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Chapter 8

LAURA

I'm leaving. I'm going to leave home. I won't stay.

But having all that in mind doesn't diminish the pain caused by my father looking at me in the eyes, angry and disappointed. I don't demand his support because I know I've let him down in a way, but I would have at least liked to have his understanding, and I would have given everything I don't yet have for a different reaction.

"Leo..." my mother murmurs in his direction, earning in response a gesture that forces her to remain silent.

"No, Alejandra, I won't allow an ungrateful person to continue living under my roof," he says, forcing me to swallow the saliva that feels like a million sharp stones. Mom tries to reply, but her tears prevent her from speaking. "Now get out of my sight!" he yells at me without looking me in the face.

Without waiting for a second order, I leave, almost running up the stairs, and I don't stop until I reach my room and close the door, putting the lock on. Rejection hurts, it seeps into my bones, and the only thing it leaves me with is the desire to throw myself on the bed and cry.

What hurts the most, what echoes in my memory, is that he didn't have the same reaction as my siblings. He was happy for them, he celebrated for them, and I understand that he didn't expect this from me, I understand that it's not the way he expected to receive a grandchild from me, but... I am also his daughter.

I understand his annoyance, I understand that he might believe that if my relationship with Gareth ended, it wasn't because of him, but because of me, and that must bother him even more. And I would like to talk to him and explain things, even if it means being completely honest, even if it means telling him how things happened and with whom.

But I prefer to leave things as they are, swallow the pain and burning sensation caused by the rejection of the man I love the most on Earth. I prefer all of that rather than adding more weight to his disappointment by telling him that I got pregnant while drunk, in his backyard, with one of his most important business partners.

After a long few minutes, my door is knocked, and I get up from the bed as I wipe my face, even though my swollen eyes give away my state anyway. I open the door, and before I can see who it is, a pair of arms surround me and hold on tight, my sister's perfume fills my nose, and immediately my eyes fill with tears again.

Alejandro comes with her, he stands behind Liliam without any expression that reveals what he's feeling now. He doesn't look at me, and I already know in advance that he's angry, possibly disappointed as well, but still, seconds later, he joins us, leaving a kiss on each of our heads.

"Don't worry, Laura, it's okay. It's not that serious. Maybe Dad wasn't serious, he adores you, you know that," Liliam tries to reconcile, trying to make me feel better, and although she doesn't succeed, the fact that she tries makes me feel less miserable.

"How far along are you, sweetie?" Alejandro asks, trying to keep his anger at bay. I can't help but look at him with love; he's only six years older than me, and we've always gotten along well. When I was little, I used to say he was my favorite superhero after Dad. I smile sadly as I remember those days.

"Two weeks," I say with a bit of difficulty due to crying. Alej looks at me and nods, biting his lips, probably believing the same thing that everyone must be thinking: that I cheated on Gareth.

But still, neither of them says or asks anything about the subject, and internally I'm grateful for that.

"Will you tell us who the father is either?" my sister asks, shaking her head, and I lower my gaze.

"Why, Laura?" she asks condescendingly in a whisper.

"I don't want to talk, Liliam, please..." I beg with a broken voice, and both of them start talking about trivial matters, attempting to lift my spirits.

They stay with me for two hours, neither of them touches on the topic of my pregnancy, neither of them asks anything else, and they simply keep me company, evoking memories from our childhood. All of this manages to convey to me that no matter what happens, and no matter what has happened, they won't turn their backs on me.

And the support they show me makes me cry even more, this time out of nostalgia and affection.

When the time comes for them to leave and go to their respective families, they say goodbye, leaving kisses on my cheeks, emphasizing the love they have for me. Alone and in silence, it's not difficult to hear the argument that has been taking place in the main bedroom for a long time.

I can hear my mother arguing and demanding that the decision made by the family patriarch be revoked. And I can hear him adamantly refusing to allow "the dishonor" caused by my actions to the Mason family.

My gaze is fixed on the ceiling; I've stopped crying, and my mind is only occupied with repeating each word that my father's mouth utters in the distance at least three times when the sound of a phone, which is not mine, startles me by announcing itself so suddenly.

The jolt pulls me out of my immobility, and remembering the phone Smith gave me at the airport, I stretch over my spot to grab the bag and open it to retrieve the vibrating cell phone.

I observe the screen, seeing two letters: J.E. I slide my finger to answer the call and bring the cell phone to my ear.

"Hello?" My voice comes out hoarse and broken from crying.

"Laura, are you okay?"

"Smith, what's going on?" I ask, wanting to end the call quickly.

"How's it been with your family? Did you tell them yet?" he asks.

"Yes, I already did. It didn't go well. Dad kicked me out," I let him know, trying not to cry again.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he says insincerely. "But you were planning to leave anyway, right?" he adds casually, and I close my eyes.

I don't know why I told him. He doesn't care about my family problems. I should stick to talking only about what concerns us.

"Yes, I would have left anyway," I affirm in a whisper, emphasizing how pathetic it was to tell him that I was kicked out of the home.

"Well... Uh... Hey, I've scheduled an appointment with a gynecologist friend for you on Monday afternoon," his words catch me by surprise. Why? Because I simply didn't believe that my son cared and that the only reason he had decided to take responsibility was to feel good about himself and not carry the burden of abandoning his child.

But, maybe, just maybe... it wasn't like that after all.

"Uh... Okay," I say once I snap out of my stupor.

In whispered words, I bid goodbye to Johnny, when at my door, the knocks sound again.

"Baby," my mother whispers once I open the door and looks at me. Her cheeks are stained with tears that keep flowing from her eyes.

"I'm fine, Mom. I'm fine," I say, trying to smile, but if the gesture lasted a second, it was an achievement.

"Don't worry, my love; I will convince your father to let you stay home," she assures, and I shake my head, tears clouding my vision once again.

I know my mother can convince Dad, but it's not fair because doing so would involve going through extensive and suffocating arguments, and I would still leave anyway.

"No, Mom, it's okay. I'm leaving anyway," I murmur, and she looks at me with sadness.

"Where will you go, sweetheart?" she asks, choking back a sob. "You can't leave; this is your home..."

"I'm going to Los Angeles," I interrupt, avoiding continuing the conversation that breaks my heart, and she lets out a sob that triggers my tears.

"Why so far, darling?" she sobs again. "I'll buy you a house here, honey, but please don't go, not so far away," she pleads, and in response, I can only press my lips together to stop the trembling of my chin.

Alejandra Mason has an absurd dependence on us; she has never wanted us, my siblings and me, to separate from her. That's why my siblings, even with partners and children, still live at home; she simply doesn't want them to leave.

"I've bought a house there, Mom, with the inheritance from the grandparents," I whisper.

"Are you leaving with the father of your child?" she looks at me, and I embrace her.

"It's complicated, Mother." She nods and doesn't say anything more.

"It hurts to know I won't see you like before," she says, choked up. "You're my baby!" she adds, sobbing.

"I'm 23 years old, Mother. I stopped being a baby a long time ago," I whisper, serious, not showing any emotion. She caresses my head with her fingers in my hair. "I'm leaving at dawn on Monday," I finally conclude. She sobs louder and leaves the room, leaving a kiss on my forehead with tears caught in her throat.

It's time to grow up, time to grow up and start building a future for myself and my child.

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