Yolanda seems shocked by my words. “I won’t tell you much about her, but her mother was a captive. She was raped repeatedly by her captor. She isn’t giving her child to you because she doesn’t want her, dear cousin. She’s giving her up because she wants her to have a normal life, Yolanda. You and Manuel . . . you can give this to her daughter. You can raise her in a beautiful home with no fears. You see, her mother is like us. She lives a very dangerous life. The only thing she wants for this child is for it not to ever have to worry about her parents’ not coming home one day.”
Manuel clears his throat, “Will you thank her for the incredible gift she’s given us?”
“Of course, and she thanks you for providing such a loving home for her daughter.” I state, my voice cracking half-way through.
“Dante. I need to ask you this. What is her mother’s name?”
“Amara,” I reply.
“Thank you for giving us this precious gift. Our Amara Rosa Diaz-Rodriguez.” Manuel says, giving me a nod of thanks. He rubs his wife’s back and pushes her to head to the doorway.
I watch as they walk through the front door and exit my familia home.
I head back over to Amara and see she has her arms wrapped around herself, crying uncontrollably. “Mi reyna . . . shh, everything will be okay.”
Amara tears her face from how she was shielding it and looks at me. “Tell me this was the right thing to do. Tell me I didn’t just make the biggest mistake of my life.”
I kneel down and pull her into my arms. “You just gave her everything you wanted, mi amor. You gave her a normal life.” She presses her face against my chest and her tears soak through my shirt almost instantly.
I know this will hurt her for a while, but I pray this woman doesn’t have to hurt longer than necessary. I can’t bear seeing her in so much pain.
Chapter Fourteen
Time does not heal all wounds; there are those that remain painfully open
~ Elie Wiesel
Amara
One Month Later . . .
I toss and turn in my bed, pulling my arms up and stretch. It’s part of my typical morning routine. After a few moments of silence, I muster up the motivation to get out of bed and start the day.
I leave my bedroom and head for the shared bathroom in the suite. Opening the door, I grab my comb and pull it through my hair, getting out those nasty tangles that happen overnight. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I realize the bags under my eyes are growing bigger every night. I’ve been trying to sleep, but I’d be lying if I said it was easy.
I think about her all the time. I wonder if she’s smiled yet, if she can laugh, what her cry sounds like. If I’m not thinking about her when I’m awake, I’m dreaming about her. Do other women who’ve given up their children feel this way as well? Is it natural, or is it some sort of punishment?
I turn on the water and wait a few moments for it to get hot, then splash it on my face to jolt me awake. The water does little to make me feel any different. I leave the bathroom and head over to the espresso machine Francisco put in the suite for me. He’s been so kind, kinder than he should’ve ever been if you ask me. I have the blood of his enemy running through my veins.
He had been away with Eduardo on a trip in Venezuela, but he ended up calling Dante to handle his business. He left the morning after the baby was born and I haven’t seen him since.
A few days after her birth Francisco had come back here and I was introduced to Angel and Javier. Angel is a very clean-cut man. He wears expensive suits just as his father does, combs his hair back and gels it in the picture-perfect manner. Javier on the other hand, or Javi as he prefers to be called . . . he’s very similar to Dante and I. With one look I could tell the man’s been in prison many times. He has three tear drops on his face, which is either a signifier he’s killed three men, or he’s been in the slammer for that long.
Eduardo has been checking on me every few days. I don’t know why he hasn’t gone back to the States yet, though I’m appreciative of him being here. Part of me thinks he doesn’t want to leave me alone. Hell, he knows I’m not okay. Anyone who looks at me can tell.
The door behind me creaks as I finish making my hazelnut latte. I thought I wanted an espresso at first, but a latte sounds much better. I’m pouring the frothy steamed milk into the cup and hear the distinct sounds of footsteps approaching.
“I didn’t know you were a coffee girl, mi reyna.” His voice comes crashing down like a tree in a storm. I don’t move an inch and I think my breath is caught in my throat while I process Dante’s return.
He’s been gone an entire month, yet he still calls me his queen? He vanished in the middle of the night like he was running from me. When I awoke the next morning, I felt even more alone than I thought I would. If I’m being honest, I felt betrayed. He didn’t even call, not that he should’ve . . . I only assumed he would’ve communicated with me somehow. We aren’t dating. Jesus. What am I even thinking?
“Oh, how I’ve missed you so.” His lips press against the top of
