Contd
Ramirez Gonzales.
Ariel pulls her sweater over her head as the nurse quietly exits, leaving us in the silence of the room. I lean against the wall, arms folded across my chest, waiting—no, daring her to say the first word. Whatever this is, whatever her father is losing his mind over, I want to hear it from her. Not filtered through anyone else’s agenda.
She sits on the bed; her legs are barely touching the floor. Her hair is in a messy bun and her red, swollen eyes make it clear she’s been crying. I’d heard the sniffles as I walked in, but seeing it stabs deeper than I expect.
“You have to say something, Ramirez.” she says.
“I don’t want to say the wrong things.” I admit.
“You can’t even stand to look at me.” Ariel fidgets with the hem of her sweater. “And now I’m pregnant. E
