It buzzes again. And again. The phone burns in my purse, each vibration a reminder that he can find me whenever he wants. He just chooses not to.
An hour passes. Maybe two. The sun climbs higher, turning the humidity into something that presses against my skin like wet wool.
A bar catches my eye, dark interior promising air conditioning and amnesia. My mother used to say I had her weakness for pretty bottles and ugly mornings. The pull is physical, muscle memory of a thousand nights trying to forget.
I stand outside for a full minute, hands fisting at my sides. The neon sign flickers: Havana Nights. Through the window I can see amber bottles lined up like soldiers. Like Nico's everything, ordered and disciplined and containing something that could destroy you if you let it.
I don't go in. Not because I'm strong. Because Nico ruined this escape route too: made me want to be present, to feel everything sharp and clear, and now I can't unknow what clarity tastes like.
My phone buzzes again. I glance at it, expecting another strategic check-in from my security assignment.
Cesar's name glows on the screen.
Mari. Your father is asking for you. He's lucid. Come now, before he fades again.
My heart stops. Restarts. Races.
Papa, asking for me. After days of being blocked, controlled, kept away: he wants to see his daughter. My dying father who might not survive the night, who I haven't been able to reach, whose last memories of me might be Cesar's poison rather than the truth.
Another text: He's been moved to a private facility for better care. Coastal, quieter. He's asking for you specifically.
An address follows. Not the estate. Somewhere south.
I should call Nico.
My fingers hover over his name in my contacts. One call and he'd be here in minutes.
But Nico chose distance. Nico chose assignment over us. Nico looked at me becoming strong and decided I wasn't worth staying for.
A black sedan pulls up to the curb before I can second-guess further. The driver, someone I don't recognize, lowers the window.
"Ms. Delgado? Mr. Vega sent me."
Not Carlos. Not any of the regular drivers. This should be a red flag. It is a red flag. A massive, waving, neon-lit warning that this is probably a trap.
I get in anyway.
Because what's the worst that could happen? I die? At least that would end this feeling of being hollowed out from the inside.
The leather seats are cool despite the heat. We head south immediately, the city thinning as we drive. The familiar skyline retreats in the rearview mirror, replaced by glimpses of water between buildings, more green, fewer people. The driver stayssilent, and I'm grateful because if he spoke, I might scream or sob or both.
"How far is this facility?" I ask as we pass the third gated community.
"Not much further, Ms.Delgado."
My phone burns in my purse with Nico's unread messages.
We turn onto a coastal road. The ocean appears properly now, endless blue to our left, and my hands grip the seat before I can stop them. Eight years since I've been this close to open water. Eight years of avoiding pools, beaches, anything deep enough to submerge. The therapist I saw once called it aquaphobia. I called it survival: if I never go near the water, I never have to feel my mother's absence in the one place she was most alive.
A gate opens. We pull through.
Not a medical facility. Obviously.
The Mediterranean-style house perches on the cliff like it's been waiting for me. No medical vehicles in the circular drive. No nursing staff visible through windows. No sign of my dying father.
The driver doesn't turn off the engine, just sits waiting while I process what I already knew: this is a trap. Cesar lied. My father isn't here.
I get out anyway.
