“I used the blindness story to redirect their cruelty,” he says. “I wanted them to stop dissecting you. I wanted them to focus on me, to pity me, to mock me. I could carry that. You’ve been carrying too much for too long.”
Your eyes sting.
“You lied,” you say, but your voice cracks.
“I did,” he replies. “And I’m sorry. But I won’t apologize for looking at you like you’re worthy.”
You sit on the edge of the bed, papers in your lap, heart pounding.
Outside, the city hums, indifferent.
Inside, your whole life rearranges itself.
“What happens now?” you ask.
Mateo’s gaze steadies.
“Now we decide what kind of woman you’re going to be,” he says.
“Not the one your town named. Not the one your father controlled. The one who chooses.”
The next morning, you return to your parents’ house with the sun bright on your skin and a new heaviness in your bag.
Mateo walks beside you without the cane.
No glasses.
No performance.
In the street, people stare openly.
Leave a Comment