I sink slowly onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. The urge to flee is overwhelming, but my legs feel like lead. What would be the point? Wherever I go, she’ll still be there. She always is. Her silence is louder than any words she could say. I can almost hear the thoughts running through her mind—You’re a disappointment. You’ve ruined everything.
I steal a glance at her, and she’s just standing there, unmoving. Watching me unravel. I half expect her to say something—to yell at me, to scold me—but she says nothing. And somehow, that’s worse. The shame crawls under my skin, itching, burning, making me want to disappear.
I close my eyes, willing myself to breathe, to think, to do something. Anything but stand here and crumble under her gaze. But nothing comes. Just the crushing weight of failure and the unbearable presence of my mother’s silent disapproval. There is nothing left to do but pack.
Chapter Twenty-One
Trying to fold my clothing into my luggage through blurry eyes is proving to be quite tricky. Since Sofia left, my mother and I have been sitting in silence. She’s been browsing her phone and taking photos of the wedding favors. Probably showing them to her friends as things she bought herself. I want to rip up all of the gift bags. Smash all of the Chanel and Dior perfumes. Cut up all the gift cards and just run away.
“Hello?” Mari shouts.
“Huh?” I look up, and she’s staring right at me.
I hadn’t even realized she had said anything to me. I was so lost in my own thoughts and misery.
She frowns. “I said you must give me his journal back.”
“What? Why?” I ask defensively.
Panic begins to bubble in my chest at the thought of giving the journal to my mother. I know I’ll never see it again after that. She’ll find someplace to hide it away. I won’t ever get to see his words. The photos. The recipes. It’ll be as if I lost him all over again. This whole week I have felt closer to him than I ever have. I’m not ready to let that go.
“Mija, you need to give it back,” she says, sitting up as she packs all the gifts into one of the gift bags.
“Why?” I ask again, this time with more defiance in my voice.
She must have heard it because she looks up at me in shock.
“Because it needs to be preserved. There’s no reason for you to have it. You’ll ruin it by opening it and closing it all the time. So just give me the book, Isabella.”
“I won’t, though! I’ll keep it protected. It’s not going to get ruined,” I state.
“Mija, I’m not debating this.”
Her voice gets sterner.
“Papi would have wanted me to have it. You know he would have. Please, Mami. Just let me keep it.”
“Isabella, this isn’t a negotiation. You don’t need the journal. There is no ‘truth’ to find out. There never was.”
“What about what happened between you and Tía Rosita?” I shout, tears starting to form in my eyes.
“What about it? You won’t find that in ese maldito libro, Isabella. There is no big secret you need to discover. Your father would create puzzles to keep you entertained and distracted while he battled his sickness. There is no big secret you need to solve. He was so sick by the time he finished his journal. Nothing in there makes sense.”
“That’s not true!” I scream.
“Isabella! Do not raise your voice at me! I’m telling you the truth. There is no great answer to his puzzle. I promise. Please, mija. Don’t make this harder than it is. Just give me the journal, finish packing, and we’ll return home. We can pretend none of this ever happened.”
“It’s not true,” I whisper, feeling defeated.
Mariposa stands up and walks over to where I am standing.
“Oh, mijita,” she sighs, pulling me into her arms.
I can’t help but sob into her shoulder as she slowly caresses the back of my head.
“I know how hard his death was for you. You two were so close. Closer than you and I could ever be. I know that. I resented that for a long time. You’ve been swept up in his journal, being led into a cat-and-mouse chase with these random clues he’s put throughout it.”
She pulls me away to wipe my eyes.
