Chapter Six: The Line Between Mercy and Deceit
1169 Words
Chapter Six: The Line Between Mercy and Deceit
POV: Juliana Alejandro
Approx. 2,200 words
Juliana had never felt her chest tighten like this before.
Not when she gave birth alone in a half-lit clinic in Guadalajara.
Not when she first left her country for Brighton with nothing but a partial scholarship and two second-hand suitcases.
Not even when the hospital in Mexico had first whispered the word: neuroblastoma.
But this moment, standing in Leonardo Hargreaves’ office as he handed her a folded cheque, her name written neatly across it in his narrow, precise handwriting felt too big for her lungs.
“$15,000,” he said quietly. “You said that’s what your… father needs for his treatment, yes?”
Juliana blinked. She gestured with her head, she was afraid her voice would betray her.
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Then go give your father a fighting chance.”
Juliana reached for it slowly. The paper vibrated in her hand. She grabbed it like it might disappear if she winked her eyes.
“I honestly don't know what to say,” she breathed. “I am speechless, I am indescribably grateful for your philanthropic gesture.”
Leonardo didn’t respond immediately. His gaze was unreadable, but softer than usual. He looked tired, but not harsh.
“I’m not doing this for gratitude,” he said. “But I hope you pass your finals. I don’t give out help lightly.”
She lost control of her emotions. The burden, the burden, the anxiety, the burden she had carried for weeks cracked open and spilled over. Before she could stop herself, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, a sudden, emotional embrace.
And then she osculated him.
It was brief. Just the brush of her lips to his cheek. But warm. Real. A kiss that was unromantic.
As soon as she realized what she had done, she moved back swiftly.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, hands to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to osculate you, I was over the moon.”
Leonardo didn’t speak. He just stared at her for a moment. Then, to her surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched.
A smile.
Not wide. Not mocking.
Just… tired.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “It’s been a long few weeks.”
Juliana swallowed the lump in her throat.
“I didn’t mean to be unprofessional. I was just… overwhelmed.”
He gave a small nod. “Go rest, Juliana.”
She turned and left his office with the cheque still clutched in her hand like a lifeline.
Back in her apartment, the walls felt different. The air wasn’t so heavy anymore.
She placed the cheque carefully into a folder, then sat on the floor with her back against the door and burst into quiet sobs.
Not the kind that begged for pity.
The kind that spilled out when your body couldn’t carry any more.
Relief.
Exhaustion.
Guilt.
Later that night, she called home.
Her phone shook in her hand as she waited for the call to connect.
Tía Rusa appeared first, her face blurred with poor lighting. “Julianita?”
“Is he awake?” Juliana whispered.
Her aunt nodded, then turned the phone toward the little boy on the hospital bed.
“Mamá!” Nacho’s voice lifted like sunlight. “Mamá, when are you coming back?”
Juliana smiled as tears blurred her vision. “Soon, baby. Very soon.”
“Did you find the money?” he asked in Spanish.
She hesitated. “Yes. We have it now.”
Nacho grinned. “Then I can get better!”
He raised his hand toward the screen and waved. “Mamá, who is that behind you?”
Juliana stiffened. She turned quickly.
She hadn’t heard the door creak open.
Leonardo was standing in the hallway, his brow slightly furrowed. He had come to return a book she had left in his office earlier, but the moment froze both of them.
She scrambled to adjust the phone screen.
Leonardo glanced at her, then nodded toward the screen. “Who’s that?”
Juliana swallowed hard.
“Oh, he’s… my nephew,” she said quickly. “My aunt’s son. He’s been sick.”
Leonardo looked at her strangely, as if waiting for more.
She kept smiling at the phone, her heart palpitated. “Nacho, say hello to my professor.”
Nacho tilted his head.
“Mamá,” he said in Spanish, “I’m not your nephew.”
Juliana’s breath caught.
“What did he just say?” Leonardo asked quietly.
Juliana didn’t answer.
“Mamá, why are you calling me your nephew?” Nacho pressed, switching back to English now. “Who is that man? Is that my daddy? I’ve never seen my daddy. Is he my daddy? Let me talk to my daddy.”
Juliana’s eyes filled with tears.
She ended the call.
Just like that. She couldn’t take it. Not the look on Leonardo’s face. Not the sound of her son’s voice breaking with confusion.
Leonardo stood there, motionless.
Then he took a step forward.
“You lied.”
Juliana’s lips trembled. “Leonardo, I—”
“You lied to me,” he said, louder now. “After everything I did for you. I opened up to you. I trusted you. You said it was your father. You looked me in the eye.”
Juliana’s voice cracked. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I was afraid—”
“Afraid of what? That I’d turn my back on you? That I’d walk away if I knew you were a mother?”
His face twisted. Not with rage, but with pain.
“I told you I’ve already buried one cancer,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think I was walking into another lie.”
Tears streamed down her face now. She shook her head.
“I didn’t want to manipulate you. I swear I didn’t. I just… I’ve been alone for so long. I didn’t know how to ask for help without sounding like I was begging.”
Leonardo’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“I thought I was beginning to heal. I thought maybe… maybe you were the person who saw me. Not the broken man. Just me.”
Juliana covered her mouth.
“But you saw me and still used me,” he finished.
There was a long silence.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please believe me. I never meant to hurt you.”
Leonardo didn’t respond.
He walked to the door and opened it.
Without looking back, he stepped out and left her there — alone again.
The silence in the room returned, but this time it was cold. Colder than it had ever been.
Juliana sat on the edge of her bed, her face in her hands.
She didn’t know what would happen now.
But something between them had shattered.
And this time, she wasn’t sure it could be repaired.
- Writer
