Katrina

Chapter Two

STORY A — THE PRESENT 🖤

The Space Between Them

Jason closed the door behind them.

The click of the latch sounded unnecessarily loud.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Katrina stood a few feet away, Michelle still resting against her shoulder. The little girl had fallen asleep again, her cheek pressed against her mother's neck, one small hand curled into the fabric of Katrina's shirt.

Jason looked at the child.

Then at Katrina.

Then back at the child.

He had questions.

So many questions that he couldn't decide which one deserved to be asked first.

Where had she been?

Why hadn't she called?

Who had told him she was dead?

And why, after all this time, had she chosen to return now?

Instead, he heard himself ask, "Would you like to sit down?"

Katrina glanced at the sofa.

"I'm fine standing."

Of course she was.

Katrina had always been stubborn. Even when she was exhausted, even when she was hurting, she would rather bite off her own tongue than admit she needed anything from someone else.

He knew that about her.

Or he had.

Three years of grief had taught him how to remember her. They hadn't taught him how to understand the woman standing before him.

"You're shaking," he observed.

"I'm tired."

"You look like you've been travelling for days."

"Thank you for the warm welcome."

The words were dry, almost careless.

Once, he would have laughed.

Once, she would have smiled at the sound.

Now, the silence between them seemed to stretch with every breath.

Jason dragged a hand over his face.

"I'm not trying to insult you, Katrina."

"Then we're making progress."

He stared at her.

There she was.

The sharp tongue. The defiance. The woman who could turn a simple observation into a challenge and make him feel like he was losing an argument he hadn't known he'd entered.

And yet something was different.

Her voice was steady, but her eyes kept moving towards the door. Her shoulders remained tense, as though she expected someone to appear behind her at any moment.

She wasn't merely uncomfortable.

She was on guard.

Against what, he couldn't tell.

"Are you in trouble?" he asked.

Her expression changed.

Only slightly.

But he saw it.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because you turn up at my door looking as though you've survived a war, and you keep checking the entrance."

"I'm allowed to look at a door, Jason."

"And I'm allowed to ask you a question."

"Apparently."

He exhaled sharply.

"Can we please have one conversation without you treating every word I say like a personal attack?"

"Can we please have one conversation without you assuming you know what's going on in my head?"

The question stopped him.

Because he didn't.

He had once believed he knew her better than anyone.

He had known the way she took her coffee, the songs she hummed when she cooked, the particular expression she wore when she was planning something mischievous. He had known how she liked to be held when she was upset and how she pretended not to care when something hurt her feelings.

He had known the woman who could fill a room with laughter.

He had known the woman who could make a terrible day bearable simply by walking through the door.

But he hadn't known she was alive.

And he certainly hadn't known how to find her.

Jason looked away first.

"You're right," he said quietly. "I don't know what's going on in your head."

Katrina's fingers tightened around Michelle.

For one brief, dangerous moment, she wanted to tell him everything.

She wanted to tell him how tired she was.

How frightened she had been.

How many nights she had lain awake wondering whether the decisions she had made would eventually come back to destroy the little life she had fought so hard to protect.

She wanted to tell him that standing in front of him was harder than she had imagined.

That some foolish part of her still recognised the sound of his voice as something familiar. Something safe.

But safety was a complicated thing.

She had once believed she had found it in him.

She couldn't afford to make the same mistake twice.

"Then let me explain," she said.

Jason turned back towards her.

For the first time since she had arrived, her voice had lost some of its sharpness.

Not much.

Just enough to make him listen more carefully.

"All right."

She glanced down at Michelle.

The little girl stirred, murmured something unintelligible, and settled against her mother again.

Jason watched the movement with an expression Katrina couldn't quite read.

"How old is she?" he asked.

Katrina went still.

It was the question she had known would come eventually.

She had prepared herself for it during the journey. She had rehearsed answers, discarded them, and rehearsed new ones.

But standing here, with Jason looking at Michelle as though the child were a puzzle he couldn't yet understand, every carefully prepared answer deserted her.

"Three," she said at last.

Jason nodded slowly.

Three.

The number settled somewhere in his mind, but he couldn't yet make sense of what it meant.

He looked at the child's dark hair, the delicate curve of her cheek, the tiny hand resting against Katrina's collarbone.

Then he looked at Katrina.

She was watching him too closely.

"Is she yours?" he asked.

A strange, humourless smile touched Katrina's lips.

"Yes, Jason. She's mine."

"That's not what I—"

"I know what you asked."

He fell silent.

For a moment, he looked as though he might ask another question.

Instead, he swallowed whatever words had risen to his tongue.

Katrina was grateful.

She wasn't ready for that conversation.

She wasn't sure she ever would be.

Jason took a step towards the armchair opposite her.

"Sit down, please. At least until you've caught your breath."

"I'm not going to collapse."

"I didn't say you were."

"You implied it."

"Katrina."

"Jason."

He closed his eyes briefly.

There had been a time when he would have caught her by the waist, pulled her against him, and kissed the stubbornness right out of her.

The memory arrived so vividly that he almost felt the warmth of her against him.

Then he opened his eyes.

She was standing several feet away, holding a sleeping child, looking at him as though he were a stranger she had reluctantly agreed to tolerate.

He stepped back.

"Fine," he said. "Stand, then."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

They stared at each other.

The absurdity of the exchange might once have made them laugh.

Neither did.

Finally, Katrina drew a slow breath.

"I didn't come here to fight with you."

"Then why did you come?"

There it was.

The question beneath every other question.

She had known he would ask it.

Katrina looked towards the hallway, where the voices from the dining room drifted faintly through the house. People were still gathered beyond the closed door. People who had their own memories, their own loyalties, their own reasons to hate her.

She couldn't explain everything here.

Not with them so close.

Not until she understood what Jason knew.

"I need you to listen to me before you make any decisions," she said. "And I need you to keep an open mind, even if what I tell you sounds impossible."

Jason's expression hardened.

"That depends on what you're going to tell me."

"No. It doesn't."

His eyebrows drew together.

Katrina met his gaze.

For the first time since entering the house, she allowed him to see a little of the fear beneath her anger.

"Jason, I'm serious."

Something in her voice made him stop.

He had seen Katrina angry. He had seen her furious, heartbroken, and so stubborn that reasoning with her had become an exercise in futility.

But this was different.

She looked frightened.

Not of him.

Of something beyond the walls of the house.

His own irritation began to fade.

"All right," he said. "I'm listening."

Katrina held his gaze for another moment.

Then she asked the question she had been dreading since she decided to return.

"Before I tell you anything, I need to know something."

"What?"

"Has anything happened here recently? Anything unusual? Anything that made you worry about the safety of your family?"

Jason didn't answer immediately.

He studied her face, searching for some explanation he could recognise.

"Why?"

"Because I need to know whether I'm too late."

The words fell between them.

Jason felt something cold settle in his stomach.

"Too late for what, Katrina?"

She looked down at Michelle.

The child slept on, unaware of the fear that had followed them to this house.

When Katrina looked up again, her expression had closed.

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

And suddenly, Jason understood one thing.

Whatever had brought Katrina back to him, she hadn't come home because she missed him.

She had come because something was wrong.

And whatever it was, she was afraid it might already be too late to stop it.

____________________________________________

CHAPTER TWO

LITTLE HANDS, FRAGILE THINGS

━━━━━━━ STORY B — THE PAST 🥀 ━━━━━━━

By the time breakfast ended, Susan Mendoza had already developed a headache.

It wasn't even nine in the morning.

Gabriel had somehow managed to spill juice across the table, Sebastian had accused Camila of stealing a piece of toast, and Katrina had abandoned her breakfast to retrieve the toy horse she'd left in the hallway.

Again.

And Isabella had decided that this was the perfect morning to refuse to be put down.

"Mamá, she wants you," Camila announced.

Susan looked towards her daughter.

Isabella was lying in her arms, her tiny face scrunched up in protest as she reached towards Susan's blouse.

"Yes, mi vida, I know." Susan kissed her forehead. "I'm right here."

The baby answered with a small, dissatisfied noise.

Susan sighed.

She loved her children. Every one of them, fiercely and without question.

But loving four young children while managing a large household was not the effortless task she had imagined marriage would make it.

The Mendoza home had more rooms than she could count without stopping to think, polished floors that seemed to attract dirt the moment she finished cleaning them, and enough windows to keep her occupied for an entire afternoon.

There were meals to prepare, clothes to sort, beds to make, and a seemingly endless parade of little people who could turn a tidy room into a disaster in the time it took her to blink.

And she did almost all of it herself.

Rafael had suggested hiring help more than once.

A housekeeper. Someone to help with the laundry. Perhaps a nanny who could watch the children while Susan attended to everything else.

She had refused every time.

She had grown up in a home where mothers took care of their children and wives managed their households. Her family had never relied on nannies, and she saw no reason her own children should need strangers to do what she believed a mother ought to do herself.

Even in a house as large as theirs.

Especially in a house as large as theirs, perhaps.

She wanted her children to grow up knowing their mother was present, that their home was cared for by someone who loved them, and that family responsibilities weren't things to be handed over simply because they were inconvenient.

She understood that Rafael disagreed.

She also understood that she was tired.

Those two truths could exist together, though she rarely admitted the second aloud.

"Mamá?"

Susan looked down.

Katrina stood beside her chair, holding her wooden horse against her chest.

"Sí, cariño?" Susan answered.

[Yes, sweetheart?]

"¿Puedo ver a Isabella?"

[Can I see Isabella?]

Susan's expression softened.

"Of course, mi amor. Come here."

She adjusted Isabella carefully and lowered herself into the nearest armchair, making room for Katrina beside her.

Katrina climbed up, her little legs barely reaching the edge of the seat.

For a moment, she simply stared at her baby sister.

Isabella had changed so much since she'd first come home. Her cheeks had grown rounder, her eyes brighter, and her tiny hands had developed an impressive determination to grab anything within reach.

Including Katrina's hair.

Which was precisely what happened next.

Isabella's fingers closed around a dark strand.

Katrina squealed.

"Mamá!"

Susan laughed before she could stop herself.

"Despacio, mi vida. She doesn't know she's hurting you."

[Careful, my love. She doesn't know she's hurting you.]

Katrina looked at her sister with wide eyes.

Then, with the solemn determination of a three-year-old given an important responsibility, she leaned closer.

"No tires, Isabella."

[Don't pull, Isabella.]

The baby responded by tightening her grip.

Katrina gasped in outrage.

From the doorway, Rafael burst out laughing.

"Oh, I see we've already started negotiations."

Susan shot him a look.

"Don't encourage her."

"Which one?"

"Rafael."

He held up both hands, still grinning, and approached the armchair.

"Come here, princesa."

He carefully freed Katrina's hair from Isabella's tiny fist.

Katrina immediately leaned against him, apparently deciding that her father was far more useful than her sister.

Rafael kissed the top of her head.

"Better?"

She nodded.

Then she looked at Isabella again.

"She can have my horse."

Susan blinked.

"Your horse?"

Katrina held out the toy.

"She wants something to hold."

For a moment, neither parent spoke.

The toy was old, worn smooth in places from being carried around the house. Katrina took it almost everywhere. She had cried when she couldn't find it that morning, and Susan had spent several minutes searching the hallway for it.

Now she was offering it to a baby who was far more interested in chewing things than appreciating toys.

Rafael looked at his daughter.

"That's very kind of you, mi amor."

Katrina smiled.

He accepted the little horse and placed it beside Isabella's hand.

The baby grabbed it immediately.

Success.

Katrina beamed as though she'd accomplished something extraordinary.

And perhaps, in her small world, she had.

Susan watched them, the headache behind her eyes momentarily forgotten.

She had worried about how the older children would react to Isabella. A new baby meant changes, and changes could be difficult for little ones who were accustomed to having their parents' attention.

But Katrina had taken to her sister with an uncomplicated tenderness that sometimes caught Susan by surprise.

She wanted to hold Isabella, bring her toys, and sit beside her whenever Susan fed her.

Of course, she was three.

Her patience had limits. Her understanding was incomplete. And sometimes her enthusiasm was greater than her ability to be careful.

But the affection was real.

"Mamá?"

Susan turned towards her.

"Sí?"

Katrina pointed at Isabella.

"¿Ella va a jugar conmigo cuando sea grande?"

[Will she play with me when she gets bigger?]

Susan felt something warm settle in her chest.

"Claro que sí."

[Of course she will.]

Katrina considered this answer.

Then she nodded, satisfied.

"Le voy a enseñar mis juguetes."

[I'll teach her about my toys.]

Rafael smiled at his wife.

"She has already planned their entire future."

Susan gave him a tired but affectionate look.

"At least one of us has a plan."

He crouched beside her chair.

"You're tired."

"I'm fine."

"Susan."

She looked away.

He knew that expression.

It was the same one she wore whenever she wanted to end a conversation before it reached a subject she didn't wish to discuss.

He rested a hand on her knee.

"You don't have to do everything yourself."

"I know."

"Do you?"

She looked at him then, a flicker of frustration crossing her face.

"I wasn't raised with servants, Rafael. My mother managed our home. She raised her children. She didn't need someone else to do everything for her."

"And I admire that about you."

"Then why do you keep asking me to hire help?"

"Because I admire you," he answered gently, "and I don't want you to exhaust yourself trying to prove you can do everything alone."

Susan fell quiet.

For a moment, she looked as though she might argue.

Then Isabella made a small sound, and Susan instinctively shifted the baby closer to her chest.

Rafael noticed the movement.

He always noticed.

He leaned forward and kissed his wife's forehead.

"Let me take the children out this afternoon. You can rest."

"I have things to do."

"The house will survive a few hours without you supervising it."

She gave him a look.

"You're very confident about that."

"I am a man of great faith."

"You're a man who doesn't know where we keep the clean towels."

"Details."

Despite herself, Susan laughed.

It wasn't a solution. One afternoon wouldn't change the weight of her responsibilities, and she wasn't suddenly going to abandon the beliefs she'd carried since childhood.

But for that moment, her husband had made her laugh.

And sometimes, that was enough to make a difficult morning feel a little lighter.

Rafael stood and held out his arms.

"Come on, children. Let your mother breathe."

Gabriel appeared almost instantly.

"Are we going somewhere?"

"That depends. Can you behave yourselves for an entire afternoon?"

Gabriel thought about it.

"Probably."

"Honesty. I appreciate that."

Sebastian and Camila rushed towards their father.

Katrina carefully retrieved her toy horse from beside Isabella and kissed her sister's forehead.

"Adiós, bebé."

[Goodbye, baby.]

Isabella waved one tiny hand.

Or perhaps she was trying to grab Katrina's hair again.

No one could be certain.

Katrina giggled and hurried after her siblings.

Susan watched them leave, the sound of their laughter fading down the hallway.

For the first time that morning, the house became quiet.

She looked down at Isabella, who had settled against her chest with the toy horse resting beside her.

"There," Susan whispered. "Finally, a little peace."

Isabella yawned.

Susan smiled and kissed her cheek.

Outside, Rafael's voice rose above the children's excited chatter as he reminded Gabriel not to run ahead.

The sound drifted through the open windows, warm and familiar.

Susan leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

She had no idea how precious an ordinary morning could become.

None of them did.

For now, there was only the quiet house, a sleeping baby, and the promise of another family evening together.

And in the next room, on a changing table beside a neatly made bed, lay a folded shawl Susan had chosen especially for Isabella.

Soft.

Beautiful.

And, to a curious little girl who would soon begin exploring the world with greater confidence, far more interesting than it appeared.