Upstairs, I take a few steadying breaths. My clothes feel suffocating, so I strip them off, kick off my shoes, and pin up my hair. I walk to the kitchen, splash cold water on my face, then pour myself a glass of wine.
I sink into the couch, taking a long sip. My heartbeat slows, but the feeling lingers.
Something is wrong.
And then my phone rings—shattering everything.
CHAPTER 2
Mariana
Istep out of my car, the crisp autumn air wrapping around me. After the call about my mom, I packed whatever I could and drove straight here. Home. Lake City, Colorado.
The scent of damp leaves lingers in the air, and trees stretch overhead, their canopies glowing in shades of gold, copper, and burnt orange.
I’ve always loved autumn here. Not just for its beauty, but for the way the town comes alive—the annual harvest festival, pumpkin carving contests, the farmers’ market brimming with fresh apples, homemade jams, and warm, flaky pies. It doesn’t get better than that.
Sometimes, I wonder why I ever left. I tell myself not to dwell on regrets, but some days, they sit heavy on my chest, impossible to ignore. Life in Seattle was supposed to be better. Easier. But looking back at the last few years, I can’t help but wonder…What if I had just stayed?
When Hilda called and told me my mom fainted during game night, my heart sank. She wouldn’t give details—just that my mom had fallen ill and needed to come home. Fast. I’ve known Hilda my whole life—more like a Tia than a family friend.
She was the first person my mom met when she moved here from Puerto Rico, and they’ve been inseparable ever since. She owns Ink & Paper, my favorite bookstore—and really, the only bookstore in town.
I’ve spent countless hours there, curled up with a book, losing myself in different worlds. Reading has always been an escape for me—my own personal movie playing in my mind, A break from the chaos of life.
Before heading to the hospital, Hilda asked me to stop by. So I do. The moment I step inside, the bell chimes softly, and I breathe in the familiar scent of aged paper and ink. God, I missed this.
I spot Hilda weaving between shelves, likely expecting another customer. But then she sees me. Her eyes widen, her lips part in surprise, and before I can say a word, she rushes forward, wrapping me in a hug so tight, I feel like a child again.
I sink into her warm embrace, breathing her in. “It’s good to see you too, Tía. I’ve missed you so much.”
Being here, wrapped in Hilda’s arms, I realize just how much I’ve missed her. The warmth, the familiarity. God, I need to get it together before I start sobbing in the middle of this bookstore. Being away from home has been harder than I ever let myself admit.
“Don’t you ever leave for that long again!” Hilda scolds, squeezing me tighter. “We’ve all missed you, especially your mom,” Her voice dips into something softer. Sadder.
I sigh, guilt gnawing at me. “I know. I should have been around more. I can’t believe it’s been this long since my last visit.”
“That’s because of your no-good husband; may God rest his soul. He never wanted to be around us.” Her eyebrows furrow.
“Hey! That’s not fair. He loved coming here. He just worked a lot. And he missed me when I traveled too long.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. Once again, I’m defending him. I don’t know why—why I still fall into the role I played when he was alive. Why is it easier to protect his image than to admit the truth? Maybe because if I agree with them, I’d have to face the real question. Why did I stay? And I don’t have an answer for that.
I can’t do this right now. I can’t keep pretending that Andrew was something he wasn’t. So, I latch onto the only thing that matters. “What’s going on with Mami? What exactly happened?”
“I told you already, Mari. We were playing dominos, and she was kicking our asses, when out of nowhere, she got up to make another margarita and fainted. We rushed to her, and I called an ambulance. She’s still in the hospital now.”
My stomach twists, my patience fraying. “Okay, but what is actually wrong with her? Why did she faint?”
Hilda crosses her arms. “You’ll have to talk to her about that.”
“I’m talking to you.”
Her expression sharpens, a warning in her eyes. “Watch that tone. She wants to talk to you directly, and I’m going to honor her wishes.”
I exhale sharply, forcing myself to back down. I know I pissed her off now, but I’m scared. She hasn’t told me anything, and I just want my mom to be okay. After losing my dad, the thought of losing her terrifies me.
I know I won’t win this fight. So instead, I say, “I’m heading to the hospital.”
