Page 68 of Back to You
“You think I don’t know you?” she murmured, a quiet laugh slipping out as she shook her head. “You’ve been protecting yourself from love since you were a little girl. Always so independent. Always needing to do everything on your own.”
I looked away. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“No,” she agreed. “But letting someone love you isn’t a weakness either.”
My stomach twisted. She was right. I knew she was right. But knowing something and believing it were two different things.
“It’s not just about losing them, Mami,” I whispered.
Her gaze stayed steady, patient. “Then tell me what it is about.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Andrew…” I forced his name out. “He hurt me, Mami.”
She stilled. Her fingers tightened around mine. “What?
“You always told me to call you, Mami. But I didn’t. Because I knew if you heard my voice, you’d hear the truth.The truth I couldn’t admit to myself. That I wasn’t okay. That my marriage wasn’t okay. That I wasn’t safe.”
A tear slipped down my cheek. “Andrew. He…he wasn’t who you thought he was.”
Her expression shifted—shock, confusion, then something darker.
I exhaled sharply. “It wasn’t just words, Mami. It was control. It was…” I sucked in a breath, my voice barely a whisper. “It was bruises. Shoving. Grabbing my wrist so hard I thought he’d snap it. Screaming in my face so close I could feel his spit on my skin. And every time I thought about leaving, every time I even tried…”
A sob cracked through me. “He made me believe I had nowhere to go.”
She made a soft, pained noise—a sound that broke something inside me. “Mariana,” she whispered, eyes glassy. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew.” My voice shook, “I knew that if I called you, if I heard your voice, I’d break. I knew you’d tell me to come home. And I knew…that if I let myself hope and then failed to leave…it would be worse.”
Her breathing was uneven now, grief and guilt lining every inch of her face.
“Mami, he convinced me I was nothing. That I was only worth something because he loved me. And I let him. I let him take everything away from me.”
Her grip on my hand tightened—weak, but full of fury. Her dark eyes flashed, and for the first time in months, she looked like herself. Like Lucia Vargas, the woman who could level a grown man with just one look.
She reached up, cupping my cheek, “No.”
The ferocity in her voice startled me.
“Ese cabrón didn’t take anything from you, Mariana.” She pushed herself up straighter, her voice gaining strength, the rage fueling her. “That man?” She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Ese hombre no era hombre. Él era basura. He was nothing. A coward, a weak, pathetic excuse for a man who had to tear you down because he knew—HE KNEW he could never stand next to you as an equal.”
My throat tightened, tears pooling in my eyes. She wasn’t done.
“And you?” She pointed at me, her chest rising and falling as her breath shook with emotion. “Tu, mi amor? You survived. You endured. You made it out. No me digas ni por un segundo that he took anything from you—because look at you. You are here. You are standing, breathing, fighting, even when you think you can’t. He tried to break you, and he failed.”
She gripped my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. Her eyes blazed with something raw. Something fierce. “You are my daughter. Tu eres boricua. You come from a long line of women who do not bow. We do not break. He tried to destroy you, and look at you—you are still here.”
My lip quivered, a sob pushing at my chest. She exhaled, softer now, cupping my face like she used to when I was little. “You are not what he did to you, Mariana. You are not his words. You are not his hands. You are yours. Always you.”
I broke. A ragged sob tore through me, shaking me down to my bones. My face crumpled, tears spilling freely now, no longer held back, no longer swallowed down like I had learned to do for years. “I don’t know how to let someone love me the right way, Mami. I don’t know how to need someone without being afraid. Without waiting for the hurt.”
She reached up, her hands trembling but steady, and wiped the tears from my face like she had when I was little. “Mariana,mi amor… You already know how.” Her voice was fierce, but so damn gentle, like she was willing me to believe it. “The way you love me. The way you love Anna. The way you loved your father. Dios mío, the way you still love that man even now. You already know what love is. And Sebastian?” She shook her head, gripping my chin, making me look at her. “He is not Andrew. He never was. He never will be.”
I sucked in a shaky breath, my throat aching.
She gave me a knowing, tearful smile. “And you? You were never broken, mi vida. Just scared. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”
“Te quiero, Mami.”
