Page 91 of Back to You
So don’t let fear steal what is meant to be yours. Love with your whole heart, mi amor, the way you were meant to. Because if there is one thing I am certain of, it’s this—you have a heart made for love, and the world is better when you share it.
I am with you. Always.
Con todo mi amor,
Mami
I’m shaking. My hands, my breath, my entire fucking world. Because she knew, Mami had always known.
I spent so long convincing myself that pushing people away would protect me. That if I didn’t let myself love too deeply, I wouldn’t have to grieve when it was gone.
That if I held my heart close enough, tight enough, no one could ever take it from me. But now? Now, I see the truth.
Because my mom loved me fearlessly. She had loved me without hesitation, without fear, without pulling back to protect herself. She had loved with her whole heart—so much that even now, even in the unbearable absence of her, the love was still here.
It hadn’t disappeared, it hadn’t faded, it hadn’t died with her. Love was never something to be afraid of. I can hear her voice in my head, unwavering and certain, just as it always was when she spoke about love, when she spoke about my father—“Your papi was the love of my life, Mari.”
I can still see it, the way her whole face would soften when she said it. The way she would smile, tucking her hair behindher ear like she was seventeen again, falling for him for the first time. “Was it always easy?” she’d say, shaking her head. “No, mi amor. But was it worth it? Every damn time.”
She had loved him like breathing. She had loved him even when it was hard, even when it hurt. She had loved him even when they fought, even when they frustrated each other, even when life pulled them in different directions—because she had always, always chosen love.
When we lost him, when grief clawed its way into every part of our lives, she had never once regretted it, she had never once wished she had loved him less, she had never let fear steal her love away.
My breath catches, sharp and uneven, as I press the letter to my chest. It shakes against me, the paper crinkling beneath my fingers as something inside me cracks wide open.
Mami had always told me I was strong, but I wasn’t strong when I let fear make choices for me. I wasn’t strong when I walked away from the man I loved, convincing myself it was safer than losing him.
I had let fear control me. I had let it steal my love away, but love was never something to run from. My mom knew it, my dad knew it, and deep down, I had always known it, too.
I know what I have to do. I have to fight for the man I never stopped loving. I have to fight for Sebastian.
I have to choose love, even if it scares me, even if it makes my hands shake.
Even if it means stepping into something unknown, something vulnerable, something that could hurt, because my mom was right…love is always worth the risk.
CHAPTER 42
Mariana
Idon’t run to him, I don’t race out the door with my mother’s letter still clutched in my hand, tears streaking my face, ready to fall into his arms and beg for forgiveness.
No, instead, I sit. I sit at Anna’s kitchen table, the wood cool beneath my fingertips, the uneven grain pressing into my skin like an anchor. The overhead light flickers once, a too-bright thing against the darkness pooling outside.
The kitchen smells like spices, remnants of the dinner I ate, but barely tasted. A faint trace of coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the scent of dish soap. This should all feel comforting, it should feel safe, but right now I feel like I’m suffocating.
My hands are trembling. My vision is blurred, unfocused, hazy around the edges. My breath is coming in uneven, shallow bursts that don’t quite fill my lungs.
The letter is still in my hands, creased now from the way I keep gripping it too hard, like if I let go, it’ll disappear…like she’ll disappear.
I smooth my fingers over the paper, tracing the ink, memorizing the curves of her handwriting. My name, written by her hand, I swallow hard.
The ink is starting to smudge beneath my fingertips, my mother’s handwriting delicate but firm, her voice still somehow alive in every loop, every stroke of the pen.
It truly hits me in this moment, she’s never going to be here again. The feeling is like a sharp, gutting kind of grief — a visceral pain that twists my stomach, caves in my chest, and makes me want to sob until there’s nothing let inside me by hollow space.
But I don’t cry. I just sit with it.
I know that this isn’t something I can fix in a single night, this isn’t something I can patch up with apologies and hope. I hurt him—again. I didn’t just break his heart…I shattered it. Twice.
