“That’s not possible,” Celeste says. “He would have—someone would have?—”
“His mother is Selena Prieto. Lola’s sister.”
Celeste’s face goes blank with shock. “Tía Lena?”
“She came to visit once, when you were little. A family gathering your mother organized.” Nina pauses. “Do you remember—your aunt and grandmother visiting from Mexico?”
Celeste frowns, reaching for something distant. “I remember a woman who smelled like gardenias. She held me on her lap. My parents fought a lot then.” Her voice goes quiet. “That was the last time I saw my grandmother.” She pauses, something else surfacing. “There was a man too. He gave me a little doll—hand-painted, from Oaxaca. I still have it somewhere.” Her eyes cut to the glass, to Vicente’s pale face. “That was him, wasn’t it.”
“Selena was there too,” Nina says gently. “That might have been when?—”
“When she got pregnant with his son.” Celeste’s voice is flat. “While my mother was trying to hold everyone together.”
Through the glass, Vicente is saying something to Rafael. His hand is still on Rafael’s face. Arturo watches them both.
Celeste is quiet for a long moment. “He looks like her. Around the eyes. He looks like my mother.”
She turns away from the glass, finding Maddox’s hand without looking.
“I need some air.”
Leo moves to follow, but she shakes her head. “Stay. Keep an eye on things. I’ll be back.”
She and Maddox disappear toward the elevators. Leo settles against the wall, arms crossed, watching the ICU door with the patience of a man used to waiting.
Celeste returns about twenty minutes later, calmer. Maddox stays by the elevators, giving her space. She crosses to the glass and stands there watching for a long moment before turning to Nina.
“You’ve been working with them. Vicente and my father. The therapy sessions.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted to thank you.” Celeste’s voice is quieter now, stripped of the sharp edges. “They’re different. Better. They actually talk to each other instead of just—” She waves a hand. “Whatever they were doing before.”
Nina tilts her head, curious. “What were they like? Before the sessions started?”
Celeste lets out a breath. “It was awful. At first. When Vicente moved into the compound, he and my father couldn’t be in a room together without it turning into a war. A month of everyone walking on eggshells.”
“What changed?”
“They had a blow-out fight. A real one. Things got broken. I walked in on them screaming at each other about something that happened thirty years ago, and I just—” She shakes her head. “I reminded them they’d already killed the man who destroyed their lives. Together. I asked them what else they needed to punish each other for.”
“And that worked?”
“I didn’t think it would. But that night, Vicente didn’t sleep in his own room. He hasn’t since.” Celeste’s voice softens. “They still have a long way to go. But I watched my father go from treating love like a liability to this.” She gestures toward the glass. “He wouldn’t let himself love someone that fully if they hadn’t earned it.”
Nina’s voice is careful, neutral. “Do you think Vicente has? Earned it?”
I watch Chris from the corner of my eye. He’s listening to every word, face unreadable.
Celeste considers. “I think he’s doing the work. That’s more than I expected from anyone.”
We drift back to the waiting room as a group, Celeste walking between Maddox and Leo, Nina falling into step beside her. They’re talking quietly, Celeste’s hand finding Maddox’s arm like she needs the anchor. Chris and I trail behind, giving them space.
Rafael emerges from the ICU about an hour later.
He looks wrung out, but his posture is steadier than before. He’s had an hour with the father he just met, and whatever passed between them has settled him.
Celeste is on her feet before he’s fully through the door. She crosses the room and pulls him into a hug with no hesitation, just the full-body embrace of a woman who just found family she didn’t know she had.
