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Chapter 1 - Giselle
My mother died of broken heart syndrome, holding a bottle of whiskey in one hand and the stem of a withered rose in the other.
One miserable year had passed since the evening I found her lifeless body on the rocking chair she’d inherited from my grandmother. Her mascara cascaded down her cheeks, following the trail of dried-up tears. Her long, slender neck craned towards the window, sightless brown eyes searching the rain for a glimpse of the man she’d been waiting for all her life.
My mother had lived her life that way: searching, waiting, and drinking. At least that was the part of her that was stuck in my memory. Pathetic, weak, and miserable were strong words, not the words I would like to connect her with. I wanted to think she was strong-willed and in love because that was the only reason a woman would spend her life waiting for a man who never showed up until she took her last breath.
As for my father… I’d never met him.
Mom barely ever spoke of him, in words at least. But I could tell how much she loved him whenever she smiled at the rain with sad, misty eyes. They always showed how much she missed him and how much she’d longed for him.
She’d waited, but he never came for her. And neither did he come for me.
If only she’d loved me even half of how much she’d loved him… I guess it didn’t matter because despite how she treated me, I’m still here a year after her death, standing over her tombstone and listening to the distant chirping of birds and fluttering of leaves as the wind weaved through them.
Bending over, I lowered the bouquet of white lotus to her grave like I promised I would every year of her death anniversary. She’d lived and withered away like a rose, so when I gave her lotus, I hoped she would somehow find her peace.
I patted the cold tiles shielding her grave, then pulled a weed stem from the side and smiled.
“Hey, Mom. Did you miss me?” I curled the plant around my fingers to distract myself from the churning in my stomach. “Of course, you didn’t. You were probably too busy missing him instead.”
I waited for a reply, but none came. “It’s been a year without you. Time flies quickly when you’re missing someone, doesn’t it?”
If there was a chance that she could answer me, it was ruined when my phone buzzed in my handbag. I got to my feet and raked my fingers through my black leather handbag, pushing through makeup items and keys until my fingers reached my cell phone.
There you are.
“Hello?” I answered as I pulled the phone from my handbag.
Heavy breaths broke the silence at the other end of the line. “You fucking bitch,” whomever the caller was roared. It was a woman, but her voice didn’t ring a bell. Her voice was as thick as it was feminine, I wouldn’t forget a voice like that.
“Um—I’m sorry, but I think you have the wrong number.” Come to think of it, I hadn’t been in a fight with anyone for a year now—since my mother passed, that is.
The laugh that echoed through the speakers on my cell was hostile. It sounded like a lion would growl before pouncing on its prey. “No. I’m certain I have the right number.” She paused momentarily, reminding me how I always stopped to catch my breath whenever I fought with my mother. “You’re Giselle fucking Cruz.”
All right. Whoever this woman was, she fucking knew me, and I didn’t like the gruff in her voice right now.
“I am.” I scoffed, ready to give whatever disrespect I got from her in double. “And you are?”
“The fiancée of the man you’re fucking.”
“Well, Ms. Fiancée, the only man I’m fucking is—” I trailed off, my head somehow trying to make sense of what she’d just said seconds after she’d said it. “You’re what?”
“You never thought I would reach out to you, did you?” She let out a mirthless laugh. “You thought you could sneak around with my man and never get caught, you fucking cunt.”
Air drained from my lungs, and the gentle breeze suddenly grew heavy enough to make my legs wobbly. “Who’s your fiancé?”
She laughed again. “You have lots of them, just like I imagined,” she remarked. “For what it’s worth, Aaron Turner is my fiancée, and we are getting married a month from today.”
He’s my boyfriend. We’ve been together for three years.
But I didn’t say that. Instead, my trembling hands held my phone to my ear for minutes after the line went dead. A knot formed in my throat, making it hard for me to breathe.
I sat down by the edge of my mother’s tomb. Aaron and I had been together all of yesterday. We’d made plans. We’d talked about where we’d get married and how many kids we were going to have.
There was no way in the world Aaron would betray me like that. He loved me, and he was the only thing I had left. There had to be a mix-up somewhere. I was certain there was.
I removed my phone from my ear, pulled up Aaron’s number, and dialed it, holding my breath at everybleepit rang before he answered.
