Twice His Bride

ZARIA

I hated the smell of tear gas, it crawled up my throat, settled on my tongue, and mixed with sweat, smoke, and screams. That day, it was everywhere, clinging to the protest like a parasite.

The sun blazed overhead as I stood beside my mother. Her voice was loud and clear into the microphone. The crowd pulsed with energy, banners flew, chants rose, and fists punched the air. But it was her... my mom, who commanded it all…Isela Mendez, a warrior in a sunflower-yellow blouse, a political icon, a revolution in heels.

“Let them hear us!” she shouted. “Let them know we won't be silenced!”

And the people cheered, a thousand voices echoing her fire.

"Mira a tu madre," a woman beside me said with awe. "She’s a legend."

"I know," I whispered, beaming. I weaved through the crowd, handing out flyers, heart pounding with pride and adrenaline. My mother was unstoppable, and I wanted to be like her.

“Zaria!” she called out, waving when she caught sight of me. “Stay close.”

“I will!” I called back.

Then I heard it.

A single pop.

I paused, confused. It didn’t register until I saw her body jerk back. Her eyes widened, mouth opened, no words came out, it was just silence. Then she collapsed, crumpling like a doll with her strings cut. Blood spilled from her chest, staining the yellow blouse red.

"Mamá!" I screamed. "MAMÁ!"

Time froze. The noise turned into a dull roar in my ears as I ran towards her, knees scraping the wood of the platform. I cradled her head, her eyes were still open, staring at the sky, vacant and lifeless.

“Mamá, mamá, no, please… wake up, wake up!”

“Sniper!” someone screamed. “Get down!”

Chaos exploded.

People screamed. Bodies pushed against each other. I heard more gunshots cracking through the smoke and sirens wailed in the distance. Then someone grabbed me, strong arms pulling me back.

“No! Let me go!” I fought, screamed, and clawed at him. “I have to stay with her!”

“You can’t! We have to go now!” the man shouted, dragging me through the panicked mob. He threw me into a van and slammed the door shut.

“Who are you?” I gasped, shaking. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’re safe now,” he said gruffly. “Your father sent me.”

We sped through alleyways I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t stop shaking. My mother’s blood was on me…on my hands, my arms, my shirt. She was really gone.

At some cold, unfamiliar house, he carried me inside and set me on a worn couch. I curled up, still shaking.

“I’ll get you some water,” he said, but I didn’t respond.

I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t speak. I just stared blankly at the wall.

Hours passed. Or maybe days. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I waited. Until finally, my father showed up.

“Zaria,” he whispered, kneeling beside me. “Mi vida...”

I looked at him, hollow. “She’s gone.”

“I know.” His voice cracked. “I did everything I could.”

“You said she’d be safe.”

“I know.”

He hugged me tightly. “You’re safe now.”

But nothing felt safe.

They buried her with cameras everywhere. Headlines called her a martyr, a tragedy, a political loss. But none of it mattered, she was gone.

After the funeral, I stayed in my room mostly. Barely speaking to anyone, while my father moved like a ghost, always on the phone, always pacing.

Then one morning, I woke up and he was gone.

His phone went straight to voicemail. His office was empty. I called his assistant but no answer. The driver didn’t know where he went.

By nightfall, the news exploded:

“Billionaire businessman and ex-political exile, Arturo Mendez, accused of embezzlement, fraud, and laundering millions. Sources claim international conspiracies are involved...”

My head spun.

“He lied,” I said. “He left me.”

I sank to the floor, betrayed, confused, and alone.

Days blurred together. Reporters camped outside the gate. The mansion turned into a prison. I stopped answering calls, even from the few friends who stuck around after everything fell apart.

Then came the night that changed everything.

I took a long bath, trying to scrub off the weight of grief. My eyes stung from crying. My skin pruned. I dried off, wrapped myself in my soft blue pajamas, and climbed into bed with damp hair and an ache in my chest.

I heard a creak downstairs but ignored it.

Then came a second one, it was louder and closer, like someone was here.

I sat up, alarmed, my heart lurching in panic. The sound had been too real to ignore.

Holding my breath, I tiptoed to the door and cracked it open.

Then I heard them, voices of men, low, rough and unfamiliar.

“Check that room,” one of them said gruffly.

“Make it quick, we’re not here to play,” another replied.

Panic gripped me, cold and sharp. I backed away slowly, trying not to breathe, but my stupid bunny flip-flops betrayed me and I bumped into a box near the door with a thud!.

Shit.

I turned to run, but it was too late.

The door slammed open with a bang that shook the walls.

“¡NO!” I screamed, stumbling back.

Two men in black rushed in, their faces hidden under hoods. One lunged forward and clamped a cloth over my mouth. The other grabbed my legs roughly.

“Let go of me!” I shouted, muffled by the cloth. “Help! Somebody…!”

“Shut her up!” the one holding my legs barked.

“I’m trying! The damn girl’s strong,” the first one hissed, tightening his grip as I thrashed more.

I kicked wildly, hitting one of them in the gut.

“Ah fuck!” he cursed. “She’s feisty!”

“Let me go!” I screamed again, or tried to. My voice came out weak and broken as the cloth’s chemical scent invaded my lungs. Sweet and sharp.

My limbs began to tingle and my strength drained from me.

“No, no, no…” I whimpered, still trying to squirm free. “Please… I don’t want to go. Please…don’t take me. Please…”

“Stop begging,” the one holding my legs muttered coldly. “It won’t save you.”

“You got her?” the other asked as my vision started to blur.

“She’s out. Let’s move.”

I felt myself being lifted and dragged, my head lolled uselessly against someone’s shoulder.

Through the haze, I caught one last image: the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the hallway window, gentle and haunting, like it was watching me disappear.

And then…Blackness.