Chapter 21 - The First Year\
The first year of Mateo’s life was a beautiful, chaotic blur of sleepless nights and quiet victories. I lived in my childhood bedroom at my parents' house, surrounded by the familiar scent of lavender and the comforting creak of the wooden floorboards.
One evening, a sudden thunderstorm rolled over Mexico City. A loud crack of thunder shook the windows, sounding eerily like a heavy door slamming shut. Instinctively, I flinched, my heart hammering against my ribs, and I threw my arms over Mateo’s crib to shield him.
My mother rushed into the room, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Valeria, mi amor, are you alright?" she asked, her voice laced with concern as she gently placed a warm hand on my trembling shoulder.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing my heart rate to slow down. I looked down at Mateo. He hadn't even woken up; his tiny chest rose and fell in a peaceful, rhythmic slumber.
"I'm fine, Mama," I whispered, straightening my posture. "It was just the thunder. It startled me."
"It is okay to be scared," my mother said softly, pulling me into a warm embrace. "Healing does not mean you forget. It means you no longer let the memory control you."
"I know," I replied, leaning into her comforting scent. "But look at him. He didn’t even stir. He feels completely safe."
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"Because he is safe," she affirmed. "You made sure of that."
As the rain lashed against the glass, I realized she was right. The storm outside was fierce, but inside this house, there was only warmth and security. The monsters were locked away in concrete cells, miles from my son. I gently stroked Mateo’s soft cheek, whispering a silent vow that I would spend the rest of my life building a world where he would only ever know the sound of rain as a lullaby, never as a mask for someone's cruelty.
