She turns around again, seemingly annoyed, which only makes me smile. I look down at the black Prada bag I bought her.
“That Prada bag I bought you? The one you show off to everyone you know as the highlight of your daughter’s life for you?”
Mari looks down at the bag and then back at me.
“It’s a fucking fake.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
My head is still buzzing from the fight with my mother. I sit down on the wooden porch of the small cabin, my father’s journal resting on my lap. The cool night air sends shivers down my spine as I look into the darkness. I can see Mari’s silhouette by the main office, waiting for a cab. I watch as she waits, not once turning to look in my direction. I have never spoken back to my mother before. She probably would have hit me with a sandal or wooden spoon if I had done that when I was younger. My mother is not the type of woman you prove wrong or rebel against. At least, I always felt that way. A part of me is proud of myself for finally standing up to her. But the other part of me—the guilt—is eating my insides. I just want to run over to her and apologize for everything. Try to act like it never happened and have things go back to how they were. But I can’t. Not anymore.
My father was a soft-spoken man. He kept to himself, had minimal hobbies, and spent most of his time raising me. Whenever my mother had a problem, he’d just nod and listen to her rants. He had so much patience. At least, I always thought he did. But now, I wonder if it was more than patience—if his silence was really his heart aching. How much did he really love my mother? Did he at all? Was his staying with her a choice or a sacrifice? Did he stay because of me? I have so many questions now that will always remain unanswered. If he had left, what would have been left for me?
The campsite at night is eerily quiet, with only the occasional hoot of an owl breaking the silence. The darkness shrouds everything in a cloak of mystery, making it difficult to discern the shapes and objects around. The only light sources are the dim bulbs attached to the poles that line the walkways and the glowing lanterns hung from the eaves of the cabins. The trees cast long shadows that dance and sway in the gentle breeze, and the rustling of leaves is the only sound in the air. They create almost a claustrophobic feeling. I take shallow breaths. Despite the chilly air, the night is still and calm. Soon, tomorrow, this place will be filled with loud music, guests celebrating, and me trying to redeem myself after this horrible night.
As I sit on the porch of my cabin, the lantern illuminates my lap, reflecting a comforting glow on my father’s journal. A sense of relief pours over me, knowing I finally have it in my possession for good. The journal’s pages rustle as I turn the cover, and the sound echoes across the quiet campsite. I don’t care what my mother says. I know my father finished this puzzle for me. And I do want to let him go and move on. But there’s a reason he did this and a reason he did it behind her back. She would have never told me the truth about my possible half-sister. He was probably too scared to do it himself. This is the only way he truly knew how to communicate. She doesn’t understand it, but I do. It’s all here.
I turn each page slowly, inspecting all of its contents, ensuring I don’t miss any clues. I pass the arroz con leche recipe. The one that started it all. “Her favorite,” it says. It must be Rosita’s favorite, but it’s possible it was just about Abuelita or Maritza, as Valentina and I discovered. I pass the page with the lipstick stain on the note. We still never figured out whose lips that could be. I keep turning the pages, passing the photograph of my father standing in front of the restaurant. His dream came true. The guilt envelopes me, but I try to shake it off. I keep skimming through the book, but we may have found all the clues. Just before I reach the last page, I notice a photo we must have missed. Was it here before? I swore I checked for additional images, but maybe I didn’t get this far into the journal.
In the photo, Mari, Roberto, and Rosita are sitting on a bench. They’re laughing. Roberto’s arm is around Mariposa’s shoulders. It’s clear they were dating at this point. Except… I look even closer at the image, squinting while using the dim cabin lighting to try to make out what I see. It’s subtle, but you can’t miss it. Roberto is holding Rosita’s hand between their laps, slightly hidden from the camera’s view. I can see it as clear as day. My father was in a love triangle, but there’s no mistaking who his real love was. Roberto was absolutely in love with Rosita.
I used to think my mother got him drunk on purpose, tricking him into getting pregnant with me, but now… I’m not so sure. Maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe I’ve been putting my father on a pedestal. Maybe he made mistakes too, just like everyone else. Maybe he loved both of them in different ways. But there’s one thing I know for sure now—Sofia isn’t just my cousin. She’s my half sister. That’s why our birthdays are so close. That’s why we shared a quinceañera.
My heart pounds deeply as I stare at the photograph, confirming the journal’s ultimate secret: Sofia is born from the same father as me, and she never even knew. Shock and disbelief course through my veins, but as the truth sinks in, there’s an overwhelming sense of sadness and betrayal in my heart. This lie has gone on for too long. I need to tell Sofia.
After watchingThe Parent Trapfor so many years, I have always longed for a sibling to share memories with and who would always be there for me. Someone to share Oreos and peanut butter with as I did with Sofia the other night. Now, I have finally found one, but the circumstances of our relationship are not what I expected. I can’t help but feel angry at my parents for not being honest with me. Yet, despite this lingering feeling, I’m also…relieved. The puzzle pieces have finally come together, and the questions that have plagued me for so long have finally been answered. This discovery is going to change everything. Can Sofia and I bridge the gap that’s been formed between us, or will our shared connection only remind us of the hurt and betrayal we both experienced because of our parents?
As I sit here, my thoughts and emotions swirling inside me, I know that one thing is sure: my life will never be the same again. I can’t help but wonder what the future holds for my newfound sister and me and, if we can ever truly be family, and most importantly, how I will tell her. How will she even react? Can I even face her to tell her what I finally figured out? The truth she’s also been searching for. I have to. She deserves to know, just like I did. I turn to the last page of the journal to find another letter from my father. My breath catches in my throat—the final note. I look up momentarily to see if my mother is still standing there. The silhouette of her figure still waits. I turn back to the letter.
My dearest Isabella,
I always knew you wouldn’t turn to the last page until you discovered the big secret. That’s my girl, always curious and determined. You never give up until you get what you want, and that’s what I love about you. You have always been the most authentic version of yourself. I truly am so proud of you, mija.
I know that you have discovered something life-changing. It’s hard for me to express how difficult it was to keep this from you. I have always wished to tell you everything, but circumstances never allowed me to do so. I wished I had fought for the one I truly loved, but I let fear and uncertainty get in the way. If you ever feel the same way I did about someone, you fight for them with all your heart. Never let anyone or anything stand in the way of true love.
I know it was hard for you to find out, but I want you to be brave and confident. You are so strong, and you have the power to change your life and the lives of those around you. I made a huge mistake when I was young and dumb, my little Isa. But I don’t regret what happened because it made you, my Isabella. I loved you so much, and I always will. You are the greatest gift I could have ever received. I only wish Sofia could have had the same experience you did. That’s something I will always regret.
Remember to stay true to yourself, mija. You are enough just as you are. Please know I am always with you, even if I’m not physically here. Keep my love in your heart, and know that I am proud of the person you have become.
Be strong, my little girl, and don’t let anyone tell you you can’t do something. You can achieve anything you set your mind to, and I know you will make me proud.
I love you more than words could ever express.
With all my love,
Dad
As I think back on my father, I realize something I hadn’t fully understood until now. Maybe he stayed because of me. My mother was difficult—manipulative, even—but he didn’t leave. He stayed and raised me, gave me the best parts of him, and maybe that was his way of making sure I had the love I needed, even if his heart had always been somewhere else. Maybe, in a twisted way, he felt like he was doing right by both families.
I look up from the journal, tears streaming down my face. A yellow cab has finally arrived, the headlights beaming into the void of the campsite. My mother walks toward the back seat of the car. She pauses for a moment. Then, with a motion so subtle it could have been missed by anyone who wasn’t paying close enough attention, she looks slightly over her shoulder in my direction. She quickly opens the door and slides inside the car.
That one motion, despite feeling so minimal, means so much. She’s angry. She’s hurt. And she probably won’t ever forgive me. I’m part of the enemy line now, according to her. How I wish she’d see things differently. I don’t know what will happen to our relationship, but I can’t think of that now. I need to be brave, as my father says. I need to tell Sofia the truth.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I feel my heart pounding as I take off running through the campsite, my feet slapping against the dirt path. The only sounds I can hear are my own ragged breaths and the crickets chirping in the distance. I keep my head down and my eyes trained on the path before me, not wanting to trip on any rocks or roots. Maria’s words, warning me about a possible killer lurking in the darkness, echo in my mind. I curse her for saying that stupid joke. I haven’t been able to shake off the thought. The memory of Silvana sneaking up on me makes me shudder, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I have to find Sofia.
As I run, I feel the cool night air brushing against my skin and causing my hair to whip around me. I can hear the rustling of leaves as the wind picks up, and I feel a chill run down my spine. I feel exposed and vulnerable, like a small animal scurrying through the woods. Or when, as a kid, I would run up the stairs, convinced a monster was chasing me. The memory makes my heart race.
