Mamá.
I almost don’t answer. She’s likely chipper and calling for an update on how the baby is doing. The baby that died in my womb three weeks ago as a result of Malachi’s crazed rage over something I never did. Searing pain slices across my chest, but I answer anyway.
“Hi, Mamá,” I answer, speaking in Spanish. “How are y—”
“You aredivorcing?” Her obvious disbelief pinches her tone with urgency. “My little daughter, what iswrongwith you? What have you done?”
I grit my teeth and restrain the urge to snap at her. “I have not done anything, Mamá. I assume you heard this from Papá, who I assume heard it from Malachi, who I assume downplayed everything wrong thathedid.”
“I have heard it from your father, but he gave me no details.” She draws in a breath and sighs. “He is very angry, Isla. Whatever is going on, youmusttry to work things out.”
“There is nothing to work out, Mamá,” I retort, my voice flat.
“But… but… what of the child you’re exp—”
“There isno child, Mamá,” I snap. “That is also Malachi’s fault. Perhaps Papá might have a shred of anger aboutthat.”
She gasps. “What? How did—”
“Malachi has turned into an evil man, Mamá,” I say, spitting the words out as if they’re laced with poison. “He has physically hurt me and mentally tormented me. I lost the baby because of things he did to me, and then he blamedmefor it. And do you know why he has done these things?”
She is merely silent.
“Because years ago, cruel people thought it would be funny to play a disgusting prank on him, and they convinced him that I betrayed him.” I shake my head and blink rapidly at the mental picture of the filthy photo of the violent act I didn’t even know I had been subjected to. “He believed the prank instead of me.Thatis why he disappeared years ago. Not because of anything I did. He was gone before my ordeal even began.In fact, Mamá…”
I pause as a hundred thousand little puzzle pieces start to fall together in my mind.
“Mamá, I believe him disappearing the way he did after this awful prank is what caused me to spiral out of control. I think I can’t remember any of it because my mind was so devastated that it simply shut down.Terrible thingshappened to me, Mamá. Things that were so terrible that it’s no wonder I ran away and did every awful thing I did back then. All those things that I can’t even remember because my brain likely can’t even process how awful all of it was.”
A long silence stretches over the line. On the screen of my laptop, the cursor blinks after the wordsThe End.
“What kind of things, my little daughter?”
I fight the tremble of my chin despite nobody being around to see it. “I refuse to speak of it. You’ll simply have to believe me. Even with as much of a challenge as that must be with the severedisappointmentI have always been to you and Papá.”
“My dear little Isla.” There’s a different pinch in her voice now; one that is distinctly emotional, and I donotwant to hear my mother break down on top of everything else. “It isn’t like all that. You know we love you. The things that happened before caused us to respond in a way any loving parent would. We were devastated that you made such awful choices and let yourself become something we knew you weren’t. But if you think…” She sighs again. “I do not know what happened to you. And you will not tell me.” She’s silent for several beats. “And Malachi understands now that there was a misunderstanding between—”
“Itwasn’tamisunderstanding,” I snap. “Someone lied to him about me, and he believedthem, not me. He used that belief to justify every awful thing he’s done to me since we married.”
“And what does he say now that he knows the truth?”
I skim my gaze over the conclusion to the story of the star-crossed lovers. “He is attempting to make amends by ending this marriage because he knows I would rather chew my own hand off than be chained to him any longer.”
“Is he remorseful?”
I hesitate. “Yes.”
“Thenforgivehim, daughter. Try to work this out with him. Do not throw away your marriage. Remember how much you both always loved each other. If it really was just a misunderstanding, surely you can—”
“Itisn’tjust a misunderstanding, Mamá. It is everything he did to me becausehemisunderstood.”
She’s silent for even longer. “Isla,” she eventually says. “A love like the one you both have always shared is more powerful than this. Let that love return and heal you.”
The words on my screen are now so blurry that I can’t even read them, but I keep my voice steady and firm. “It isn’t. It can’t. We will divorce, and I will come home. If I am no longer welcome inyourhome, I will find my own way. I will stand on my own two feet and maintain what little pride I have left.”
“Pride.” She scoffs, but it’s appended by a quiet sniffle. “Dear daughter. Pride is what will knock you right back off your own two feet.” She sniffles again and speaks through a teary voice. “And if you both have lost this child, you are bothhurting. You need to—”
“I don’t care if he is hurting!” I screech over the line, my own voice hitching. “He hasno rightto hurt overanything. He did this to us. He did all of it. It’shisfault.”
