Chapter 28 #2
"Eat," she commands. "You look like a vampire on a diet."
I sit at the island, picking at the food.
"I'm fine, Flor."
"You're not fine," David says, opening a beer. "You're checking your phone every two minutes."
I glare at him.
"I'm, I’m just… She's in the desert. Signal is spotty."
"She's healing, Dorian," Flor says gently, leaning across the counter. "You need to trust her. And you need to trust yourself."
"I trust her," I snap, the frustration leaking out. "It's the waiting. The lack of control. I feel... useless."
"That's the work," David says, pointing the beer bottle at me.
"That feeling right there? That need to fix, to control, to manage? That's what you have to kill. Letting go is harder than fighting, Dorian. It takes more strength to sit in this kitchen and eat pasta than it does to beat a man half to death."
I stare at him. He's right. And I hate it.
"I'm trying," I grate out. "I'm staying away. I'm letting the police handle Leah. What else do you want from me?"
"Patience," Flor says softly. "Just patience. She's building a bridge back to you, Dorian. Don't burn it down by running across it too fast."
* * *
Della
The Grand Canyon: Forgiveness
If Arches was about resilience, Monument Valley was about perspective—not just emotional, but spiritual. Walking through the Navajo Tribal Park felt like stepping onto hallowed ground.
Today—day ten since we left San Diego—we are driving to Grand Canyon.
I love being at the wheel, watching the road and landscapes unspool in front of me, while Silvia loves being the copilot, playing DJ and keeping me entertained with funny stories. We are the perfect rhythm for the road.
“Oh, this one is good, Chiquita! This is for us,” Silvia says, cranking the volume knob.
The opening guitar riff of Shania Twain’s “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” blasts through the speakers.
Next thing I know, the windows are down, the desert wind is whipping our hair into a frenzy, and we are singing at the top of our lungs, off-key and reckless.
“The best thing about being a woman
Is the prerogative to have a little fun and
Oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy!”
For three minutes, there is no trauma. No past. Just the wind, the music, and us.
We arrive at the South Rim just as the sun is beginning to dip, casting long, orange shadows across the vast expanse. The sheer scale of it makes my brain stutter.
It swallows sound, ego... pain. Everything feels insignificant against this kind of time.
We find a quiet spot away from the main lookout points, sitting on a flat rock near the edge.
"It makes you feel small, doesn't it?" Silvia says, her legs dangling over the abyss.
"Tiny," I agree. "Like a speck of dust."
"Good," she nods. "Specks of dust don't have to carry the weight of the world."
We sit in silence for a long time, watching the colors shift from orange to violent violet.
"I feel guilty," I whisper. The words are out before I can stop them. "About everything. About the baby. About my life after… About coming back and leaving him again."
Silvia turns to me, her expression fierce. "Stop. Right there."
"But Sil…"
"No," she says firmly, grabbing my hand and squeezing hard. "I think everything is meant to be. Life has its own way of taking us where we need to be, even if the road is messy. You didn't leave because you were weak, Della. You left to stay alive."
Her voice softens. "And the baby... That wasn't your fault. That was a crime, not a mistake. You have to forgive the girl you were after the abuse. She was doing her best to survive."
I look out at the canyon, the tears blurring the view. Forgive the girl you were.
I close my eyes and picture her—twenty-one, terrified, waking up in a hospital bed alone. I’ve been so angry at her. For leaving. For being weak. For hiding.
I forgive you, I think, projecting the thought into the vast, empty space. You survived. You got us here.
A weight I didn't know I was carrying lifts from my chest, carried away by the canyon wind.
I take a deep breath, and for the first time, the air fills my lungs completely.
* * *
Della
Las Vegas: More than survival
After two more days of red dust and silence, and another online session with Dr. Davis we leave the canyon for the screaming neon chaos of the Strip. It’s jarring, ridiculous, expensive, and exactly what we need.
We stop at a gas station to fill the tank when my phone pings with a notification. My banking app. I stare at the screen, eyes widening. Dorian has wired a very generous amount into my account. Enough to buy a brand new car.
My thumb hovers over the transfer button, ready to send it back, when a new message from him slides onto the screen.
Don’t send it back, Della. Please. Enjoy it with Silvia. Gamble it, if you like. Have fun. Money means nothing to me if I cannot see you happy. I just want to know you are smiling again.
I bite my lip, torn.
"Chiquita, Dorian sent money. A lot of it."
Silvia peeks at the screen.
“Wow!” Then looks at me and softens her voice “I think it’s his way of being close to you when he’s not, Della.”
I look at the phone. I just want to know you are smiling again.
I take a deep breath and shove the guilt aside.
“Then let’s have fun, Chiquita! I always dreamt of staying in a Fountain View suite at the Bellagio.”
Silvia’s eyes light up.
“Now you’re talking,” and continues with a childish, innocent funny face. “Can we add room service and a show at Caesars Palace while we’re at it?”
I grin, linking my arm through hers.
“I have a better idea.”
* * *
Two and a half hours later, we are transformed.
We hit the Valentino boutique like a hurricane. Now, we stand in front of the full-length mirror in our suite.
Silvia is in a silver, dangerous slip dress. And me... I’m in a sleek, liquid gold cocktail dress, maybe a little too short. Definitely too expensive.
And I feel… beautiful.
"Okay," Silvia says, holding up her phone. "Selfie time."
We strike a pose—fierce, laughing, alive.
"Send it to him," Silvia urges gently.
I hesitate for only a second but then I attach the photo, and type:
Thanks. It is fun. Could get used to it.
I catch myself smiling as I hit send. My heart gives a little flutter. I’m flirting.
The smile fades for a split second—Is it too soon?
No.
This time, I will not question everything and overthink my own joy.
If I feel like it, then I’ll do it. I trust myself. And I leave the phone in the room as we head for the club.
* * *
The rest of the night is a blur of sensory overload. We dance until my feet burn in my heels. We laugh until our sides ache, screaming the lyrics to songs we barely know.
Somewhere after midnight, we’re back to our suite, on the balcony overlooking the fountains.
"To survival," Silvia says, raising her half-empty champagne glass.
"To survival," I echo, clinking my glass against hers.
But as the bubbles settle on my tongue, I realize something.
Survival isn't enough anymore.
Survival is just staying alive.
I want more. I want the mess, the love, the risk. I want to live.
I reach up and touch the teal sapphire necklace, cool against my heated skin.
It was a promise of clarity, and I finally have it.
I'm ready.