Chapter 11 Sara

I woke to a small hand patting my cheek. “Mama,” Gabe whispered, curls sticking up like he’d wrestled his pillow all night. “Breakfast is ready.”

I blinked awake. “You cooked?”

He grinned proudly. “Abuela did. I helped. A little.”

Which meant he probably stirred something once and stole a strawberry.

I pushed myself up and followed him down the hall. The smell hit me first, cinnamon, eggs, and Abuela’s famous sweet bread warming in the oven. She stood at the stove humming softly, her good days becoming fewer, but today… today she looked bright.

“Buenos días, mija,” she said, sliding a plate toward me. “Sit. Eat. You look like you didn’t sleep.”

I didn’t. Not after last night. Not after telling Salvatore the truth. Gabe climbed into his chair, but he kept glancing at me, studying me with those sharp, too‑perceptive eyes.

“Mama?” he finally asked. “You’re thinking loud.”

I laughed softly. “I am?”

He nodded. “Your eyebrows do the thing.”

I touched my forehead. “What thing?”

“The worried thing.”

Abuela snorted. “He’s not wrong.”

I sighed, picking at my toast. “I… met the owner at my new job last night.”

Gabe perked up. “What’s his name?”

“Salvatore.”

He froze, fork halfway to his mouth. “Like my dad?”

My heart squeezed. “Yes. Like your dad.”

He looked down, voice small. “I wish it was him.”

I reached across the table and took his hand. “Gabe… it is.”

His head snapped up. “What?”

“Salvatore,” I said softly, “is your father.”

His eyes widened, filling with something bright and fragile. “Really?”

“Really,” I whispered. “And he can’t wait to meet you.”

Gabe’s whole face lit up, a smile so big it nearly broke me.

“When?” he asked, practically vibrating.

“Tonight,” I said. “He’s coming for dinner. So we need to go to the store and make something special.”

He gasped like I’d told him Christmas was early. “We have to hurry! We need ingredients! We need decorations! We need...”

“Slow down,” I laughed. “Eat first.”

He shoveled food into his mouth like he was in a race.

Abuela chuckled. “I’ll make dessert while you two are out. Something chocolate. Men like chocolate.”

Gabe nodded vigorously. “Dad will love it.”

Dad. The word hit me like a warm punch to the chest. He didn’t even hesitate. He accepted it instantly. And for the first time in years, hope settled into my bones, soft, steady, terrifying. Tonight, everything would change. For all of us.

By the time we got home, Gabe was practically vibrating. He carried the grocery bags like they were treasure, talking a mile a minute about spices, plates, decorations, and whether his dad liked chicken or beef or both.

“Mama,” he said breathlessly as we stepped inside, “what if he doesn’t like me?”

I set the bags on the counter and knelt in front of him. “Gabe. Look at me.” His big brown eyes lifted, full of hope and fear all tangled together. “Your dad is going to love you,” I said softly. “He already does. He just doesn’t know you yet.”

He bit his lip. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

He threw his arms around my neck, squeezing tight. “Okay. I’m gonna pick out something nice to wear. Something fancy.”

I smiled. “Go ahead, mi amor. Pick something you feel good in.”

He darted down the hall to his room, already talking to himself about shirts and shoes and combing his hair.

When he disappeared behind his door, the house felt quieter. Too quiet.

I carried the groceries into the kitchen, setting them on the counter one by one. My hands were steady, but my heart wasn’t.

Abuela shuffled in a moment later, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “We got everything we need.”

She watched me for a long moment, that look only grandmothers have, the one that sees straight through you.

“Ven aquí,” she said gently. “Come here.”

I leaned against the counter, suddenly tired. “Abuela…”

She stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. “Mija, are you sure this is the right thing?”

I swallowed. “I think so.”

“You think,” she repeated. “But do you feel it? In here?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Because this man… this father… he is not just coming into your life. He is coming into Gabe’s.”

“I know.”

“And Gabe is excited,” she said. “He is dreaming already. That is a dangerous thing if the man does not stay.”

My throat tightened. “Salvatore isn’t like that.”

“You loved him once,” she said. “That makes you blind. But I am not blind, Sara. I see the fear in you. I see the hope too. And hope can hurt just as much.”

I looked down at the counter, blinking hard. “I just… I want Gabe to have what I didn’t.”

Abuela’s expression softened. “I know, mija. And I want that too. But you must be sure. Not for you. For him.”

“I am,” I whispered. “I’m scared, but… I’m sure.”

She nodded slowly, then reached out and squeezed my hand. “Then we will make tonight beautiful. For Gabe. For you. And for the man who should have been here all along.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Thank you, Abuela.”

She smiled, small but warm. “Now go help your son pick out his clothes. He wants to impress his papa.”

Papa. The word hit me like a soft blow to the chest. Tonight, everything would change. And for the first time in years… I prayed it would be for the better.