Page 58 of Hate That Blooms
I’m not sure what to say at first. The anger I’ve carried for so long stirs, but it feels distant now, like it belongs to someone else. I swallow, trying to find the right words.
“I know you didn’t have control over everything, Thiago,” I say carefully, leaning against the wall. “But you chose to stay quiet, and that hurt more than anything. You could’ve said something. You could have tried to talk some sense into Joaquín.”
His eyes flicker with guilt, but he doesn’t interrupt. He lets me speak.
“I... I get that he’s your best friend. I get that you thought you were helping him cope. But everything that happened wasn’t my fault, and I think you’re smart enough to know that.” I pause, feeling the weight of my words. “I see how much you regret it.”
Thiago runs a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching as he looks at me. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t deserve it.” His voice is rough, and I can tell this is harder for him than he’s letting on. “But I wanted you to know that I am sorry. I really am.”
There’s a moment of silence between us, a quiet understanding settling into the space where anger once lived. I think about everything that happened—the bullying, the lies, the way they hurt me—and how much I’ve had to let go of. But something shifts in me, too, and I know forgiving him is not about excusing what he did but about letting go of the past for my own sake.
“You know,” I begin slowly, meeting his gaze. “I think you’ve got a chance to make things right. With Cora.” I watch his expression shift, and it’s a little strange seeing him like this—vulnerable and not sure where he stands. “But you’ve got to show her you really love her. Because you do, don’t you?”
His face softens, and for the first time in a long while, he nods slowly. “I do. So much,” he says quietly, almost a whisper, like it’s something he’s telling himself as much as me.
I nod, feeling the weight of those words settle in my chest.
“And,” I add, almost as an afterthought, “I’ll be rooting for you. I can see how you look at her, Thiago. Just... take it slow. You’ve got a lot to prove. I’m hoping Quín can show me he’s the person I need him to be.”
Thiago nods slowly, his eyes soft with something I can’t quite place. “He’s trying, just in case you’re doubting him.”
He looks at me for a beat longer before turning to leave, but not without one last glance in my direction.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice almost cracking. “Really.”
As he walks out, I feel the air between us shift, and for the first time in a long while, I can feel myself letting go of things and moving in the right direction. I know I will never forgive Nathan. That’s just not something I am capable of.
I turn around to find Mireya and Cora standing next to the counter, waiting for me with wide eyes. Cora raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”
I nod, my heart lighter than it’s been in a long time. “Yeah,” I say, offering her a small smile. “Everything’s okay.”
Chapter37
Gabriela
I’ve always been the kind of person who focuses on what I can control. Life throws curveballs at me, and after everything with Joaquín and the chaos of high school drama, I learned early on that keeping a grip on the basics—work, taking care of Mireya, and finishing college—was the key to surviving it all.
There are days when that feels like enough. I wake up early, work through a stack of bills that need to be paid and assignments, cook Mireya’s meals, and keep the house running. It’s not glamorous, but it’s mine. And I’m surviving.
Still, there are days—like today—when things seem to happen that make me stop and take notice, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
This morning, for instance, I wake up to the sound of a lawnmower buzzing just outside my window.
I rub my eyes and glance at the clock. It’s seven forty-five in the morning. Too early for landscaping—my neighbors suck so hard.
I stretch and yawn, my bare feet cold against the carpet as I shuffle across my room. Mireya’s still asleep in her room, curled up under the blankets like she hasn’t a care in the world. It’s one of those moments when the house feels still, quiet, like everything outside could be forgotten.
But not today.
I peek through the blinds. To my surprise, Joaquín is in the yard, in faded jeans and an old t-shirt, pushing the mower across the front lawn. His broad back is to me, but I can see the way he’s concentrating on the task, the slow, methodical movement of his body.
I haven’t asked him to do this. I haven’t asked him to do anything, except work on himself. But there he is, cutting the grass, washing my car, fixing things that aren’t even broken—things I haven’t noticed needed fixing. It’s strange how he seems to show up at exactly the right times, doing things I never expected.
I don’t know what to make of him anymore.
Maybe he is changing.
I lean against the doorframe, just watching him for a moment. He is everything I find attractive in a guy and I get lost in watching him work so hard. Maybe I should go out and thank him. Maybe I should tell him to stop doing things for me, but it feels like such a stupid thing to say. He’s doing it for us.
