La Fiera

ella

e of those moments, the kind that rewrites your story in the blink of an eye. But maybe it's not the grand gestures or dramatic declarations that redefine us. May

love that

s bet

hoes in my head, sharp and

ve. It's better

angled in each other's arms, whispering dreams into the dark, had meant

. Stupid. Desperate.

icked to the floor. "You don'

father, Alejandro! I ca

no 'us,'

t away. I just stood there - dumbfoun

ng that made me feel safe. My lover. My home. My future. The child ins

thless. Wealthy. Feared. And their golden boy didn't have room f

bag. A handful of clothes. A few pesos. A folded sonogram. And a worn phot

street corner felt like a threat.

ing. My belly had already begun to swell, a quiet declaration

then away. Some looked at me with pity. Others with judgme

goal: get away. Disappear. The Aguillas didn't tolerate loose ends, and I was the biggest m

ers and warm tea. She noticed the way my hands trembled, the way my voice wavered. I lied an

urt more t

ficial map - that my legs finally gave out. I collapsed outsi

face before anything else - Clara. Short, bro

that smelled like lavender and smoke, and led me to

ied harder than

weeks, someone sat beside

eated me like

d. She rubbed oil on my belly and hummed lullabies I couldn't understand. Sometimes,

all - she

up reaching for Alejandro in dreams. Still froze when I heard tires on gravel

I wasn't al

girl with city eyes and a swelling belly. But Clara was re

hang clothes the "right" way. How to scrub linens with river stones. How

knife near the b

illas didn't kn

e

ly once - if I wanted to

ges in silence, the

ft behind, niña... is

s sticky with

. "Then you bet

she meant then. But

w t

nning the hill behind the house until my legs gave out. Clara never said

hs p

grew. S

h names. Faces. I scribbled my fears in one corner and

How to stitch a wound. How to

y, eyes always watching

ew the past would

adn'

it w

o