Connected Dots

Chapter 1: The Life I Knew

Growing up in Barcelona wasn't easy.

People looked at the city and saw beautiful beaches, tourists, expensive restaurants, and colorful streets. They saw a dream destination.

I saw bills.

I saw overdue rent notices.

I saw my mother working herself to exhaustion.

And I saw my little sister trying to pretend everything was okay when it wasn't.

Ever since my father died, everything had fallen apart.

Not that he had been around much when he was alive.

Most of my memories of him came through phone calls. He was always somewhere else. Always busy. Always promising he'd visit soon.

Yet somehow, despite the distance, he never forgot us.

Even now, two years after his death, I could still hear his voice in my head.

“My little Sofie” My Fafter would always say to me very dearly; with his palm patting my hair softly.

They weren’t always soft, but they were warm.

Always gave me comfort and safety.

And my sister?

His baby Lola.

He loved her so much, just as much as she loved him too.

She struggled the most with his passing .

My mother hated talking about him.

Every time I asked questions, she would shut the conversation down immediately.

"Your father had a dark past," she would say.

"You don't need to know about it."

"It's for the best."

For the best.

Those words had followed me my entire life.

At seventeen, Mom completely cut ties with him.

At nineteen, he died.

Now I was twenty-one and more confused than ever.

What kind of dark past could be so terrible that even after his death, nobody wanted to talk about it?

The mystery haunted me.

But life didn't exactly leave room for solving mysteries.

Life demanded money.

And money demanded work.

So I worked.

A lot.

I worked mornings at a bar.

I worked remote jobs whenever I could find them.

Data entry.

Customer support.

Baby sitting.

Anything that paid.

Some people my age were partying.

Some were traveling.

Others were falling in love.

I was trying to keep food on the table.

My phone suddenly vibrated.

Charlie's name flashed across the screen.

I groaned.

This could only mean trouble.

Charlie is my best friend.

He isn’t Spanish like me.

He had moved to Barcelona years ago and somehow attached himself to me like an annoying younger brother.

I answered.

"What happened now?"

His dramatic voice immediately filled my ear.

"SOFIA!"

I pulled the phone away.

"Jesus, Charlie."

"My brother is crashing out!"

I blinked.

"What?"

"He just broke up with his girlfriend."

I waited.

"Okay?"

"Okay? That's all you have to say?"

"What else am I supposed to say?"

"He is devastated."

I sighed.

"Charlie, people break up every day."

"You don't understand love."

"You're right. I don't."

"You're heartless."

"I'm practical."

He gasped dramatically.

"You see? Heartless."

I rolled my eyes.

"Goodbye, Charlie."

"You don't care that he's suffering?"

"I literally have a shift in twenty minutes."

"Fine. Be cold."

"I will."

"Monster."

The call ended.

I laughed.

I guess I really can be cold sometimes.

But this wasn’t even his own breakup.

Charlie had a unique talent for turning every small issue into a world-ending catastrophe.

Love.

Relationships.

Heartbreak.

I didn't understand any of it.

Maybe because I had never experienced it.

Maybe because every relationship example I'd seen had been a disaster.

My parents certainly weren't a romantic success story.

From what little I knew, their marriage had been arranged.

Or at least heavily influenced by their families.

Whatever happened between them clearly hadn't worked.

My father loved my sister and me.

That much was obvious.

But my mother?

That relationship had been broken long before I was old enough to understand it.

And now he was gone.

Taking all his secrets with him.

Or so I thought.

"SOPHIEEEEEEE!"

A loud scream snapped me out of my thoughts.

I immediately recognized the voice.

Lola.

Only she could make my name sound like an emergency.

"What?" I shouted back.

I could hear footsteps.

They were moving fast.

My bedroom door flew open.

My sister stormed inside dramatically.

"Mom wants me to study law." She said frantically

I stared at her.

"And?"

She looked offended.

"AND?"

"Yes. And?"

"You don't understand."

I sighed.

Here we go again.

Lola dropped onto my bed.

"I don't want to study law."

"So don't."

Her eyes widened.

"You make everything sound so easy."

I shrugged.

"Because it is."

"No, it's not."

"It is."

She threw a pillow at me.

I caught it.

"Lola."

"Don't Lola me."

I laughed.

That was how our conversations always went.

We were complete opposites.

She was outgoing.

Confident.

Popular.

She had a new crush every month.

Sometimes every week.

Meanwhile, I spent most of my time working.

If I wasn't working, I was worrying about money.

If I wasn't worrying about money, I was sleeping.

Exciting life.

I know.

"Sisi," I said, as I would always fondly call her.

Even though she pretended she hated it.

"You don't have to become a lawyer."

"Tell Mom that."

"You tell her."

She groaned.

"You know she listens to you more."

"That's because I don't argue with her."

"Exactly."

I smiled.

Lola flopped backward onto my bed dramatically.

Sometimes I wondered how two sisters raised in the same house could be so different.

I worried about responsibilities.

She worried about dreams.

I planned every detail of my future.

She barely planned tomorrow.

Yet somehow she always seemed happier.

Maybe ignorance really was bliss.

"Sophie."

"Hm?"

"What do you want?"

The question surprised me.

"What do you mean?"

"For your future."

I paused.

Nobody had asked me that in a long time.

The truth was I didn't know.

For years my only goal had been survival.

Pay the bills.

Help Mom.

Take care of Lola.

Repeat.

Dreams felt like luxuries.

"I don't know," I admitted.

Lola sat up.

"That's sad."

"Thanks."

"I'm serious."

I looked away.

Maybe it was sad.

Maybe somewhere along the way I'd forgotten how to want things for myself.

"Sophie."

"Yes?"

"You zoned out again."

I chuckled.

"No, I didn't.”

"You absolutely did."

“No.”

“You're lying.”

“I'm not.”

“You always do.”

I shook my head.

“Just forget it.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

Then stood up.

“You worry too much.”

“And you don't worry enough.”

She pointed at me.

“One day you're going to fall in love and become completely insane.”

I nearly choked.

“Never.”

“That's what they all say.”

“I'm serious.”

“Sure.”

She headed toward the door.

Halfway through, she stopped.

For a brief moment, her teasing expression softened.

“We'll be okay, Soph.”

I gave her a smile.

“Yeah.”

She nodded.

Then she disappeared into the hallway.

The room became quiet again.

Outside my window, Barcelona continued its endless movement.

Cars.

People.

Lights.

Life.

I stared at the old family photograph sitting on my desk.

Mom.

Lola.

Me.

And my father.

A man I barely knew.

A man surrounded by secrets.

A man whose death should have ended the story.

But somehow, deep inside, I had the feeling that his story wasn't over.

And neither was mine.