(Julie pov)

  I pushed my fork through the chicken and rice on my pte, stirring it more than eating it. The food had gone cold, just like the air between us. Across the table, my mother sat stiffly, her gaze fixed on nothing in particur.

  We hadn't exchanged a single real word since morning. Miguel's absence hung between us like a third presence—heavy, suffocating.

  "It's your fault," she murmured at st.

  Something inside me snapped. My chair scraped loudly as I leaned forward, heat rushing to my face. "You assaulted him first!" I yelled, the words tearing out of me as I spat the food back onto my pte, my hands shaking.

  "I was trying to heal him," I went on, my voice cracking with anger and desperation. "I wanted him to love me back." I looked straight at her then, and the urge that surged through me scared me—I wanted to hit her. My own mother.

  "If you hadn't touched him," she said quietly, almost coldly, "he'd still be here. He would've forgiven me."

  I shook my head, disbelief flooding in, my stomach twisting. How could she twist it like that? How could she make herself the victim?

  The room felt smaller. Tighter. Like it was closing in on me, just like everything else had since Miguel left.

  "It's because of you that he's in danger now," I said, my voice shaking as I crossed my arms tight over my chest, like I was holding myself together by force. "You did this, Mom. YOU."

  She opened her mouth, but I didn't give her time to breathe.

  "Do you have any idea how badly you hurt him?" I went on, my words tumbling out faster, sharper. "He cried, Mom. He cried so much." My throat burned as I spoke. "All I was trying to do was put him back together—piece by piece—because you broke him."

  "Lies," she snapped.

  That single word hit harder than a sp. My jaw clenched so tight it hurt, my gums aching under the pressure, like something inside me was about to crack.

  "We both fucked up, Mom!" I shouted, my voice breaking through the room. "Both of us. And you know what makes it worse?" My hands balled into fists. "He saved our lives today. He saved us—when he could've had us killed!"

  My chest heaved as the truth spilled out, ugly and unavoidable. "We're horrible people, Mom. Horrible. We took everything he had and still asked for more."

  The dam finally broke.

  Tears blurred my vision, my body folding in on itself as the sobs tore out of me. A second ter, I heard her—my mother—breaking too, her cries shaky and raw, filling the silence we'd been hiding behind all day.

  "We were the only thing he had," I whispered through tears, my hands flying up to clutch my head. "Us. We were supposed to protect him. Love him. Make him feel safe." My voice cracked completely. "But it's too te now."

  I sniffled, my shoulders shaking. "Now we pay for it. Not with blood. Not with money." I swallowed hard. "But with his absence."

  And somehow... that felt worse than anything else.

  -

  (Elena pov)

  The house was silent—too silent.

  A whole week had passed. Seven days without the love of my life. Seven days without Miguel. No calls. No messages. No rumors. Nothing.

  It felt like the walls themselves were judging me.

  I sat at the table, staring at the same spot on the wood, my hands limp in my p. I missed everything about him—his cooking, the way he moved around the kitchen like it was second nature, the warmth of his body beside mine at night. His voice. His presence. The way he existed so softly in a world that never deserved him.

  I pressed my fingers into my temples, breathing shakily.

  "I'm so stupid..." I whispered to the empty room. "So fucking stupid."

  My throat tightened as the thought cwed its way back in.

  "I'll never see him again..." My voice broke. "He's probably dead, isn't he..."

  The idea hollowed me out. My vision blurred, my body slumping forward until my elbows hit the table. I felt dizzy, exhausted—like grief alone was enough to knock me unconscious. I let my head hang, ready to just... give in.

  Then—

  Buzz.

  The sound was so sudden I flinched.

  My phone vibrated against the table, the screen lighting up like it was mocking me. For a second, I just stared at it, afraid. Afraid it would be nothing. Afraid it would be bad news. Afraid it would confirm everything I'd been dreading.

  With shaking hands, I grabbed it. One message.

  "Miguel's in Mexico... that's all I know..."

  My breath hitched.

  Relief flooded me so fast it made me lightheaded—he was alive. Alive. My chest ached with it, tears welling instantly. But right behind that relief came pain, sharp and deep, twisting in my gut.

  Mexico.

  The fact that he had to flee the country... the fact that he had to get that far away from me—it hurt more than I wanted to admit. I squeezed the phone in my hand, my heart pounding.

  But still...

  This was something. A lead. A direction.

  I wiped at my face, my jaw setting with quiet determination.

  "This is a start," I whispered to myself. "And I won't stop now."

  Not when he was still out there.

  —

  (Miguel pov)

  "So how'd you end up here, Miguel?" Car asked casually as she cut into her breakfast that I made. "You're clearly not from around here—your Spanish gives you away."

  I took a small bite of my pancake, chewing slowly before swallowing. The food was warm, comforting... almost enough to distract me. Almost.

  "I'm not sure I want to say," I murmured. "It's... bad."

  Outside, the sun poured over the hills of Sinaloa, golden and peaceful, like the world hadn't shattered me a few weeks ago.

  Car didn't push her pte away or rush me. She just reached over, her thumb brushing gently over the back of my hand.

  "You can tell me, sweetie," she said softly. "I don't judge."

  My cheeks warmed despite myself. I took a breath—then another.

  "A couple of weeks ago... my ex saw me get a ride from an old friend. A woman. Then she saw me talking to our neighbor—also a woman." I swallowed hard. "She... she went insane."

  Car's expression darkened, but she stayed quiet.

  "She hit me," I continued, my voice cracking despite my effort to keep it steady. "I ran out. I just wanted air—space—to understand what had just happened to me." My fingers tightened around my fork. "I walked too far. Ended up in the wrong pce."

  Her thumb continued tracing small circles on my hand, as if to remind me I was here. Safe.

  "And then..." My throat closed. I sniffled, blinking hard. "I was attacked. By a group of women." The words felt heavy, ugly. "They... they gang-raped me."

  Silence fell over the table.

  Not the uncomfortable kind—the kind that lets you breathe.

  Car stood abruptly, her chair scraping softly against the floor. She came to my side and pulled me into her, firm but careful, one hand cradling the back of my head.

  "I'm so sorry, Miguel," she said quietly, her voice tight with something dangerous and controlled. "None of that was your fault. Not a single second of it."

  I broke then, my face pressing into her chest as she held me like she meant it—like she wasn't going anywhere.

  "She found me the next day," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. "I was still on the floor... I couldn't move. She took me home."

  Car's arms tightened around me just slightly, like she was bracing herself.

  "She was still angry," I said. "Like none of it mattered. Like what happened to me was just... an inconvenience." I swallowed, my chest starting to ache. "A couple days went by. I thought maybe she'd calm down."

  I let out a shaky breath.

  "I overheard her talking," I said. "She was ughing. Talking about how she would have it happen to me again—so I'd learn to obey her."

  The words came out broken, jagged, like gss in my throat.

  "I—" My voice failed me. I shook my head, tears blurring my vision. "I'm sorry... I can't..."

  My body folded in on itself before I even realized it, my hands gripping Car's shirt like it was the only thing keeping me upright. I wasn't just remembering—it felt like I was back there again.

  Car didn't speak right away.

  Instead, she held me. One hand firm against my back, the other cradling my head, steady and protective. When she finally did speak, her voice was low, controlled, trembling with something fierce underneath.

  "You never have to apologize for stopping," she said. "Not to me. Not ever."

  She pressed her forehead to mine. "What she did to you was monstrous. You survived it. And you're safe now."

  "Never again..." I sobbed, my face buried in her chest. "I don't want to see her again, Car... I don't ever want to go back."

  The words poured out of me, tangled with tears and broken breaths. My whole body shook, like it was finally letting go of weeks of fear, tension, and exhaustion. I felt so small in that moment—fragile, raw, barely holding myself together.

  Car inhaled sharply above me. I felt the subtle hitch in her breathing, the way her chest rose and fell a little faster. She was crying too.

  "I promise you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Nothing bad will ever happen to you again. Not while I'm alive. I swear it."

  Her words weren't loud. They weren't dramatic. They were steady. Absolute.

  And somehow, that made them stronger.

  I clung to her, letting myself finally colpse into the safety she offered. My heartbeat slowly began to calm, my breathing evening out as her warmth surrounded me.

  I felt safe.

  And I trusted her promise.

  ———

  Car

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