02

"Oh, my God," the girl whispered. She didn't want to keep listening to that story with its typical tragic ending, yet she felt compelled to hear the end of the dark tale her aunt was telling.

"The desperation of our mother, of all of us as a family seeing her so shattered that she couldn't even cope with what was happening to her—in fact, she had always been Mother's most protected and pampered one, the one who fell sick the most and all those little details—that was what made what she was experiencing in that present moment turn into the most difficult situation imaginable."

The woman stopped pacing back and forth and sat down on the empty sofa. She clasped her hands in her lap and looked at her niece with her deep eyes. The niece was visibly affected by what had happened in the past, but now, in the present, she could experience the pain in a more intense way, as if it were something completely brand new. Her heart was tight, and she had a lump in her throat that made it hard to swallow normally. She had never felt such intense pain and was picturing the entire scene of what had probably happened to her real mother. Guilt continued to rise to an uncontrollable level, very hard to measure.

"Who is my father?" she asked through tears, realizing that the man she had been calling "Dad" all those years was nothing more than a lie.

"I haven't finished," the woman said harshly. She continued the story, and the young woman had no choice but to listen. "My little sister did everything she could that night; she fought and resisted with all her might until her body allowed it. However, she died, perhaps a minute after you were born. She looked at you and held you with the little strength she had left, and then she left. Damn it! She had left this world, and it was all your fault."

"I am so sorry for what happened, but I don't think it's fair for you to blame me for a situation I never wanted and wasn't even aware of. I am not responsible for what happened; I am innocent in all of this too. You can't just hate me over a matter I'm involved in, but didn't cause," she told her, looking straight into her eyes, feeling deeply hurt by all of it. She wasn't guilty of what happened—of anything at all. No matter how much the woman vented and threw the exact opposite in her face, she knew she was innocent.

"To me, you are and always will be. You are the only reason my sister is no longer in this life, and besides, you were the only one who should have left this world, not her. Do you understand now why I can't love you? Even so, all this time I've given you everything: an education and a good life. You can't complain. But I can't take it anymore; I don't want to keep looking into your eyes because every time I do, I remember her. It's like I'm looking right at her; you look so much alike, and it affects me too much. You can't keep living here. I am so sorry."

"Isn't Leonardo my father? Tell me. And what you're doing doesn't seem fair. It's not my fault I remind you of Mom. In short, you're kicking me out because I stir up pain in you that shouldn't be there, because you're also my family, I'm your niece, and nothing is going to change that," she spat out, heartbroken, and stood up. The other woman imitated her.

"What were you thinking? Leonardo isn't your real father either. The bastard who got my sister pregnant vanished as if by magic; he just used her, ended up clipping her wings, and threw her to her death. He was just an abuser and a damned coward who didn't have the guts or the courage to show up and take responsibility for what he had done, because he also had to take responsibility for my sister and her baby, but he didn't even have the intention during the time she was pregnant to support her. And truthfully, none of this surprised us. What could be expected of a man like that? Nothing good, of course."

Upon hearing her aunt's admission that Leonardo wasn't her father, she didn't feel perplexed or collapse onto the sofa, shocked by her words, since she was already expecting another bombshell to leave her suspended among crushing ruins. Even so, something inside her was breaking, leaving tiny shards of glass embedded in her skin and opening wounds that ached, burned, and had no cure, because no ointment could heal each of those wounds, let alone close the gasps.

Bitterness mixed with various feelings, shattering her emotions as if it were a glass cup at the edge of a table—well, she was no longer near the edge, but worse still, lying shattered on the floor.