It’s the day before my father’s sentencing, and I appear calm as I sit in a cafe, waiting for Amelia and her brother Alfredo. However, on the inside, anxiety crackles like dynamite. 

The chime above the door dings, and a handsome man is removing his sunglasses. He appears to be in his forties, with dark, tightly cropped wavy hair and a white v-neck sweater that complements his deep tan. Amelia is behind him and gestures to me, which causes his mouth to pull into a smile. It makes him even more handsome as it lights up his eyes. He weaves around the tables towards me, and I notice the bouquet in his hand. 

“Valeria!” He extends his arms before reaching me, and I’m not ready for his enthusiasm as he scoops me up from the seat with a tight embrace. When he sets me down, he looks me in the eyes, a glimmer in his own, and says, “Dios mío, eres tan hermosa.”

“Se parece a Javier,” Amelia says, peering at me with pride.

“No, se parece igualita a ti.”

I glance back and forth between them, not understanding what they’re saying and wishing I had paid better attention during Spanish class.

“My apologies,” Amelia says to me, then turns to her brother. “Alfredo, she doesn’t understand us. We should speak English.”

“Ay, perdón,” he says, then corrects himself and takes my hands. “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe you’re standing here in front of us. I’m your uncle, Alfredo.”

“Hi,” I say.

“These are for you.” He hands me the flowers.

We slide into the booth, prompting the waitress to come over and ask if we would like coffee or need time to go over the menu. After a glance at the options, I already know I want the French Toast with caramelized plantains and honey-guava yogurt drizzle. Amelia orders a Florentine omelet, and Alfredo goes for a platter of scrambled eggs, sausage, hashbrowns, and a stack of pancakes. 

“I’m starving.” He smiles when the waitress walks away. “My flight was delayed, so I arrived late last night and didn’t get to eat dinner.”

“Lies,” Amelia laughs. “Don’t let him fool you. Alfredo es un comelón!”

“A what?” I glance from her to him.

“She’s saying I’m a hungry hippo,” Alfredo laughs and pats his flat stomach.

“But he hides it so well.” Amelia pokes his abdomen.

“I enjoy going to the gym.” He smiles, a blush on his cheeks.

“Me too!” I say. “Maybe we can go together while you’re in town?”

“I would like that.”

We fall into a comfortable silence as we sip our coffee and wait for our meals. Except, every once in a while, Alfredo’s phone chimes. He ignores it, but after a time, he looks at the screen to check the messages, then excuses himself and steps outside to make a call. Through the large diner windows, he paces back and forth, and the call seems to have agitated him as he furrows his brows and waves his hands, emphasizing his words. Amelia notices me watching him and clears her throat.

“Alfredo works in broadcast journalism as a cameraman, so for the last few days, his boss at the news network has been hounding him for an exclusive interview with the family. He’s not happy about their pushiness.”

“There was a journalist who showed up at my apartment the other day,” I reply.

“Margie Gil?” Amelia narrows her eyes, her mouth in a tight line.

“Yes.”

“That woman…” she mutters a few words in Spanish under her breath. “She works for a friend of Alfredo’s, Manny Herrera, and she’s trying to use the connection to get first dibs on an exclusive English interview. She’s persistent, and of course, Manny sees it as a great way to boost ratings for his news network. So, with Alfredo’s boss pulling him one way and Manny pulling him in another, it feels like everyone wants a piece of us these days.”

“Tell me about it,” I sigh, thinking about the TikTok videos and the comments.

“It’ll be over soon.” Amelia reaches across the table. “In a few weeks, people will get bored and move on to the next story.”

The waitress arrives at our table with a tray of food hot off the griddle, so Amelia retracts her hand and clears some space. Steam rises from our plates as the waitress sets them down, and my stomach gurgles when the yummy aroma hits my nostrils. 

“Looks like my call finished on time.” Alfredo slides into the booth.

“I’m sorry your work is being difficult,” I say, and his gaze flashes to me. “If it'll make things easier, I’ll sit for an interview.”

“No.” He waves his hands. “I will not involve you.”

“But if it will make things easier for you—”

“No,” Alfredo says again. “I will not allow my employer or anyone to exploit our family for a story. We’ve been through enough.”

Amelia kisses her brother’s shoulder and reaches across the table to take my hand. “Let’s eat.”

For the rest of the day, we enjoy each other’s company by going to the Palace of Fine Arts to take photos and visit the Exploratorium. Later, we meet Moses and Julian for dinner, where we loosen up over wine and pasta at Calzones in North Beach. 

Overall, the day was an excellent one, and I couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend my time, but there in the back of my mind is the throbbing reminder about my father’s sentencing.

He doesn’t want me to be there tomorrow, and with every beat my heart makes, it fractures a little more over the fact. 

∆∆∆

When morning arrives, there’s a calm blanket of fog lazily rolling across the hills and rooftops. I tossed and turned all night, hoping for sleep to find me and swath me in a dream where I could escape reality. However, as the sun lost its battle with the clouds and fog spread itself across the city like an ink drop, I still found myself awake. 

Now, I stand in the kitchen with coffee in hand, but steam no longer rises from it, and the cup has gone cold. I keep thinking about how this all began, wondering if I’d do anything differently. The truth is, I don’t know. Maybe I never had a choice in how things would unravel. 

The shower faucet squeaks and the water pulses the tiles, creating a steady drum, which means Moses is awake. He offered to take the day off work, but he’s already taken so much time off that I feel guilty asking him to keep me distracted from my father’s sentencing.

By the time Moses finishes showering, I’m pacing the living room and glancing up as he walks in.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“Yes. Positive. Besides, Julian is coming over, so I’ll be ok.”

“It’s not a big deal.” He crosses over to me and rests his hands on my shoulders. “I can take the day off.”

“No.” I shake my head. “You can’t keep using your PTO.”

“Val, that’s what it’s for—to use when I need time off.”

“How about you save it so we can take a little vacation somewhere.” I wrap my arms around him and let my head fall back to look at him.

“That could be fun. Where would you want to go?”

“How about Mexico City?” 

“Mexico City?” He quirks his brow.

“I need to meet Javier before he passes, and I want you to be there with me.”

“I’d be honored.” He kisses my nose. 

We remain embraced for the next few minutes, with only our breaths exchanging between us as a quiet settles over the living room. But then that bubble of comfort bursts as Moses says goodbye and heads off to work. 

At first, the silence is tolerable as I focus on cleaning the apartment, but the closer it gets to ten AM, the more anxious I become. By the time Julian arrives, my hands are shaking, and I answer the door short of breath.

“Val…” He enters the apartment, his brow wrinkled in worry as he feels my forehead. “You don’t look good.”

“I’m fine.” I brush his hand away, but I cannot conceal the tremor and head to the kitchen.

“You are not fine.”

“Yes, I am.” I pick up the sponge to continue wiping down the counter, but it slips from my fingers a few times before I can get a firm grip. 

“Val, look at me.” He slaps his hand onto mine, forcing me to stop cleaning. “It wasn’t fair for Angelo to ask you not to go.”

“He’s trying to protect me. He knows how I get, and I made a promise.”

“I don’t think this is protecting you.” He motions over me. “You look pale. You’re all sweaty—”

“Because I’ve been cleaning.”

“No. It’s because you’re ready to puke from anxiety, and you’re trying to distract yourself, but it’s only making you sick.”

“I made a promise,” I whisper, staring at the countertop.

“And you can break that promise. Look at me.” Julian tilts my chin. “I hate what Angelo did to you. I will never understand or forgive him for hurting you, but I know you love him. I’d prefer it if you hated him—it would make things easier, but sometimes life doesn’t make sense. Whether I like it or not, he’s been your dad for twenty years, so if you don’t go to that sentencing, regret will eat you up for the rest of your life.”

My shoulders droop in defeat as I say, “Will you drive me?”

“You don’t even have to ask!” 

Sometimes I wonder how I got so lucky to have a friend like Julian in my life, who knocks sense into me time and time again. But I don’t think it was luck at all. Perhaps gravity has a way of forcing similar souls to collide, and it’s why I find myself racing across the courthouse steps after he sped through traffic.

“Go, go, go!” Julian urges behind me.

We rushed out of the apartment so fast that we exited with me tugging on a shirt and sliding on some shoes. The buttons on my sweater aren’t lined up, and my curls are a lopsided mess as I rush through the security checkpoint. As soon as a guard clears me, I keep pumping my legs, searching for the correct courtroom, but I don’t know where I’m going. Thankfully, Julian is here to guide me. With trembling hands, I pull the door open and walk in. 

We’ve arrived right in time, and a few heads turn our way, but I’m not focussing on anyone except my father. This time, they allowed him to wear a suit, and the navy blue shade looks good on him, unlike the orange jumpsuit. His hair is brushed with a bit of gel, and he stands tall before the judge instead of defeated like last week. 

When the judge sees me, he clears his throat and continues, but my father glances over his shoulder, our eyes meeting. I see it all over his face, the damn stubborn girl face, as he closes his eyes and looks away. I slide into the first row I find and lean forward, listening closely to what the judge is about to say.

“I hereby declare that Angelo James Rossi is sentenced to ten years in California State Prison without parole…”

The rest of what the judge says becomes white noise as I absorb the ten years without parole. He deserves it. I know that. Yet, it sucks the breath from my lungs anyway, and I grip the bench in front of me. I must have made a noise because heads turn my way, along with my father’s. Our gazes lock again, and he mouths that everything will be ok. There’s moisture gathering in his eyes, and he tries to fight it with a smile, but the embankment gives. Tears race down his cheeks, and he mouths I’m sorry.

The bailiff approaches my father with handcuffs, so he turns around and holds out his wrists so the bailiff can slap the cuffs on him. It's the beginning of a life where he has to follow orders as the click-click, clack-clack punctures the silent courtroom, and the bailiff adjusts the cuffs. I might be the only person who flinched at the sound, and I wipe my cheek with my sleeve, but there is no stopping the cascade from racing to my chin. The bailiff escorts him away, and as soon as he disappears through the side door, he’ll be gone. He’ll be locked away for ten years, and as someone charged with kidnapping, he’ll be a target for other prisoners.

As this realization strikes, I spring to my feet because this can’t be how we say goodbye. What if he’s killed in prison? With my heart rattling like a snake’s tail, I bound down the aisle and head for the partition separating the attorney tables from the spectator seating area. 

“Dad!” I shout, and he freezes, causing the bailiff to halt. Another security guard rushes up to the partition and holds his hand in front of my chest. 

“Stay right there,” the guard barks, his body blocking my view, forcing me to stretch onto tip-toes to see past him. 

“Valerie!” My dad twists to look at me, tears falling, but the bailiff urges him along. “Be strong, baby girl. Forget about me. Live your life. Don’t look back.”

“I could never forget you,” I cry out, my nose running as I suck back tears and grip the railing of the partition. 

The bailiff nudges him through the door, but my father keeps his focus on me, his neck twisted. I’m on tip-toes, my body leaning forward, trying to capture every last second before he disappears. Then the door swings closed behind him, and then he’s gone.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head and gripping the railing. 

With each sharp inhale I make, a sob shutters through my chest on the way out. I’m a mess as snot and tears run down my chin, so I wipe at it with the sleeve of my sweater. The guard is saying something to me, but I shrug his hands away and sink to the floor, which has evaporated beneath my feet, along with the entire world. 

“Come on, mi niña,” Amelia says, her arms wrapping me like wings, and she kisses the top of my head. “He wouldn’t want you to fall apart like this.”

Although she’s shorter and more petite, she manages to haul me to my feet, her arms weaving around my waist. We make our way up the aisle as she wipes my tears, and people stare like we’re a freak show. Julian steps out of the row we were sitting in and takes my elbow.

“We’ve got you, Val,” he says in my ear. 

The reporters standing against the wall snap pictures with their cell phones, but we walk right past them and through the courtroom door. I’m sure my outburst gave them a juicy story to write, but I don’t care. None of them will ever understand what it’s like to discover your life is a lie. Or that your favorite person, who always made you feel safe, is not your father but instead your kidnapper.

No one will ever comprehend how I can love and hate my father. They’ll say I have Stockholm syndrome or psychological issues, but I can’t control any of that.

The one thing I can manage is how I move forward from here.