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And the knowledge slowly kills me inside, poisoning my blood, because it’s my darkest secret that can’t even be shared during therapy.
Whenever something tragic like the kidnapping of a child happens in the world, they talk about the parents and the child in question. How horrible, hard, and unbearable it all must be to them.
About their trauma and pain.
But what about us siblings?
What about us children left behind to watch our parents wither away and show you that your existence alone is not enough for them to keep going?
What about us?
It might sound selfish coming from me, but it fills me with shame and causes a tremor to rush down my spine. It envelops me in coldness and devastation because I can’t bottle all these emotions inside and try to understand them.
After all, I’m not the one who was hurt, so I have no right to make all this about me when Santiago is the victim. He deserves all the love and attention.
But to be the invisible child in your family…a glass child.
It’s a burden I do not wish on anyone.
Because when you’re invisible…you wonder if there is meaning to your life at all.
Sometimes the voices in my head become too loud, too tempting, urging me to do something I might regret, but the idea of them all finally seeing me…
It does something to my heart, Florian.
For once, I want to be chosen.
For once, I want them to look behind the facade.
For once…I want their love.
I will never get it, though.
Because I’m not Santiago, and never will be.
From Florian’s email to Jimena…
Whenever the voices in your head become loud, princess, shut them up with mine.
Because I see you.
You’re smart, talented, kind, and beautiful, and someday, you’ll achieve earth-shattering things as your soul constantly searches for a new adventure.
But also remember this.
Your family loves you with everything in them, even if they fail to show it to you in a way that matters to you.
I’m on your side, though.
If it ever becomes too much, you come to me, princess.
I’ll always be here, and I will never choose Santiago over you.
Florian
I get out of my car in front of our private club and salute one of the bouncers, who nods at me as he removes the red rope blocking the entrance. “Mr. Price. Welcome back.”
“Thanks.” I glance at the crowd gathering outside—desperate people fighting for a chance to get inside in hopes of a better life—and chuckle. “Good luck.” Sometimes they get rowdy and impatient, forcing our bouncers to show off their boxing skills.
