I channel every scrap of pent-up hatred I’ve carried for this man over the years.My mother’s face appears in my mind’s eye and it’s the only reason I find the courage to say what I’m saying.
“You whiny little whore.”
The word hits like a slap.My breath stutters, a gasp clawing up my throat before I force it down.I see the naked malice in his eyes, the way the next filthy word is already waiting on his tongue.
“Zach is the only one of your six sons who tolerates you, and you treat him like he’s dispensable.You probably treated your wife the same way.”I take a step closer, my heart hammering so hard it scares me.“You used her.Ignored her.Broke her down until there was nothing left, and then you probably acted surprised when she couldn’t survive you.”
“Don’t talk about my wife,” he snaps, eyes so cold, he could skewer me where I stand.
I’ve found his Achilles heel.
“She must have been so miserable, so tormented, so broken, that she drove her car off a bridge.”I shake my head.“Poor woman.She had three young boys who were her world, and you couldn’t help yourself.You broke her.”
“Enough!”His face turns beet red; his eyes bulge and a vein along his forehead looks like it’s going to pop.
The room goes deathly quiet, and then there’s a knock at the door.
“Maya?Open the door, m’hija!”
Shock and relief crash together.I rush toward the door because I hear a voice I never expected to hear.Not in a million years.Not here.Not now.
My mom is here.
I open the door, to find her staring at me, her eyes large with fear.A small wheelie suitcase by her side.
“I heard shouting, m’hija.Are you okay?”
“Mamá!”I’m so relieved to see her that I fall into her arms.She’s smaller than I am, shorter than I am.“What are you doing here, Ma?”
“Who are you talking to?”
I move away, and she sees him; the man who ruined her life.
“What areyoudoing here?”she hisses, eyes blazing, in a thick deadly voice I’ve never heard before.She turns to me in disbelief.“What are you doing with that devil?”she demands.“That beast.That pig.That … that …” She breaks off, muttering a stream of rapid Spanish under her breath, full Mama Bear mode activated.She rests a hand gently on my arm, worry etched in the lines on her face.“Did he do something, mi niña?”
My girl.
I shake my head, needing to reassure her.“He didn’t do anything.”
“Are you all right?”Her eyes slowly go over me, like she’s expecting wounds.
“Mamá, he didn’t do anything.He tried to bribe me.”
“Bribe you?”she hisses, walking towards him.She’s four feet ten of blazing power and strength, heading for him like a nuclear missile.He looks at us, trying to be cool and casual.Unflinching.
I wonder how long that will last.
“Ah, please,” he says.
“You dirty, filthy bastard.”She faces him squarely, a small but deadly powerhouse of a woman.Her jacket is still on, her face flushed and hardened into something I’ve never seen before.Not even on that night when we fled.This time, there’s no fear, no hesitation.
Just pure blind rage.
“You,” she hisses, like she’d stab him with a dagger if she had one in her hand.“You stay away from my family.”
I don’t know this version of my mother.
Paul straightens.He’s unprepared and flummoxed.He’s obviously as shocked as I am to see her, but for different reasons.“I didn’t expect to see—”
