Agustin

Sofia's recovery was close to a miracle than any scientific marvel. Mama and Alejandro didn't leave her side. While Alejandro slept on the floor every day, Mama ensured that her daughter-in-law's Sunday mass wasn't gone without prayers.

Aurelia, who for the longest time assumed her mother was sent to the hospital, had to be conveyed the truth about Sofia's health when we thought we lost her. Almost.

Having slipped in and out of coma, we'd prayed for her more, converting our home into a place of worship. The members of the church visited day in and out, always giving their best regards to Sofia. 

Though Sofia was unaware of it all, Alejandro carried the faith that his wife will wake up one day. 

And she did.

One morning, as soon as the doctor concluded his vital checks on her, she opened her eyes and pointed at the jug of water kept near the bed.

Alejandro yelled to summon us. Every one of us ran to his room. With our minds conjuring the worst fears, it was a slap of reality. 

A happy realization that Sofia had come out of her long slumber.

Time flew after that. 

It has already been a couple of months since her recovery. And yet, there were days when I felt as if she didn't fully recover.

Her smile didn't feel like the one before - bright like the sun and warm like the midsummer. Her voice too had somehow change, edging more than before. 

Trauma had the power to metamorphose a person to become someone they wouldn't have, under natural circumstances. Assuming it was Sofia's trauma, we all let her have the time to heal.

After all, if there was any panacea for trauma, it was time. 

Time healed all. Time closed the worst of wounds, even the ones to the heart and soul.

The soft rattling on the door as it creaked opened dragged my attention up. I was spending time in the library, away from everyone. 

Since Sofia's recover, everything in the house started falling back to its normal norm. 

Our family breakfasts, the ritualistic afternoon wine with lunch where mama would bring something from each of our childhood to those evenings where Al and I would chase after Aurelia in the garden, or when we would help out Valentina with the twins.

Yet, it wasn't all the same again. 

Something was still different. Something, that I couldn't put my finger on, had changed in the wee hours of the nights when we lost Sofia. 

Though she recovered, something else didn't.

"Are you busy?" Sofia asked as she closed the library doors behind her and sat on the couch near me. "I can come later if you're doing something."

I nodded sideways, setting a bookmark in the book. The story I was reading - about a girl who could only speak at night - could wait. 

Sofia placed her phone, screen side down on the couch, and gently placed her hands over each other. 

In a manner, she wanted to appear calm and composed. 

"I wanted to talk to you about something," she said, looking at her intertwined fingers. "It's about that day...  when I was rescued."

My chin rested over my knuckles while I nodded. She took a deep breath, the corners of her eyes tearing up.

"Since that day, I feel different. I feel..."

"Different how?"

"I don't know..." Tear filled eyes looked up at me. "Maybe I've become weak again."

She palmed her face, dipping her head over her chest. Soft sobs filled the silence in the room. Everywhere that I looked, all I could find were books.

Duh. I was in a library.

I moved from my desk, treading lightly as I spoke. "Why do you feel like that?"

All she did was nod, behind the veil of her fingers. Then heave.

"Sof." 

I sat beside her, gently patting her back. It rumbled like she wasn't reliving her trauma but undergoing it again. Her skin appeared papery. Her nails, unkept and chewed up from all corners, displayed what had gnawed her.

"Please look at me." I hoped that she would stop crying. I felt helpless. I wanted to hold her, but it felt wrong to hold her in her most vulnerable form. "Sof..."

She moved her hands, putting on display a trembling smile. 

"I just feel sometimes, that after that day... I've become weak again."

Unknowingly, my arm coiled over her back, pulling her in my embrace. 

"You're not weak. You've endured. And you've come out stronger."

She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "You can say that, because you don't feel what I feel."

"And what do you feel?"

"Like my bones have become brittle. I'm not in my body anymore." Sofia moved back to look at my face. "You know all those trainings; it all feels useless now."

"You're thinking like-"

"Tell me it will subside, Agustin. Tell me these are temporary feelings."

I knew the reason for Sofia's changed behavior. I also knew, since her these feelings had rooted in her for the past few months, it would take more than a simple talk to get them out of her. 

"You need to talk to a therapist, Sof. These things, they're very good at handling."

"And tell them what? That I'm an imposter?" She sprang off the couch and walked around the room. Her fingers kept fidgeting, and so did her gaze. "You want me to talk to a therapist and tell them that I've gone soft."

"Nobody would think of that." 

I pulled my weight of the couch and watched her walk in a haphazard manner from one corner of the library to another. 

"Sofia." I wanted. She didn't look at me for long. 

And longer, she didn't halt walking.

After over five-minutes of watching her eye the door, I decided to take things in my hands.

"Look at me," I moved closer, demanding. She did. "And listen to me when I say, I'm going to tell you things for your benefit. Not anyone else's. You get that?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"A therapist won't think you've gone soft. Neither will this family." Irritation tipped her. Her breathing dragged. Yet, I persevered. "Please, don't think that therapy will something bad to you."

"You're the one to talk." She scoffed. "You and all you Moralez men, you should be the last people to tell anyone to seek therapy but yourselves first."

"I agree. We have no right to say we don't need therapy. Lord knows both my brothers and I could make the therapist win a fortune with our therapy."

Sofia might have resisted sniping at me for a moment, it was only momentary. 

"How about you convince everyone. And then I'll go."

"Therapy is a choice, Sof. I might know Antonio and Alejandro need it, but I can't force anyone. No more than how I can only convince you."

Sofia moved away to the window, pulling the blinds up. Sunlight streamed in the dark room. Warmth spread to the colder corners of the library. It made my skin tingle. 

"I'll think about it," she said and turned to me. "I need some time to wrap it all in my head before I can convince me to unwrap it."

"Take all the time..."

I was glad she would consider my proposal. 

"What about you?" She pointed at me, her smiling reappearing. "You said you can't convince Al and Anto to goto therapy. Does this mean you're seeking help?"

"Nope." My arms sliced the air.

"Really?" Her smile grew. "Why can't I believe it?"

"Because you're stupid."

That made her laugh. Loud, like before and loud like she wanted to relive in that moment for a bit longer.

"Fine, don't tell me. And I'll tell everyone you're seeking help from a sex worker."

"Nothing wrong in that. Isn't it?"

"Nope." She contemplated for a while, bridging her eyebrows. "But I'll say she pays you to talk."

"What the hell, Sof? I'd never do that to you. Such a spoilt woman you are."

She shrugged. "Tell me about your therapist and I'll keep quiet."

I picked up my diary, closed my eyes and sighed. "This..." I opened my eyes, flipping open the pages. "This is my therapy. I write my feelings. My pain. I write and feel light."

With unhinged mouth, Sofia watched me as she moved closer to verify. She peered at what I'd written and nodded, pursing her lips.

"Thank you for letting me know."

"You're never to tell anyone, Sof."

"I won't." She crossed her heart. "I promise."

"Swear on Aurelia."

She didn't hesitate, nodding. Then placing her cold palms over mine. "On Reli's life, I swear."

In that moment, I realized Sofia wasn't asking about my therapist to poke me. She was evaluating what would work best for her.

As I closed my diary and placed it inside my bag, Sofia tapped at the table. I looked up.

"Are you really going to marry her? she asked. "The Brazilian Heiress?"

"Yes."

"Sure?"

"Yes, Sof. What are we getting to here?"

"Nothing." She shrugged. "You like her?"

"I will. Once I get to spend time with her."

"And what about..."

My breath stalled. I knew what she wanted to say. 

"Say it?" My tone was tipping. It was challenging.

"What about when you realize you don't love her."

"I'll grow to love her, Sof. Don't you worry."

"Trust me, I'm not worried for you."

"Then?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Sof." Anger coursed through my chest, brimming into my throat. "Either say it or let it go."

"Fine, I let it go. But can you?"

"I can what?"

"Ask your therapist. Maybe, your diary would be able to better tell you what you're trying to convince yourself for."

~

And seems like all is well with the Moralez family again...

But for how long?