let’s just … take care of each other for a while.”
Mila took her mother’s hand, and for the first time in a long while the silence between them felt safe.
When Bianca finally spoke, her voice was calm but firm. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about wanting to forget. I get it. I do,” Bianca continued. “But baby … forgetting and healing aren’t the same.”
Mila sighed. “It hurts just to think about it. I don’t even remember the faces, just the feeling. The fear of waking up and finding out you’ve been violated—in the worst way.”
“He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it,” Bianca said. “The fact that he’s walking the same earth as you and allowed to still breathe.”
“I don’t think he should either,” Mila admitted. “But what can I do? I don’t know who it was. I don’t even know who to blame.”
“You don’t need to have all the answers today,” Bianca said. “But there are people who can help you figure it out. People who deal with this all the time—investigators, advocates, attorneys who specialize in cases like this.”
Mila hesitated. “What if it doesn’t go anywhere? What if it only makes it worse?”
Bianca nodded gently. “That’s the risk. But doing nothing—carrying it alone—that’s what’s already making it worse.”
Mila’s shoulders sank. “I don’t want it to consume my mind—control my life anymore.”
Bianca looked at Mila, her eyes gentle. “Then let’s take your control back. On your terms.”
Mila looked at her mother for a long moment. Bianca hoped that she knew there was no judgment—only fierce love.
“What’s the first step?” she asked.
“Well … we can talk to a victim’s advocate. I’m sure there’s a center here in Sonoma County who works with survivors. They’ll know how to handle it gently, so you don’t feel any more traumatized than you already are. No pressure. Just options.”
“Should I tell Dad?”
“Only if you want to, baby.”
“I don’t.” Mila took a deep breath. “I don’t want him sharing it with Jen. I don’t like her.”
“You mentioned that before, that you don’t like her. What has she done to make you feel that way?”
Mila sighed heavily. “I heard her on the phone once with one of her girlfriends. She said something about you—that she thinks Dad is still in love with you, even though he’s mad. And she said that she was tired of living in your shadow. Tired of being compared to you.”
“She said that?” Bianca’s posture straightened, her interest piqued.
Something stirred inside her, a flicker of satisfaction she tried to hide.
A subtle smile crept into the corner of her mouth.
She hoped Mila hadn’t noticed. Still in love with her?
Even if it wasn’t true, the possibility sparked something inside her.
“Yes that, and she wished you would just go away already.”
Bianca froze. The words hit hard. A lump swelled in her throat, and for a moment she couldn’t speak.
Her mind raced, her thoughts scattered, then gathered around a single idea—the texts.
The ones from that unknown number. Could it be her?
Bianca didn’t know. But the possibility was there, and she couldn’t dismiss it.
“We won’t involve your dad just yet. We’ll do this together—you and me.”
Mila nodded. “Okay.”
Bianca felt something steadying inside her. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say it was hope.