Chapter 11
LORETTA
The rich, savory aroma of Jamón Ibérico wrapped around the kitchen like a warm embrace I could almost see.
It clung to the slow rhythm of the evening.
Today was the first time I had cooked in Rafael’s house since moving in.
Usually, the staff handled everything with quiet, practiced efficiency.
But this evening I had asked.
No—insisted.
I wanted this one thing to be mine.
Tess stayed close by my side the entire time, her small hands guiding mine with surprising steadiness.
She had learned my world quickly—faster than most adults ever bothered to try.
She placed utensils into my palm with care, corrected the angle of my grip with gentle nudges, and never once made me feel like I was fragile.
“Here,” she murmured softly, placing the wooden spoon into my hand.
“Thank you, Tess,” I said, smiling toward her voice.
She responded with a faint hum of acknowledgment.
Ever since Tess and I had reunited on my wedding day to Rafael, the little girl had begun to bloom in tiny, precious ways.
Not dramatically. But in quiet, almost imperceptible shifts that I noticed only because I had learned to listen with everything I had.
She still didn’t speak much, but her silence felt less heavy now.
Her progress warmed something deep inside my chest.
But it wasn’t one-sided.
Being with Tess was healing me too.
After years of living trapped in my own shell of darkness and silence, I finally had someone to talk to—even if that “conversation” was mostly me speaking into space and her answering in touches, hums, or the occasional soft word.
It still felt like breathing again.
Earlier in the day, I had discreetly asked the head cook what Rafael’s favorite dish was.
“Jamón Ibérico, senora,” she had answered with a knowing smile I could hear even if I couldn’t see it.
I had never tasted the cured Spanish ham myself despite living in Spain for nearly two years.
I knew it by description only.
Tonight, I wanted to surprise Rafael with it.
Not out of obligation.
Not because I was expected to perform the role of wife in a house that often felt too large and too quiet for me.
But because something had shifted inside me.
Something I couldn’t fully name yet.
Ever since the day Rafael had coldly sworn vengeance on the surgeon who removed my eyes, our interactions at home had been almost nonexistent.
At the office, we were flawless.
No one suspected that Rafael and his quiet personal assistant were married. Not a single colleague had ever looked at us and seen anything other than professional distance.
After all, only a handful of trusted guests had attended our wedding, and Rafael had made no effort to announce it to the world.
He maintained that professional distance with ruthless precision.
At work, I was never Loretta, his wife.
I was his assistant.
Nothing more.
At home, however, the silence was different.
He gave me space—respecting the boundaries I had drawn so sharply after everything I had survived.
Or perhaps he simply accepted that I existed in his life without needing to be close to him.
Or worse... perhaps he was satisfied with the arrangement.
That I took care of Tess.
That I stayed out of his way.
Either way, the silence between us had grown thick and heavy.
Tonight, though, I wanted to change it—if only for a moment.
After our last real conversation—when he had told me, in that low, controlled voice of his, that I couldn’t spend the rest of my life imprisoned by what had been done to me—his words had refused to leave me.
I turned toward the counter again, grounding myself in motion, my fingers trailing along the cool marble edge until I found the wooden spoon resting where I had left it.
The kitchen was warm now, alive with scent and steam and the faint sound of Tess shifting beside me.
“Tess, sweetheart,” I said gently, “can you bring me the small bowl of olives from the fridge? The one with the blue lid. And then the fresh bread from the basket on the second shelf.”
I heard her soft, careful footsteps padding across the floor, the faint creak of the refrigerator door opening, and the gentle rustle of containers being shifted.
A small pause.
Then the soft clink of ceramic as she located the bowl.
When she returned, she placed it into my hands first, then reached back for the bread.
The loaf was still warm. I could feel it through the cloth wrapping, heat lingering like reassurance.
“Thank you, Tess,” I said, smiling in her direction even though she couldn’t see it. “You’re such a good helper.”
She made that small humming sound again—soft, almost musical. Her version of acknowledgment. And I felt her drift closer, shoulder brushing mine briefly before she settled into place again.
We worked like that until the dish was complete.
By the time I finished arranging everything, the kitchen had been transformed by scent alone.
The Jamón Ibérico lay in delicate, translucent folds.
The crusty bread was sliced unevenly but carefully.
The olives sat glossy and dark in their bowl, and a simple drizzle of olive oil tied everything together with a faint, peppery richness.
Even I could tell it smelled like something special.
A sound broke the quiet.
A sharp inhale.
I turned slightly toward the doorway, already knowing who it was before she spoke.
Maria.
The head cook stood there, and I could hear it in her silence first—the pause of someone caught off guard by what they didn’t expect to see.
“Madre mía...” she whispered finally. “Senora Loretta, this smells incredible. You made Jamón Ibérico perfectly. The balance, the presentation... How did you—”
She stopped abruptly.
I could almost hear the correction forming in her mind before she swallowed it. The unspoken assumption: a blind woman shouldn’t be able to do this.
I tilted my head slightly toward her voice, calm and unbothered.
“I had an excellent assistant,” I said evenly.
My hand reached out instinctively until I found Tess’s shoulder.
I brushed her hair gently, fingers combing through soft strands.
She leaned into it immediately, as if she had been waiting for that exact reassurance.
“She helped me with everything,” I continued. “She’s very clever with finding things and keeping order. I couldn’t have done it so well without her.”
Maria’s voice softened at once, warmth replacing surprise. “Well done, both of you. Senor Rafael will be very pleased.”
A small pause followed that name.
Senor Rafael.
Even hearing it spoken aloud made something in my chest tighten faintly.
I hoped so.
I wasn’t sure why it mattered so much that he would be pleased.
But it did.
Once everything was ready, I turned slightly toward where I knew Maria stood.
“Could you please go to Rafael’s study and tell him dinner is ready?” I asked politely. Then, after a brief hesitation I couldn’t quite hide, I added, “And that... I have a surprise for him.”
My fingers tightened faintly around the edge of the counter as soon as the words left my mouth.
“Of course, senora.”
Maria’s voice carried that familiar respectful tone, followed by a faint bow I could hear more than see.
Her footsteps retreated quickly after that, the soft click of the door marking her departure and leaving the kitchen quieter than before.
For a moment, I just stood there.
Still.
Listening to the house settle around me again.
Then I moved.
I served three plates with careful, deliberate hands—slowing down more than necessary, not because I doubted myself, but because I refused to let even a single detail slip.
My fingertips traced the edges of each dish, checking boundaries, confirming placement through texture and temperature rather than sight.
One for me.
One for Tess.
One for Rafael.
He had said it once during our last real conversation in this house—that we should begin sharing breakfast and spend the evenings playing games together, like a real couple.
Yet after that night, he never acted on it.
Not once.
No breakfast together.
No games in the evening.
No follow-through at all.
He barely spoke to me anymore, and when he did, it was clipped and distant, as though even ordinary conversation had become something to ration.
Most mornings he was already gone before I fully woke. The house would feel emptier than it should, even with Tess’s presence beside me.
Most evenings, he returned late or finished eating separately.
Our lives moved in parallel lines that never quite crossed.
I had told myself I didn’t mind.
Until tonight.
Tess followed me out of the kitchen without a sound.
Her small feet padded beside mine, matching my pace instinctively.
I could always tell where she was not just by sound, but by the subtle shifts in air and space around me.
Children didn’t always realize how much presence they carried.
I balanced my own plate carefully while she insisted on helping with the tray holding the other two. Her determination was quiet but firm.
At the long dining table, I heard her set everything down with deliberate precision.
No clatter.
Just soft, controlled placement after placement.
Mine went on the left side where I usually sat.
Rafael’s at the head.
Hers right beside mine.
Then came the chairs.
A soft scrape of wood against marble floor.
Another.
Then a third.
She was arranging things in order.
“Good job, Tess,” I whispered, warmth spreading through my chest before I could stop it.
I reached for her carefully, guiding her small hands. “Come here.”
She allowed me to help her climb into her seat, her body light and trusting as I lifted her just enough.
Once she was settled, I trailed my fingers along the table’s edge until I found my own place.
I sat down.
Folded my hands in my lap.
And waited.
It didn’t take long before I heard his footsteps.
My body reacted before my thoughts did.
My heart picked up speed.
Even without sight, I knew exactly when he entered the space.
As he drew closer, Rafael’s familiar scent reached me.
I forced myself to sit straighter.
To soften my expression.