It was a hell of a feat for a young woman who'd come to this country not even speaking the language and owning nothing more than a pair of worn sandals and a faded pink dress.
I'd always been so proud of her.
"At twenty-two, she graduated and moved here to become a teacher." I paused as the pain constricting my insides morphed into something more sinister. Darkness personified. It took root in my gut and grew with each ragged breath I took. "That's when she met your piece of shit grandfather."
The surrounding air filled with my building rage, becoming thicker, more suffocating. "Fucker was the assistant principal at Toluca High, where she'd landed her first job. It was love at first sight. That's what she once told me."
And it had been complete horseshit.
Mama may have fallen for the monster who'd helped create me at first glance, but my father knew nothing of love. It was a fact he'd spent years proving—repeatedly.
"Yeah?" The hardness lining my boy's voice matched the rage flashing in his eyes. "Then why he'd do it?"
It was a question I'd known was coming, but one I wasn't prepared to answer.
Heart ready to slingshot free of my contracting chest, I pulled in a deep breath, hoping it would satisfy my starving lungs. It didn't. "Because Mama decided to fight back."
Hendrix stilled, freezing in place.
"She'd endured his heavy hand for years, had put up with him smacking her around for longer than she should've, but when she found out about the abuse I'd been silently fighting behind her back, she decided to put a stop to it."
I expected him to ask for more details concerning her death and the moments leading up to it.
He didn't.
Instead, his mind went in another direction. "Hold up," he said, pupils full of fire. "You telling me that fucker abused you in addition to your mama?"
"Yeah, buddy, he did."
Sinking into the misery that swirled around me, I let the dark secret nestled atop my heavy tongue slip free without trying to stop it. As I said before, it was time my boy learned my truths.
"But my father was sick and twisted. Perverse. The way he hurt me…" I swallowed, forcing my heart back into my chest. "It wasn't the same way that I hurt you."
A heavy silence reigned as the hidden meaning behind my confession bounced between us, growing darker and more heartbreaking as time ticked away.
"No…" Hands going to the top of his head, my kid screwed his eyes shut, shielding the pain I knew danced in their depths from my view. "Oh hell no. Tell me he didn't…" Voice trailing off once more, he opened his eyes, meeting my gaze.
My shame-stricken expression gave him the answer he sought.
"Fuck no!" The anguish in his voice as understanding dawned on him hurt. He'd suffered enough to last ten lifetimes. He didn't need to carry my pain too.
"That sick motherfucker," he ground out, open eyes shining with what I could've sworn were unshed tears. "Pop, I didn't know. If I had…" Pausing, he shook his head, teeth gritted. "You didn't deserve that shit. No kid does."
He was right about that. No child, nor adult for that matter, deserved to suffer through the things I'd endured. It was one, but far from the only reason that my determination to save Carmen and her girls was so powerful.
Their suffering needed to end. Soon.
My boy's shoulders tensed further, drawing my sole focus once more. Fighting to stay calm, his chest rose and fell with the force of his uneven breaths. He looked ready to pummel something, which is exactly what he'd do unless I intervened.
"Hendrix," I said, voice strained from ever-present torment. "Son, look at me." Head bowed, he stared at the asphalt. I didn't have to see his face to know his heart was breaking because I felt his pain bone-deep. "Buddy, look at me."
Doing as he was told, he lifted his face, his watery eyes finding mine. Feeling as though I'd been punched in the gut, I cupped both his taut shoulders with my shaking hands.
"I'm so fucking sorry, Pop," he said, features morphing as anger, followed by empathy, twisted his face. "I didn't know," he repeated, body now shaking. "If I had, I would've—"
"You have nothing to be sorry for," I interrupted, lungs constricting. "But I do, and no matter how many times I apologize, it will never be enough."
"It wasn't your fault."
"Bullshit," I argued, refusing to let him make excuses on my behalf.
Yes, I'd been scarred from years of sexual abuse that I'd suffered at the hands of my own father, but it was still no justification for the beatings and insurmountable pain I'd inflicted on my own son.
"Nothing I went through will ever excuse the abuse you endured because of me," I told him, praying he'd listen. "Bottom line, I screwed up raising you and did wrong when I should've gotten mental help and done right. But instead of doing what was needed, I let my demons win, causing you pain and fear when I should've given you nothing less than unending love and security."
"But he hurt you."
I nodded, acknowledging that truth. "He did, but I hurt you too, and for that, I'll be sorry until the day I die."
Fear, something I didn't often see from my boy, suddenly flashed in his eyes, sending my already pounding heart into a panic.
"Hendrix, talk to me," I demanded, fingers digging into his shoulders. "What's going through—"
"What if I mess up too?"
The unexpected, gut-wrenching question was like a shotgun blast to my soul. Hard-hitting, it almost brought me to my goddamned knees. Unable to stand the distance, I released his shoulders, cupped the back of his head with one hand, and pulled him closer.
My son may have been twenty-five, but he would always be my little boy. And right then, I wanted nothing more than to fix every shattered piece of him, most of which I'd broken, and erase the
