Chapter 22 - The Scars of the Fall
While Mateo fought the corporate wars downtown, Valeria remained heavily guarded within the sprawling, fortified walls of the estate.
The physical wounds from her terrifying ordeal on the balcony had healed beautifully. The bruises had faded from her wrists, and the cuts from the torn fabric were gone. But the psychological scars ran incredibly deep, woven violently into the fabric of her mind.
It was a rainy Tuesday afternoon. The rhythmic drumming of the rain against the glass usually brought her peace, but today, it only brought back the memory of the cold wind whipping across the stone patio.
Valeria sat in the plush, yellow nursery, holding her six-month-old son, Leo.
"You are safe,"
Valeria whispered frantically, rocking the baby back and forth.
"We are both safe."
Elena walked into the nursery, carrying a tray with a pot of warm chamomile tea. She saw the terrified, distant look in Valeria’s eyes and instantly understood. Elena set the tray down and knelt beside the rocking chair.
"The mind remembers what the body tries to forget,"
Elena murmured softly, gently placing her hand over Valeria’s trembling arm.
"Every time I close my eyes, I feel myself slipping,"
Valeria sobbed, burying her face into her baby's soft, warm blanket.
"I feel Daniel's knife cutting the curtain. I hear Teresa telling you to let me die."
"Look at me, Valeria,"
Elena commanded gently, waiting until Valeria’s tear-filled eyes met hers.
"They are locked in a concrete box for the rest of their natural lives. They can never hurt you again. But if you let their ghosts haunt this nursery, they are still winning. You have to take the house back."
Valeria looked down at little Leo, who was staring up at her with big, curious, innocent eyes. He needed a mother who was a warrior, not a victim.
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"You are right,"
Valeria breathed out, her tears stopping as a fierce, unyielding resolve began to harden in her chest.
