Page 61 of The Diávolos: Part Two
Eldora walks to the closet and pulls out a box of my mother’s trinkets. My fingers tremble as they graze the cold metal of the case. I hesitate before touching anything, as if breaking the stillness will shatter the illusion of her presence.
Old lipstick, some jewelry, and folded pieces of paper.
I unfold a note and my breath hitches.
Angelica,
Whatever the world brings your way, don’t ever forget that you’re a fighter.
I might not be strong enough, but you have the power to conquer whatever battles you face.
Your father and I loved each other before you were born, but things changed.
I hope you won’t blame yourself for what happens next.
I love you, my little baby.
Tears spring to my eyes as I reread my mother’s words, passing my fingers over her handwriting.Mamamust’ve written this just before she died. What else could she be referring to when she said not to blame myself?
I swipe my face. “Why didn’t anyone tell me these were here?”
Eldora’s gaze softens, her brows slightly furrowed. “She told me not to give you the box until you were ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“The truth.”
I never wanted to go through mymama’s things before, reluctant to confront the past. But now that I know she’d written me letters, I wish I’d looked sooner. The weight of her loss suddenly bears down on me again, and my heart aches.
“How do you know I am now?”
“Instinct. And you’ve never asked to see any of her things before. I believe it’s time you hear your mother’s story.”
Not able to stomach being in the room any longer, I step out the door and head back down the steps. I can still hear the laughter, the arguments, and the whispers of conversations that once filled the house, now only resonating in the recesses of my mind.
When I catch a glimpse of the living room, a memory hits me in the face.
“I’ve told you many times, Iris, not in front of the girl.” Mybabaseethes, anger rolling off him.
“There’s never a right time, Peter! You’re always either working, busy, not home, or just not willing to talk. It’s been years!” my mother shouts, the desperation clear in her voice.
“Iris, darling,” he soothes, approaching my mother slowly and putting his hands on her slumped shoulders.
I watch this interaction from the top of the stairs. I was supposed to be in bed, but I couldn’t fall asleep, so I stepped out of my room to ask mymamafor a glass of water. I am too scared to go all the way to the kitchen by myself. When I heard them talking, I decided to eavesdrop.Mamalooks so tired, the bags under her eyes dark.
“You worry too much,agápi mou.I’ve got it under control,” my father reassures my mother.
“Lies! You’ve said this countless times, Peter. I did not marry you to get stuck in the same situation as before,” mymamacrieshelplessly, tears now wetting her cheeks. “You told me you’d get me out.”
“And I did, Iris. Look at where you are.” He points around the foyer.
He has his shoes and jacket on, so he must be getting ready to leave.Mamahates it when he leaves at night because he doesn't come home until the morning.
“You know what I mean, Peter. Out, out. You said you’d stop it. I can’t handle it anymore. It haunts me!”
I don't know what mymamais referring to, but it makes my heart hurt to see her so upset. She has started acting differently. She isn’t the joyful mother from before. She cries and looks sad all the time.
My legs start to feel numb from standing in one spot for too long, so I shift on my feet. The floorboard under me lets out a cry.Oh, no.
