As the drinks arrived, Alejandra’s stomach twisted.
“I have to confess something,” she said, her voice low.
“¿Qué pasa, Alejandra?” her mother asked immediately, alarm flashing across her face, while her father straightened and Carlos leaned back, watching her carefully.
“Nada. Just that…the real reason I basically fled Conil… it wasn’t just for Callum.” She gave a small, almost guilty smile. “He was a good reason. But the truth is…I couldn’t face what the injury did to me. Not physically. Mentally.”
Her mother’s eyes widened. Her father went still. Carlos…Carlos looked like he had already known.
“I’m still not sure I’ll be able to go back to surfing. Every day I’m inching towards yes, but…” she admitted, fingers tightening around her glass. “It’s not because of my shoulder. It’s my head. I’ve been seeing a therapist. Sofia helped. Callum too. But after what happened—with the reef—I got stuck. I had to dislocate my arm just to get free. And something cracked inside me that day. Something deep.”
She took a sip of coffee, the cold grounding her slightly. Her hands trembled just enough for her to notice.
“And I didn’t tell you… because I know how much you built around me. My career, your choices. Everything revolved around my decision to surf. And if I can’t go back… it wouldn’t just hurt me. It would hurt you too.”
“Alejandra…” her mother whispered, eyes already glossing over.
“Let me finish,” she said quickly, voice wavering now. “I owe everything to the three of you. My entire career. I’m not saying I’m retiring—I showed I can still get in the water, and with the right amount of work I’ll do it—but I don’t know if I can compete again. I’m scared I’ll freeze. That I’ll choke. That I’ll get stuck again. I need time. I need space. And mostly… I need to ask for your forgiveness.”
Silence fell over the table.
When she looked up, her father was quietly bawling, tears running freely down his tanned cheeks. Her mother was shaking herhead, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Carlos gave her a soft, steady, understanding smile.
She turned to him. “You gave up your career to train me. You shouldn’t have. But you did. And you’ve been the best trainer I could’ve asked for. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
Carlos reached across the table, gripping her hand firmly.
“Ale,” he said gently, “you could never disappoint me. I’m upset you didn’t tell us. That you made us believe you were fine. But I’m glad you’re processing it. Not so you can surf again, but so you can feel like yourself again. I’ll be fine. I’ll help you recover. Your mental health comes first. Always.”
Alejandra clenched her jaw, her throat aching with unshed tears.
“Hija,” her father said, voice thick with emotion, “you could never upset us. You’ve done so much, achieved so much. You gave us an amazing life, more than we could have asked for. And you suffered something traumatic. Whatever you decide, we’re here. We love you.”
Her nose pinched, her vision blurring. She nodded, barely holding herself together.
“Thank you. I’m sorry I escaped. I just needed time.”
“We could retire now with the sponsor money you brought in,” her father joked through tears, trying to lighten the moment.
“You’ve saved money?” she asked, raising a brow.
“You didn’t?” her mother deadpanned.
“I did,” she said, letting out a small, shaky laugh. “Just… not always the best with numbers.”
“We love you, hija,” her mother said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Whatever you choose, we’re with you. And don’t you dare worry about us. We are fine. We have money, and the house here in Sevilla.”
Carlos nodded. Her father too. “We are your family. Te queremos, Alejandra.”
“Os quiero yo también,” she whispered.
And for the first time in what felt like months, the weight on her chest loosened. Not gone—but shared. Carried between four people instead of one.
She felt lighter and ready to face the Feria, the noise, the music, the lights…with her family and Callum.
59
CALLUM
