“Can I have a hug?” The request felt small against the weight of our shared trauma, but I needed that connection more than ever.
An authentic smile broke across his face. He reached out and pulled me into his arms. The embrace was tender, the kind that spoke volumes of love and understanding without needing words.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured softly against my hair. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
I heard a faint rustle outside the door, and then it creaked open. Uncle Malik and I pulled apart to see my father standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a fitted black turtleneck paired with a sleek suit jacket, the subtle glint of a gold watch peeking from under his jacket’s cuff, which oozed a mob boss’s undeniable authority.
His lips curled into a smile when our eyes locked. “Hey, baby girl,” he greeted me.
“Hi, Dad.” His face lit up. Calling him “Dad” came so naturally, like a hidden bond had formed from the moment we met.
An unreadable expression crossed his face as he glanced at Uncle Malik and Dante, but I could sense a silent agreement had passed among them.
“Gigi,” Uncle Malik said. I turned toward him. “Are you up for one more visitor?”
Before I could answer, the door swung open, and there she was, my aunt Valarie, in the flesh.
Dad gently pushed her wheelchair further into the room, and I could hardly believe my eyes. Her freshly washed dark hair was swept back into a neat ponytail, color had returned to her cheeks, and she appeared so much more alive. Despite the bandages wrapped around her arms and the one on her forehead, she radiated a fierce spirit.
“Valarie?” I whispered in disbelief.
“Hey, sweetie,” she called out, her voice a balm to my anxious heart as Dad wheeled her closer. The moment she reached me, her hands grasped mine.
“You’re alive,” I choked out, tears streaming down my face in relief.
She nodded slowly, and the anguish on her face twisted my heart in sympathy. “I am so sorry,” she murmured. A guttural sob escaped her lips. “I’m sorry for what he did to you.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m alive, and that’s what matters,” I tried to reassure her, even as my voice trembled.
“Can I ask you something?” Valarie asked.
I glanced over at her, a warm smile spreading across my face as she savored the last bite of her pudding. Outside the room, Dante, Uncle Malik, and Dad’s voices could be heard, giving us a moment of aunt and niece bonding time.
“Of course, I replied.
Setting her empty pudding cup aside, Valarie leaned in closer, her fingers grasping mine. “How are you really feeling?” she asked.
I shrugged, a half-hearted smile betraying my genuine emotions. “I’m fine.”
She offered me the look Mom used to give when she sensed I was holding back my true feelings. It was my way of avoiding the truth and the pain that came along with it.
Valarie tilted her head, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Liar.”
The word hit home, and I quickly turned my gaze away, fighting back tears that threatened to spill. I was sick and tired of the endless cycle of tears. I wasn’t the only one affected by the violence and terror of that night; the scars ran deep for everyone involved. For over twenty years, her uncle forced her to remain in that hell, where she watched her mother die. She is the bravest and strongest person I’ve ever known.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I whispered.
Valarie squeezed my hand, her grip a silent promise that I wasn’t alone anymore. “I know you’re holding in so much pain. It’s okay to talk about your baby, Gigi.”
The mention of my unborn baby caused my lips to tremble involuntarily as my free hand instinctively rested on my stomach. Suddenly, the floodgates opened, stupid tears streaming down my face as sobs wracked my body.
“Oh, Gigi.” Valarie’s voice broke as she fought her own waves of emotion.
“It’s not fair,” I uttered, each word heavy with heartbreak.
“I know, sweetheart. I know,” she murmured.
