Chapter 4: Goodbye
1427 Words
Nine Days Later
Reina hated hospitals.
Not because of the needles.
Not because of the smell.
Not even because of the endless waiting.
She hated hospitals because they stole people one piece at a time.
First their strength.
Then their energy.
Then their smiles.
Until all that remained was someone you recognized but no longer recognized at the same time.
She sat beside her father's bed, pretending to read.
The book had been open to the same page for nearly an hour.
Vidal was asleep.
At least she thought he was.
Some days it was difficult to tell.
The medications made him drift in and out of consciousness.
The doctors tried to explain everything, but Reina had stopped listening weeks ago.
Every explanation sounded the same.
Every conversation ended the same way.
More treatments.
More tests.
More waiting.
The soft sound of movement pulled her attention away from the book.
Vidal was awake.
His eyes found hers immediately.
A smile appeared on his lips.
"You're here."
Reina rolled her eyes.
"Where else would I be?"
His smile widened.
"School."
"I already finished my homework."
"Bebesita..."
The warning in his voice made her groan.
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"You don't even know what I was going to say."
"You're going to tell me to spend more time with my friends."
Vidal laughed weakly.
"Maybe."
"I knew it."
For a few moments they simply looked at one another.
Neither wanting to acknowledge how tired he seemed.
How difficult it had become for him to speak.
Finally, Vidal motioned for her to move closer.
Reina immediately stood and sat on the edge of the bed.
His hand reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
The gesture felt familiar.
Safe.
Home.
"You're growing up too fast."
The words made her chest ache.
"Good."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
A tiny smile tugged at her lips.
Somehow they always ended up arguing over silly things.
"I mean it, Dad."
"So do I."
His gaze drifted toward the window.
Snow had begun falling again.
The city looked soft and white beneath the evening sky.
"When your mother was pregnant with you, she wanted a boy."
Reina gasped dramatically.
"Traitor."
Vidal chuckled.
"I wanted a girl."
"Obviously."
"Obviously."
Silence settled between them.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
Then his expression turned serious.
The change made her stomach twist.
"Bebesita."
She immediately looked away.
"No."
"Reina."
"No."
His voice softened.
"Please."
Tears burned behind her eyes.
She hated this.
Hated the way everyone spoke to her lately.
As if they were preparing her for something.
As if she wasn't already terrified.
"You need to listen."
She shook her head.
"No."
"You're stronger than you think."
The first tear escaped.
"I don't want to be strong."
His hand squeezed hers.
For a long moment neither spoke.
Then he smiled sadly.
"I know."
That made her cry harder.
Because he understood.
He always understood.
"I'm scared."
The confession slipped out before she could stop it.
Vidal looked at her quietly.
Then he squeezed her hand again.
"So am I."
Reina froze.
Her father had never admitted that before.
Not once.
Not through the treatments.
Not through the surgeries.
Not through the months of uncertainty.
Yet somehow hearing him admit it made her feel less alone.
The room grew quiet.
The only sound was the steady beeping of the machines.
Eventually, Vidal closed his eyes.
Still holding her hand.
Reina remained there until she fell asleep in the chair beside him.
Holding his hand.
Just like he held hers whenever she was afraid as a child.
The days blurred together after that.
School.
Hospital.
Homework.
Sleep.
Then repeat.
Reina stopped answering most people.
One afternoon, she caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror at school.
For a moment, she barely recognized herself.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes.
Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail she hadn't bothered fixing all day.
She looked exhausted.
Not tired.
Exhausted.
The kind of exhaustion that sleep couldn't fix.
People always said she had her mother's dark hair and her father's eyes.
Dark brown curls framed her face no matter how often she tried to tame them.
A scattering of freckles crossed her nose, remnants of long summers spent outdoors with her father.
Her brown eyes looked too serious for someone her age.
At least, that was what Vidal used to tell her.
She wasn't elegant like Sofia.
She was simply... Reina.
Lately, all she could see was a girl who looked tired of pretending she was okay.
Reina looked away.
Classmates eventually stopped asking her to sit with them at lunch.
Teachers stopped expecting more than one-word answers.
Even well-meaning neighbors seemed to understand she wanted to be left alone.
Most people gave up.
Sofia didn't.
The messages kept coming.
Every few days.
Sometimes every day.
Sometimes twice a day.
Most of them weren't important.
Questions about school.
Complaints about teachers.
Stories about classmates Reina had never met.
Occasional gossip that made absolutely no sense.
Sometimes Sofia talked about boys.
Sometimes movies.
Sometimes things so unimportant Reina couldn't imagine why they mattered.
But the messages kept coming.
Even when Reina didn't answer.
Especially when she didn't answer.
At first, Reina found it annoying.
Then comforting.
Then necessary.
Some nights she sat at the computer reading through Sofia's messages without replying.
Just knowing someone was there.
Waiting.
Refusing to disappear.
One evening a message appeared while she was working on homework in the hospital waiting room.
Sofia:
You alive?
Reina stared at the screen.
A few moments later another message appeared.
Sofia:
That's a yes.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
For the first time in days, she typed a reply.
Reina:
You're annoying.
The response came almost immediately.
Sofia:
And yet you keep talking to me.
Reina rolled her eyes.
But she didn't log off.
For the next hour they talked about nothing important.
And somehow that made all the difference.
The phone in the classroom rang at 2:17 in the afternoon.
Reina would remember that time for the rest of her life.
2:17.
She had just finished a history exam.
The school secretary entered the classroom and quietly spoke to her teacher.
Everyone looked at her when her name was called.
Confused, Reina gathered her things and followed the secretary into the hallway.
Her stomach sank immediately.
She knew.
Before anyone said a word.
She knew.
Ross was waiting for her in the office.
Her uncle's assistant.
The sight of him confirmed her worst fear.
"Miss Hernandez."
His voice was gentle.
Too gentle.
Reina stopped walking.
"No."
Ross lowered his eyes.
"No."
The word came out louder this time.
"Reina..."
"No."
Tears filled her eyes.
Ross stepped forward.
"I'm sorry."
The world seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
"No."
This time it was barely a whisper.
Three days later, Reina stood in front of her father's casket.
The church was filled with people.
Friends.
Coworkers.
People she didn't know.
All offering condolences.
All saying the same things.
"He was a wonderful man."
"We're so sorry."
"He's in a better place."
Reina nodded politely.
But none of it mattered.
Because her father wasn't supposed to be in a better place.
He was supposed to be here.
With her.
When the service ended, she followed everyone outside.
The cold air bit at her skin.
The cemetery seemed endless.
Rows upon rows of headstones stretched across the landscape.
She watched numbly as the casket was lowered into the ground.
Each inch felt wrong.
Impossible.
Final.
Her breathing became uneven.
Too fast.
Too shallow.
Panic clawed at her chest.
She couldn't breathe.
The casket looked too small.
Too confined.
Her father hated small spaces.
He couldn't breathe in there.
The thought repeated over and over until tears blurred her vision.
Then suddenly—
Warm arms wrapped around her.
Strong.
Steady.
Safe.
Reina didn't know who it was.
She didn't care.
The moment she felt those arms around her, everything broke.
The sob she had been holding back for days escaped her chest.
She buried her face against the stranger's coat and cried.
And cried.
And cried.
The deep voice spoke softly above her.
"I've got you."
Warm arms tightened around her shoulders.
"It's okay."
No pity.
No empty promises.
Just quiet comfort.
For the first time since her father's death, Reina allowed herself to fall apart.
And the stranger simply held her together.
Years later, Reina would remember that moment.
The stranger who held her together at her father's funeral.
The stranger she never got to thank.
The stranger she never forgot.
- Writer
