Chapter 7 - The Letter from the Past
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The morning sun usually brought a sense of absolute peace to the foundation, but today, the air felt suffocatingly thick. Mariana stood by the wooden kitchen island, staring down at a crisp, white envelope that had been delivered in the morning mail.
The return address bore the official seal of the State Department of Corrections.
Her hands trembled as she slid a butter knife under the flap, tearing it open. She unfolded the thick paper, her eyes scanning the dense legal jargon until they locked onto a single, horrifying paragraph.
"What's wrong?" Mateo asked, walking into the kitchen.
He was dressed in his coaching gear, a whistle hanging around his neck, looking every bit the confident teenager he had fought so hard to become. But as he looked at Mariana’s pale face, the carefree teenager vanished, replaced instantly by the hyper-vigilant survivor.
"Mariana?"
"It’s... it’s nothing, honey," she lied, instinctively trying to fold the letter away.
"Don't do that," Mateo said, his voice dropping an octave.
"Don't do what?"
"Don't lie to protect me. We promised we wouldn't do that anymore."
Mariana sighed, the fight draining out of her shoulders. She placed the letter flat on the marble counter.
"It’s an early release notification," she said softly.
Mateo froze. The color drained from his cheeks.
"Grandma died in prison last year," Mateo whispered, his eyes locked on the paper. "So that means..."
"Your father," Mariana confirmed, her voice breaking slightly. "Elias is being granted early parole due to prison overcrowding and supposed good behavior. He gets out on Tuesday."
The kitchen went deadly silent. The sound of children playing outside suddenly felt incredibly distant. Mateo stared at the letter, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.
"He's coming back," Mateo said, his voice barely a whisper.
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"I won't let him near you," Mariana said fiercely, stepping forward and grabbing his hands.
"You don't know him," Mateo replied, his eyes dark with a fear he hadn't felt in years. "If he's getting out, he's coming here. Not for me. But for what he left behind."
