Chapter 8: Dear Dad
1458 Words
The first week in Madrid felt endless.
Every morning Reina woke up and forgot where she was.
For a few seconds, everything felt normal.
Then reality returned.
Madrid.
Boarding school.
Her father.
The ache followed immediately after.
Some mornings it waas easier to ignore.
Others felt impossible.
Today was somewhere in the middle.
By lunchtime, Brittany was complaining about the cafeteria food again.
"The chicken is suspicious."
Reina glanced at her tray.
"It looks fine."
"That's because you've only been here a week."
Brittany lowered her voice dramatically.
"They slowly break your spirit."
Reina shook her head.
"You are unbelievably dramatic."
"I'm British. It's practically a requirement."
That earned a small laugh.
Brittany pointed at her immediately.
"There."
"What?"
"The laugh."
Reina rolled her eyes.
"It wasn't that funny."
"It was hilarious."
"It really wasn't."
Brittany grinned.
"You're smiling again."
Reina looked away.
Unfortunately, Brittany wasn't wrong.
The following weeks settled into a routine.
Classes.
Homework.
Meals.
Sleep.
Repeat.
For the first time since arriving in Madrid, Reina stopped counting the days.
Not because she was happy.
Because she was busy.
And because Brittany made it impossible to spend too much time alone.
She always seemed to appear.
At breakfast.
Between classes.
During study periods.
Sometimes it felt like she materialized out of thin air.
One rainy afternoon, they found themselves sitting together in the library.
Reina was studying.
Brittany was pretending to study.
A very important distinction.
"Can I ask you something?"
Reina didn't look up.
"You just did."
Brittany groaned.
"You know, for someone who claims not to be funny, you make an alarming number of terrible jokes."
Reina looked up.
"Do I?"
"Constantly."
Brittany smiled.
"Did you get that from your dad?"
The question caught Reina off guard.
Slowly, she lowered her book.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Brittany's expression softened.
"I didn't mean to upset you."
"You didn't."
"What was he like?"
The question hung between them.
Most people avoided talking about him.
As if mentioning him would make things worse.
Brittany was the first person who had asked.
Reina smiled.
"He was loud."
Brittany laughed.
"Good start."
"He made terrible jokes."
"Even better."
"And he talked to everyone."
The smile grew.
"He couldn't go anywhere without making a new friend."
Brittany nodded thoughtfully.
"I think I would've liked him."
The simple honesty in her voice made Reina's chest tighten.
"Yeah."
She smiled.
"I think he would've liked you too."
Brittany grinned.
"Anyone who raised you couldn't have been all bad."
That evening, Brittany disappeared after dinner.
Something about finding proper tea.
Reina wasn't entirely sure.
For the first time all day, she had the room to herself.
The silence returned.
Not as frightening as before.
But still familiar.
She opened the drawer of her desk and removed a notebook.
The notebook had become a habit.
A place to say the things she couldn't say out loud.
She flipped to a blank page.
Then began to write.
Dear Dad,
The words came easier now.
Not because she missed him less.
Because she was getting used to missing him.
I met someone I think you would like.
A small smile appeared.
Her name is Brittany.
She's from England.
She complains about Spanish tea constantly.
Apparently it's a national crisis.
The smile widened.
Then she continued.
She's loud.
Stubborn.
And somehow she always knows when I'm having a bad day.
The pen paused.
I think she's lonely too.
The observation surprised her.
She wasn't entirely sure why she'd written it.
Maybe it was because Brittany never talked much about home.
Or her parents.
Or what happened during holidays.
Whenever those topics came up, she changed the subject.
Usually with a joke.
I don't know her very well yet.
But I think we're becoming friends.
The word felt strange.
Friend.
It had been a long time since she'd let someone get close.
Her phone buzzed.
Sofia.
A small smile appeared.
The message contained three photos.
The first was a sunset over Los Angeles.
The second showed Sofia's dog sprawled across the living room floor.
The third was Sofia making a ridiculous face directly into the camera.
Reina immediately rolled her eyes.
A new message appeared.
Sofia:
California remains stupid.
The second message arrived before Reina could answer.
Sofia:
Also you're welcome.
A laugh escaped before she could stop it.
Reina:
You're an i***t.
Sofia:
Correct.
The smile lingered.
For a moment the distance between Madrid and Los Angeles felt smaller.
Sofia never asked her to explain her grief.
Never pushed her to talk when she didn't want to.
Most of the time she simply appeared.
A picture.
A joke.
A story about something ridiculous that happened at school.
Little reminders that life still existed outside hospitals.
Outside funerals.
Outside loss.
Reina stared at the pictures one last time.
Then typed:
Reina:
I miss home.
Several moments passed.
Then:
Sofia:
I know.
The response was simple.
But somehow it was exactly what Reina needed.
Because Sofia remembered the girl who laughed before grief taught her not to.
Before cancer.
Before hospitals.
Before funerals.
Before Spain.
Before grief became something she carried every day.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time it wasn't Sofia.
It was a notification from social media.
Jimena had posted new photos from New Year's Eve.
Curious, Reina opened them.
The pictures looked like something out of a magazine.
Everyone was dressed elegantly.
Carlos stood near the center of the group.
Ross beside him.
Jimena smiled brightly at the camera.
Several people Reina didn't recognize stood around them.
The backdrop looked expensive.
Elegant.
The kind of place her uncle preferred.
Absentmindedly, Reina tapped the list of tagged names beneath the photo.
Most meant nothing to her.
Then one caught her attention.
David Leone.
The name sounded strangely familiar.
Then she remembered the hotel lobby.
The elderly woman.
The young manager everyone seemed to trust.
Mr. Leone.
For some reason, learning his first name felt like finding the missing piece of an old memory.
The young manager from La Paloma.
Her gaze immediately returned to the photo.
This time she found him almost instantly.
Dark hair.
Confident smile.
Older than she remembered.
Yet unmistakably the same.
Looking back, Reina realized she had probably seen David Leone dozens of times over the years.
Holiday parties.
Charity events.
Business dinners her uncle insisted she attend.
He had always been somewhere in the background.
Talking with Carlos.
Discussing work.
Surrounded by adults.
Back then she had never paid much attention.
To her, he had simply been another one of her uncle's business associates.
Someone from a world that had nothing to do with her.
The only reason she remembered him at all was because of La Paloma.
Because years earlier, a kind young manager had unknowingly become one of the last happy memories she shared with her father.
For some reason, seeing his name made the memory feel more real.
David.
Somehow, knowing his name made the memory feel less distant.
Ridiculous.
She barely knew the man.
She barely knew the man.
Yet somehow, whenever she thought about New York, he always seemed to find his way into the memory.
Shaking her head, she locked the screen and set the phone aside.
A few moments later, Brittany burst through the door.
"Betrayal!"
Reina jumped.
Brittany stormed into the room carrying a paper bag.
"You abandoned me."
"You disappeared."
"Details."
Brittany dropped onto her bed.
Then held up the bag triumphantly.
"I found tea."
Reina stared.
"You left for two hours to buy tea?"
"Good tea."
"There's a difference?"
Brittany looked horrified.
"A massive difference."
Despite herself, Reina laughed.
For a moment she felt guilty.
The feeling still came sometimes.
Like she was doing something wrong by enjoying herself.
By moving forward.
By laughing.
Then she remembered the look on her father's face whenever he made her smile.
The guilt eased.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Because if there was one thing Vidal Hernandez would never have wanted, it was for her to stop living.
Later that night, after Brittany had fallen asleep, Reina reopened the notebook.
She added one final sentence.
Today was a little easier.
She stared at the words.
Then added another.
I think you'd be happy that I'm making friends.
The tears came unexpectedly.
But this time she smiled through them.
She closed the notebook and placed it back inside the drawer.
Tomorrow would still hurt.
The day after that would probably hurt too.
Grief wasn't something you outran.
It followed you.
But for the first time since arriving in Madrid, Reina began to understand something.
Moving forward wasn't the same thing as forgetting.
And maybe that was okay.
For now, that was enough.
She never imagined those pages would one day change someone else's life, too.
- Writer
