Ch 13

The villa in Houston was painfully quiet those next few days. Its stillness pressed on my chest, a hollow reminder that this house had always been beautiful, but never home. The marble floors gleamed as they always did, and the chandeliers sparkled under the afternoon light, but there was something lifeless about the way it all shimmered — as if everything had been polished to perfection to disguise the fractures underneath.

Mama found me on the veranda one morning, the air humid with the faint scent of gardenias she'd planted herself years ago. She approached quietly, the kind of quiet only mothers could master, her eyes soft but shadowed. I stood before her, feeling small, the child in me suddenly surfacing amidst all the adult exhaustion.

"Mama," I said, my voice faltering as I exhaled the words, "I'm sorry for everything. For the chaos, for running away, for—"

She lifted her hand gently, stopping me. "You don't need to apologize for wanting peace, anak," she said softly. "You've spent your whole life doing what's right by everyone else. Maybe it's time you do what's right by you."

Her understanding was both a relief and a heartbreak. I wanted her to tell me to stay — to anchor me — but instead, she did what only a mother who truly loved could do: she let me go.

"I just wish," she murmured, eyes glistening, "that it didn't have to come to this. Your father... he's proud, and Ava... well, she's always thought control was love. But you, my daughter, you've always had your own compass. Follow it. I'll be watching from afar, praying for you, always."

I nodded, tears slipping silently down my cheeks. I took her hands, memorizing their warmth, the way her thumb brushed the back of mine like it always had when I was little. "Thank you, Mama," I whispered. "I'll come back one day. When it's not this heavy anymore."

She smiled — a sad, knowing kind of smile — and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Just promise me you'll be happy, Rafaelle. That's all I've ever wanted."

***

My last day in the villa felt colder, sharper. Papa Ramon and Ava were waiting in the study when I walked in, their expressions unreadable, though I could feel the storm beneath their composure.

"Sit," Papa said simply. His tone was low, almost calm — which was far more dangerous than his anger. I obeyed, though every part of me wanted to run.

"Your mother tells me you're leaving," he began, clasping his hands together on the desk. "Is that true?"

"Yes, pa."

His gaze hardened. "And there's nothing we can do to convince you otherwise?"

"No."

Ate Ava's scoff cut through the air like a whip. "You're throwing away everything for what, Rafaelle? For some fleeting illusion of freedom? For an actress who thinks she's your salvation?"

I didn't even flinch this time. "I'm not throwing anything away. I'm choosing myself. And if that's a sin in this family, then maybe I was never meant to belong."

Papa inhaled deeply, leaning back in his chair, eyes narrowing. "You sound just like her," he muttered, disdain dripping from the pronoun he refused to say aloud. "That woman has poisoned your mind. I gave you everything — every opportunity, every privilege — and this is how you repay us?"

My throat tightened, but my voice was steady. "You gave me everything except freedom. Except the right to live as I am."

He stared at me for a long moment before opening the drawer beside him. The crisp sound of paper filled the silence as he drew out a checkbook, signed a page, tore it clean, and laid it flat on the desk.

"Two hundred fifty million dollars," he said coldly. "That's all you'll ever get from this family. Consider it your parting gift — or your punishment. Take it, and never come back."

The words didn't sting as much as I thought they would. Maybe because I'd already grieved this loss long ago. I looked down at the check, the ink still fresh, then back up at the man who raised me.

"I'm not leaving for money," I said quietly. "I'm leaving because I can't breathe here anymore."

Ava scoffed again, crossing her arms, but I didn't give her the satisfaction of another glance. I picked up the check, folded it neatly, and placed it back on the desk."Keep it," I said. "I'm not for sale."

I turned to leave, my pulse echoing in my ears, and for a moment, neither of them said a word. The silence was its own kind of finality.

As I stepped out into the sun-drenched courtyard, I could feel Mama's presence by the window upstairs — watching, perhaps praying, just as she promised. I smiled faintly through the tears blurring my vision.

The car engine started, and as I pulled away from the villa, I glanced back once. The mansion stood there, pristine and powerful, a fortress of everything I had outgrown.

This time, I didn't look back again.