Chapter 5: Letting Go, Part 1
1138 Words
Three Days Later
The days after the funeral blurred together.
People came and went.
Flowers filled the house.
The phone never stopped ringing.
Friends.
Neighbors.
Former classmates.
People from the art community.
People she barely remembered meeting.
Everyone wanted to talk about her father.
Everyone had a story.
A painting he had given them.
A mural he had worked on.
A favor he had done.
A joke he had told.
Everyone seemed to have a memory of Vidal Hernandez.
Reina wanted everyone to leave.
Most of her time was spent alone in the guest room.
Sleeping.
Crying.
Staring at the ceiling.
Or pretending to read while thinking about her father.
The only person she saw regularly was Ross.
Tall and broad-shouldered, Ross looked like he belonged on a security team rather than in an office. His dark hair was cut short, though streaks of gray had begun appearing near his temples over the years. A neatly trimmed beard softened an otherwise serious face.
Most people found him intimidating at first glance.
Reina never had.
His brown eyes were steady and kind, and despite working for Carlos for years, Ross somehow remained one of the most patient people she had ever met.
Where Carlos seemed to command a room without trying, Ross preferred to blend into the background.
Quiet.
Reliable.
Always helping.
Sometimes Reina suspected Ross had spent so many years managing her uncle's life that he could predict what Carlos was thinking before he said a word.
Her uncle buried himself in work almost immediately.
At first, she thought it was insensitive.
Then she realized it was simply how he handled things.
When life became complicated, Carlos worked.
When life became painful, Carlos worked harder.
Three days after the funeral, Ross knocked on her door.
"Your uncle would like to see you."
The request immediately made her nervous.
She followed him downstairs.
Carlos' office had always intimidated her.
Everything inside it was perfectly organized.
Perfectly controlled.
Nothing like her father.
Vidal's studio had always been chaos.
Paint-covered brushes.
Half-finished sketches.
Coffee cups sitting wherever he last left them.
Music playing from old speakers.
His workspace had felt alive.
Carlos' office felt cold.
When she entered, her uncle was seated behind his desk reviewing paperwork.
He didn't immediately look up.
For several moments, the only sound came from the ticking clock on the wall.
Finally, he signed the last page and set his pen aside.
"There is something we need to discuss."
Reina's stomach tightened.
Carlos folded his hands together.
"Your father made arrangements before he passed."
Immediately, her chest tightened.
"My father?"
Carlos nodded.
"He wanted to ensure your future was secure."
The familiar ache returned.
Even while he was sick.
Even while he was dying.
Her father had still been thinking about her future.
"He enrolled you in a boarding school in Madrid."
The words landed heavily.
Madrid.
Spain.
Thousands of miles away.
Reina stared at him.
"What?"
"The tuition has already been paid."
"No."
Carlos remained silent.
"No."
The word came out stronger this time.
"I can't leave."
"You can."
"I don't want to."
"I understand."
The response surprised her.
Not because it was comforting.
Because it sounded exhausted.
"Then don't make me."
Carlos rubbed his temple.
For a brief moment, he looked older than she had ever seen him.
"This isn't about what I want."
"Then whose decision is it?"
"Your father's."
The answer hit harder than she expected.
Tears filled her eyes.
"I don't care about school."
Her voice cracked.
"I don't care about Spain."
She wiped angrily at her face.
"I just want my dad."
Silence filled the room.
Carlos stared down at the papers on his desk.
His jaw tightened.
For several seconds neither of them moved.
Then he exhaled.
"You aren't the only one who lost him."
The words were quiet.
Almost reluctant.
As though they escaped before he could stop them.
For a moment she saw something beneath the polished exterior.
Grief.
Then it disappeared.
"You'll begin classes after Christmas."
His voice returned to normal.
Businesslike.
Controlled.
"When do I leave?"
"The first week of January."
The answer should have made her feel better.
Instead, it only created a countdown.
Every day between now and January suddenly felt numbered.
She didn't remember much about the funeral.
Only pieces.
Voices.
Flowers.
Rain.
And strong arms wrapping around her as everything inside her broke apart.
Strong.
Steady.
Safe.
She never even thanked him.
The thought lingered longer than it should have.
Whenever she thought about that day, she remembered two people.
Her father.
And the stranger at the cemetery.
She had never seen his face clearly.
Never learned his name.
Yet somehow she still remembered the way he made her feel safe.
The first person she wanted to call Sofia.
The call happened later that night.
Reina sat cross-legged on her bed staring out the window while the phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
"Hello?"
"Sofia."
A pause.
Then immediate suspicion.
"Why do you sound weird?"
Reina almost laughed.
Somehow Sofia could always tell.
"I'm moving."
Another pause.
"Moving where?"
"Madrid."
Silence.
Then:
"You're moving where?"
Reina pulled the phone away from her ear.
"Madrid."
"Like... Spain Spain?"
"There are other Spains?"
"You're funny. I hate you."
The comment caught her off guard.
A small laugh escaped.
The first real laugh she'd managed all day.
Sofia immediately noticed.
"There she is."
The smile faded slightly.
"I don't want to leave."
For a moment neither girl spoke.
Then Sofia sighed.
"Yeah."
That was all.
No false optimism.
No lectures.
No promises that everything would be okay.
Just understanding.
"I don't want to leave him."
The silence that followed felt heavier.
They both knew she wasn't talking about a person anymore.
She was talking about Los Angeles.
Their little house.
Her father's studio.
The unfinished paintings that still smelled of oil and turpentine.
The life they'd built together before cancer had stolen it away.
Moving from New York to Spain only made it more real.
Los Angeles hadn't felt quite so far away while she was still on the same coast.
But Madrid...
Madrid meant an ocean.
A new school.
A new life.
It might be years before she saw home again.
Sofia's voice softened.
"I know."
Tears burned behind Reina's eyes.
She looked away from the window.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
"Probably pack."
Despite herself, Reina laughed again.
"You're the worst."
"I know."
For the next hour they talked.
About Spain.
About school.
About how ridiculous it was that Madrid was on the other side of the ocean.
About absolutely nothing important.
When the call finally ended, Reina still didn't want to leave.
She still missed her father.
She still hated the idea of Spain.
But somehow it felt a little less impossible.
And for now, that was enough.
- Writer
