Page 148 of Forbidden Fate

When I came home, Mamá looked at my split lip and sighed. “Why did you fight?”

“Some boys said something.”

“People always say something,” she said. “But words are just words. They aren’t worth a split lip.”

At twelve, I thought that sounded like nonsense.

I stared at my homework until the numbers blurred.

Then I said, “Who is he?”

Mamá did not turn around. “Who is who?”

“My father.”

She continued stirring. “You know what I’ve told you.” She glanced over her shoulder. “He’s a very important man and he loves you very much.”

I looked at her.

Really looked.

I was twelve.

Old enough to understand about customers.

Old enough to understand about accidents.

Old enough to understand that women in our house sometimes got pregnant, and men with money didn’t always come back.

“That’s not true,” I said.

Mamá turned fully then. “What did you say?”

“He probably doesn’t love me.”

She furrowed her brow. “Cruz.”

“He probably doesn’t even know I exist.”

Pain flashed across her face.

“He was probably just some man who paid you and got you pregnant.”

Her hand tightened around the spoon.

“I know what people say,” I continued. “I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were.”

“If he loved me, he would come for me.”

Mamá set the spoon down.

“If he loved me,” I repeated, “wouldn’t he come?”

She walked to the table and sat beside me. “He might someday,” she said.

I gave a harsh laugh. “Someday.”