Page 40 of Back to You
She squeezes my hand, her grip weak but still full of the same warmth, the same unwavering love she’s always had for me. "That man… ese asqueroso… he wasn’t a good man, ripping you away from your friends and family the way that he did. But Sebastian?" She shakes her head. "That boy has loved you since you were kids. He has always looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky. Like you, mi princesa, are the sun his world revolves around."
A sob threatens to break free, but I force it down, my throat burning—Mami doesn’t know everything.
She knows Andrew isolated me, that he slowly cut me off from my friends and family, that he made me feel like I had no one but him. She knows how he chipped away at my confidence, how he controlled every aspect of my life until I wasn’t sure who I was anymore. But she doesn’t know the worst of it.
She doesn’t know about the bruises, the apologies that came too late, the way I convinced myself that if I just loved him enough, he would stop.
She doesn’t know that there were nights when I was too afraid to move, too afraid to breathe the wrong way, too afraid of what would set him off next.
She already carries enough guilt, enough pain, enough regret for not being able to protect me from the things she does know—if she ever found out the truth, it would break her.
So I let her believe that Andrew’s worst crime was keeping me away. That the damage he did was only emotional. That the scars he left behind are invisible. It’s easier that way.
Her grip on my hand tightens, and I blink rapidly, forcing back the flood of emotion threatening to consume me.
“You know what your gut is telling you, Mija. You just need to trust yourself.”
I bite my lip, looking up, trying desperately to blink away the tears. I want to believe her. I want to trust myself.
But how can I? How can I trust myself when I chose Andrew? When I stayed with him? When I convinced myself for years that it was love? I made the wrong choice once. What if I do it again? What if I take a risk, go heart-first into this with Sebastian… and it all crumbles?
Besides, I broke his heart once. Why would he even want to take that risk with me again? My mother must see the war raging inside me because she squeezes my hand tighter, grounding me.
"You are my daughter," she says fiercely. "You are braver than you think and stronger than you can even imagine. You may be bruised, but you are not broken, mija. You just need to remember who you are."
Her words hit me like an earthquake, shaking something loose inside me, something I’ve buried for too long. I want to believe her. I need to believe her.
Because if I don’t…Then I’m not sure I’ll ever find my way back to myself again.
I sit beside my mother’s bed for hours, talking about everything and nothing all at once. We weave through memories, through laughter, through stories that I’ve heard a million times but never tire of.
She talks about my papi like he’s still in the other room, like he might walk in any second, still young, still full of life. She tells me about the way he used to dance with her in the kitchen, spinning her around like they were the only two people in the world.
How he used to press his hand to her stomach when she was pregnant with me, whispering to me in Spanish, telling me stories before I was even born.
She tells me about myself, too—about the little girl who used to pick mangoes from the neighbor’s tree even though she wasn’t supposed to. The one who could never keep still during mass, who sang too loudly during Christmas novenas, who had dreams bigger than her body could hold.
She tells me all the things I used to be, all the things she sees in me still, even when I can’t see them myself—I cling to every word, because I don’t know how many more of these conversations we’ll have.
Eventually, exhaustion tugs at her, her words slowing, her voice softening. She blinks at me sleepily, reaching for my hand one last time before sleep claims her, her fingers curling weakly around mine.
“I love you, mi amor,” she murmurs, her voice thin but sure. “Never forget who you are.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, pressing a kiss to her hand. “I love you too, Mami.”
Her breathing evens out, slow and steady, and I stay exactly where I am, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, counting each breath like a prayer.
The hospital room is quiet, the dim light casting soft shadows across the walls. I lean back in the chair, tipping my head against the headrest, staring up at the ceiling tiles.
I close my eyes, and the first thing I see is him—Seba’s smile. The way his eyes softened when he looked at me in the water. The way his voice wrapped around me when he whispered, I’d do anything for you.
I exhale shakily and reach into my purse, pulling out my phone. I don’t even think about it—I just open our text thread, scrolling through old messages. I re-read the stupid jokes, the early morning check-ins, the effortless way we fell back into something familiar.
My thumb hovers over his contact- for a long moment, I just stare. I could call him. I could tell him the truth, tell him that I miss him—that I think about him more than I should. That I don’t just want to be his friend, or I don’t know how to be just his friend.
I could tell him everything. Instead, I press the power button, locking the screen, and set the phone down on the small table beside my mother’s bed.
Not yet. I’m not ready. But maybe, just maybe, I want to be.
