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"What Michele said," I take a deep breath. "It's mostly true. I did betray him. I did…" my throat clogs up with emotion as I remember those times in our lives. I'd seen him at his worst, and I'd still betrayed him. Does it matter that I thought I was doing the right thing? Do good intentions matter when the end result is disastrous?
So I tell her. I recount everything that happened in our childhood andwhyI did what I did, giving her an entire snapshot of my early life—of my most glaring flaws. The fact that I’dwantedto tell my parents about Antonio—I’d wanted to tell everyone so the bastard would pay. But just as we were about to tell everything, Antonio had pulled me aside and showed me evidence that would damn Michele even more—that would sentence him to death in the eyes of the famiglia. He knew that Michele wasn’t Benedicto’s biological son, and he was ready to reveal that to the entire world. This would have ensured that either Benedicto would have him killed to avoid being shamed, or other member of the famiglia would so an impostor would not gain control over it. It was a lose-lose situation, and one I could not afford to gamble with.
So I had to choose one option. To my great shame, I chose the one that would keep my brother alive, despite the fact that he would suffer for accusing Antonio of such a grave crime.
I tried to spare him, but I only damned him further.
"Raf," she blinks. "Do you hear yourself? You're blaming yourself for choosing the least harmful option—theonlything you could have done."
"No, he's right to hate me because I am guilty. I could have reached out to him. I could have…"
"You were fourteen!" she exclaims. "You were fourteen and you'd just seen your brother get brutally raped. You did the best you could at the time. Michele would have beenkilledif it got out that he wasn't Benedicto's son. You know that now and you knew it back then."
"Maybe I could have done more," I sigh. I don't think I'll ever be at peace with how everything played out back then.
"I think you need to cut yourself some slack. Yes, you betrayed him," she puts it bluntly, and I can't help but wince at the word. "But you also spent years repenting for that one mistake."
"You're right. The issue is that Ican'tforgive myself. I don't know if I ever will be able to."
She nods pensively, a sad smile pulling at her lips.
"We all have things that can never be erased from our souls, Raf. We just have to learn to live with them. But not the way you've been doing until now. Not drowning yourself in guilt and bending over backwards to make up for your mistake. If there's no one to accept your apology, stop trying."
Her words echo in my brain, and to an extent I can recognize them as true. But it's much more than just that one wrong choice. Now that I'd heard Michele's side, more and more questions swirl in my mind.
"But that's just the thing. I did betray him. But I never spread any rumors about him at school. I wouldneverdo something so vile."
She purses her lips.
"Why did he seem so sure it was you then?"
"Probably because I was the only one who could have done it? But…" I groan out loud, frustrated at the dilemma. "I didn't do it," I repeat, hoping she won't think I would ever stoop so low.
"I believe you," she gently assures me. "But if you didn't do it, someone else did. Someone whowantedto cause a rift between the two of you."
"What are you trying to say?" I frown.
"There were only two people at the time who would have stood to gain from Michele hitting rock bottom," she says in a gentle tone. "Antonio and…"
"No… No, it couldn't have been her," I deny vehemently. "It couldn't have been my mother."
"Are you sure? Are you truly sure?"
The question feels like a dagger to the heart. Because I amnotsure.
Shehadcolluded with Antonio. She'd had knowledge about the abuse and hadn't done anything about it. But being passive doesn't make her an assailant.
"I… I don't know," I reluctantly admit.
"Is there no way to find out? Because surely, if you explained to Michele everything that happened—yourversion of what happened—he would quit this senseless fight."
"I think my brother is past that," I mutter dryly. "But that doesn't mean I'm not concerned. Because if what he says it's true, then…" I swallow hard, unable to imagine the horrors Michele must have lived through.
"I know," she reaches for my hand, bringing it to her lips for a sweet kiss. "She was your mother, and you loved her. But you need to separate the two."
I nod painfully.
"We'll find a way to get to the bottom of that. Slowly," she offers me a brilliant smile, and I know she's trying to lift my spirits up.
