I sigh and rub the heel of my hand over my eyes. I would love a restraining order against Cristiano. “Based on what? Him living in the same city as me?”
“Based on what he did to you,” my sister says sharply, and Mom’s hands tense on her mug.
I feel a spasm in my chest. The day I slept with Cristiano, Mom and Rosa witnessed my hysterical crying and saw the leather burns on my body from wriggling out of his belt. I was naked apart from Cristiano’s T-shirt and my ankle was swollen to twice its size. I looked like I’d been violently attacked. No matter how many times I’ve explained things to them—the sprained ankle was my fault, being tied up against my will happenedaftersex—they believe the very worst about what happened that day. I can’t convince them that he didn’t injure my ankle himself, tie me up, and rape me.
There are knots in my stomach, and my chest feels tight. It makes me angry to hear myself defending him, and angry with Mom and Rosa for not believing me. Cristiano was guilty of following me, not pushing me into a gutter. The sex happened so quickly and moved faster than I would have liked, but I told himyes. I gave him my consent with my words and with my touch. I was foolish, turned on, and overwhelmed by a highly calculating man.
Maybe they’d believe me if I hadn’t also told them about him locking me in his wardrobe when I was fourteen. They can’t understand why I’d ever trust him again after that. I can’t understand it myself. I should have screamed for help the moment he started circling me again. Driving his motorcycle past me when I was walking home. Showing up at the pizza restaurant. It wasn’t a coincidence, like he assured me at the time.
It was all deliberate.
And I fell for it.
“It’s my word against Cristiano’s, and he’s too powerful,” I remind Rosa, and her jaw tightens with frustration. When she opens her mouth to argue with me, I speak over her. “And I don’t want him to grow suspicious about why I’m so afraid of him.” I nod meaningfully toward the next room where the kids are playing. I hear Leon’s laugh, bright and clear, rising above Carly’s and Mason’s voices. They’re playing some game involving pirates and aliens, from the sound of it.
I glance at the clock. I need to leave soon if I’m going to catch the bus and make my shift by noon.
“I should get going.” I drain the last of my tea and stand. “Leon, baby, come say goodbye to Mommy.”
There’s the thunder of small feet, and then Leon bursts into the kitchen, his dark curls wild, his cheeks flushed from play. There’s a plastic tiara perched crookedly on his head. Carly’s contribution, no doubt.
I crouch down to his level, straightening the tiara. “You be a good boy while Mommy’s at work, okay?”
“Okay.” He kisses my cheek, already wriggling to get back to the game. “Bye, Mommy!”
And just like that, he’s gone, racing back to the living room without another glance.
I watch him go, an ache in my chest. He’s so happy here. So comfortable with Rosa and his cousins, running around like this is his second home. Rosa has watched him more days than I can count, stepping in when my shifts run long, never asking for anything in return. I’m so grateful to her and Mom. They saved me and Leon and made it possible for me to keep my son. Rosa and her husband gave me a roof over my head while I was pregnant and then nursing, and Mom gave me money to help me get back on my feet that she won’t allow me to pay back. I got a job, and then my own place, and it’s all thanks to them. Mom has never judged me, Rosa is the best sister anyone could ask for, and Leon adores his cousins.
But sometimes, watching him disappear into another room without looking back, I feel like I’m missing everything. The pirate games and the plastic tiaras and the magic of childhood. Rosa gets to be here for all of it. She’s able to stay home with her kids, and Kevin’s job pays well enough that they can manage on one income. She’s here for every tantrum and every triumph, every scraped knee and every bedtime story.
I’m here only in snatches. The early mornings before my shift. The exhausted evenings after. The weekends when I’m tired and worrying about bills. Sometimes I feel like I’m watching Leon’s childhood through a window, nose pressed to the glass, always on the outside.
With a lump in my throat, I head for the door.
“Keep your coat done up so you don’t get wet,” Mom says, pulling me back to the present. She’s watching me with that worried look she gets sometimes, the one that says she knows why I’m afraid and she wishes she could fix it.
“I will.”
“And if anything happens—”
“Nothing’s going to happen, Mom.” I grab my coat from the back of the chair. “I love you. I’ll see you tonight, Rosa.”
I kiss Mom’s cheek, hug Rosa, and slip out the front door into the rain.
The bus to work is crowded and damp. I find a seat near the back and press my forehead against the cool glass, watching the city blur past.
Every quiet moment, my thoughts drift back to him. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face.
I’m obsessing. I know I’m obsessing. I’ve been doing it for days, ever since Cristiano showed up at my apartment.
He spoke to Leon. He saw Leon up close. That’s what terrifies me most. Not the memories he drags up from the locked box in my heart, but the fact that he was close to my son. Even with the brown contacts covering Leon’s amber eyes, it makes me break out in a cold sweat that it might suddenly occur to Cristiano that Leon looks just like him, and I could be lying about his age.
It’s been three days of silence. No visits, no calls. Just the knowledge that he’s back in Malus, and back in his father’s house. A constant presence I can’t see but I can feel. I don’t know what he wants, but maybe he doesn’t want anything. I’m not his happy-go-lucky, girlish Mina anymore. I’m a tired, guilt-ridden, struggling single mom with dark smudges under my eyes and in desperate need of a vacation. Not any man’s fantasy. I laugh to myself and shake my head. It would be ironic if Leon is what protects me from him.
The only thing I know for certain, because I refuse to contemplate the alternative, is he can’t take Leon. I won’t let him. I’ll run if I have to, disappearing somewhere beyond Malus. Somewhere Cristiano will never find us.
The bus lurches to a stop, and I realize I’ve reached my destination. I gather my things and step out into the rain, pulling my hood up against the drizzle as I hurry toward the hotel.
