A week later...
“Careful. Step, another one. We’re almost to the entrance.”
“Shut up, please!” I snap at Dawson.
I’m annoyed and unhappy with life.
It’s been a week since the surgery, and I still haven’t recovered my vision. Expectations for doing so
were between 20 and 30%. The odds of staying this way forever were even higher than the odds of
fixing it.
Why didn’t this happen to a murderer? To a criminal? To a corrupt person? Why, as cliché as it sounds,
do bad things happen to good people?
While it is true that I have not been a saint, I do not deserve a wreath of flowers, and I do not deserve
the Nobel Peace Prize. However, I find it ridiculous, absurd, and even cruel that I, who have not
intentionally caused harm to any person in my twenty-seven years of age, should be the one to receive
this disgrace. Because it is what it is! My brain can’t help but think of how many people inhabit this
world who are more deserving of misfortune in their lives than I am.
“You’re blind. You’re not a fucking idiot. If I tell you there’s a step, you lift your foot. One after another,
and you walk. Nothing else. You limit yourself to that.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Dawson. I’m not in the mood,” I grumble.
I can’t believe he’s talking to me that way, even though that’s what I need right now.
When I don’t realize it, my brother knows what I need in my life. Now all I need is someone who won’t
let me fall, who won’t let this ruin me, because I know for a fact that I can almost put my hands in the
fire for it. I know I’m on the verge of a breakdown, and acknowledging it doesn’t bother me, it doesn’t
hurt, it doesn’t tear a piece out of my body. I know depression firsthand; I lived it and felt it. She’s been
a part of me since Arianna decided to leave my son’s and my side.
“I’m not either. I intended to be well away from here by this date.” He points me to another step.
Who’s the hell idea was it to put so many goddamn steps in the entryway?! Ah, yes, it was mine. What
an idiot!
“I didn’t ask you to stay.” Then, bored and tired of being led by the hand to my own house, I grudgingly
reply. “I didn’t ask you to delay your plans or stay the whole week at the clinic. You could have left. I
know you intend to marry that young lady.”
“Two things, the first; you don’t have to ask me to stay, it’s implied and very much mine. You are my
brother. The truth is that at this instant, I have no other place I want to be. No matter how I talk to you,
how I treat you now... I know you are a tough nut to crack. You’re a tough guy, much tougher than me.
You have kept your cool and your life intact since Arianna’s sudden and selfish death. I admire you and
always will.”
I’m about to burst into tears like a fucking pussy. This man I’ve always labeled as crazy-headed and
carefree has hit the nail right on the head. I can’t let myself be ruined. My son and my sanity depend on
it.
“I’ll take care of everything in the company and our overseas business. So you won’t have to worry
about a thing,” he asserts as he squeezes my shoulder. “Strive to recover and get through this. I’m sure
you’ll regain your vision before long.”
“Thank you, Dawson,” I say with a lump in my throat. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me these
past few days. I didn’t think I’d count on you... not after what happened.”
“No woman or bad decision will make you run away from me. I’m the real thorn in your ass.” We stop,
and he releases me. “Here we are.”
“What’s the second thing?” he didn’t finish telling me.
“What?”
“You said you’d tell me two things. First, the one who just got out of head surgery was me.”
“I love her,” he answers matter-of-factly. “I know you may not believe me, that you may think it’s early,
that I don’t know her... You may have a thousand notions about Teresa and me, but the truth is that I
haven’t stopped thinking about her since I met her.”
“Oh, boy, what have you done?” Donatella’s voice makes me turn my head, even though my eyes see
all black.
I feel at home knowing that the only thing left of my childhood, of my whole life, is still there and waiting
for me. It’s beautiful.
“I’m fine.” I receive a warm hug I haven’t felt in months.
Dante’s age.
Since Arianna’s death, I shut myself away into raising and caring for Dante. I also closed the door of
my heart and my feelings to everyone around me. I realize now how much I missed feeling cared for by
that petite woman.
“Don’t start crying.” Even though she can’t see me because she has her face tucked into my chest, I
smile.
“I’m not crying. You just scared me to death. I haven’t stopped praying since Dawson called, saying you
were going into surgery. I was praying for everything to go well.” He pulls away from my arms.
I asked Dawson not to tell anyone about my current condition. I don’t want anyone’s grief. It’s
unnecessary. But that won’t bring back my vision.
I am wearing a long-sleeved indigo blue shirt, which I have put on by force. My body still feels strangely
heavy, and the headaches haven’t stopped. David told Dawson and me that it was normal to get them
for the first few weeks. Dark glasses cover my face, and I know that’s why Donatella hasn’t noticed my
blindness.
“Please come in. What are you doing standing there? Mrs. Tatiana is on the balcony with little Dante.
We were really expecting you tomorrow.”
My body stiffens as I hear that, and memories of Arianna suddenly come to my mind.
“Arianna!” I scream as I see her storming out of the room after being in labor for hours. “What are you
doing? Get back here!”
She kept running, and I couldn’t help but follow her. She was wearing a white dress with thin, delicate
sleeves, just like her. It came down to her feet, hid her heels, and let her silhouette show a little, for it
was semi-transparent, like almost everything she wore. She wanted to give birth in the castle and
refused to go to the hospital. She did not want to be seen in any medical facility. No one knew during
her nine months that she was pregnant. I don’t know how I didn’t realize at the time that something was
wrong with her, with us, and with our relationship. Arianna did not lose her slender figure with Dante’s
pregnancy, although she complained about the pounds she was gaining.
“Darío?” Dawson grabs my hand and urges me to walk to move from the driveway.
Our driver waits with the suitcases at the foot of the car. He hasn’t moved. Dawson takes it upon
himself to carry me and instruct me when to climb each step. I thank him silently. It is enough that my
brother takes me by the hand as if I were an invalid, though my cruel brain, cracked and aching,
repeats to me that that is what I am now: an invalid.
“You arrived!” I hear my wife say.
My world crumbles at her angelic voice. I will no longer be able to hide my facade of normalcy.
“Hello, Tatiana,” I greet and standstill since I don’t know where to focus.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she exclaims.
Without being able to avoid it or notice the movement because of my blindness... Splash! I feel her
hand stamp on my face.
“God!” On instinct, I fumble at the bruised area.
“God, nothing. You’re an idiot. You went in for surgery!” she rants, upset.
“I think I’d better take Dante, Mrs. Tatiana,” Donatella interjects.
I hate myself for not being able to see my son, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright.
“Yes, take him away, please. And you...” I wait for more trouble, “follow me to the studio. We have a lot
to talk about.”
“Sister-in-law...” Dawson trails off, and I know he’s trying to soothe the beast my wife has become.
My dragonfly.
“Stay out of it. It doesn’t concern you. This is between my inconsiderate husband and me. You are not
in the best position with me. So stick to staying away from me.”
“Well, unless you take him by the hand, he won’t be able to follow you to the studio,” he ironizes.
I feel like punching him. She acts this way because she doesn’t know what’s wrong with me. I
understand, and I’m sorry. She doesn’t have that kind of malice and manipulation in her heart. It only
took me a few days to realize that.
“Dawson...”
“What? At some point, you have to tell her and better sooner than later.”
“What are you saying?” Tatiana has no idea what has happened to me.
That’s what I was trying to avoid from the clinic.
I don’t know what she’s thinking. It stands to reason that, upon arrival, both she and Donatella, were
going to find out about my lack of vision.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m blind. I can’t see you... I can’t see anything.” I feel like that’s the hardest thing I’ve ever uttered in
my life.
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