Chapter 24 Stand Tall.
Maya's POV
The phone was still ringing. Justin's name still glowed on the screen.
Damn, he was persistent.
What do I even say to him? What do I want to tell him?
"My father is in the hospital and I'm scared and I don't know what to do? I'm sorry I ran away from the party? I'm sorry I yelled at you in the car? I need you here because I can't do this alone?”
Gosh. I didn't know. I didn't know anything anymore.
The phone kept ringing. I let it go to voicemail, then I turned it off.
I don't need that drama or complications right now. I don't need Justin or Cynthia or Sarah or any of it.
I just need my father to be okay. That's all I need.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and walked back to his room.
The room was quiet.
The machines beeped softly and the lights were dim. Papa looked smaller and more vulnerable than I'd ever seen him. The tubes in his arms and the pale blue blanket pulled up to his chest. My chest felt very heavy.
I sat in the chair beside his bed but I didn't hold his hand. I didn't want to wake him.
I just watched him breathe, In. Out.
He's alive and that's all that matters.
His eyes fluttered open.
"Mija..."
"Papa." I leaned forward. "Papa, I'm here. I'm right here."
He looked at me, his eyes were tired and heavy. But there was something else there too, something soft.
"Lo siento," he whispered. "I am so sorry, mija."
Tears began to well up in my eyes. I tried so hard to hold it.
"Sorry? Papa, what are you sorry for? You didn't do anything."
"I scared you."
"Papa…"
"I saw your face….when I fell. You were so scared." His voice cracked. "I never want to see that face again."
I reached for his hand, it was warm now, not cold like before.
"Papa, why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"That you weren't feeling fine, that something was wrong.You just… kept quiet. And I was out there going to school, laughing, living my life while your body was…”
"Mija."
"Don't 'mija' me, Papa. You always tell me to be honest. You always tell me to speak up when something is wrong, but you… you kept this from me." Tears were streaming down my face. "It's not fair, papa. We're family, you're supposed to tell me when something is wrong."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he let out a slow breath.
"No, my daughter…. I cannot bother you."
"Bother me?” I shook my head. “Papa…”
"You are a young girl trying to build your own future. You have school, your friends. You have your whole life ahead of you." His thumb moved slowly across the back of my hand. "I cannot bother you with my problems."
"Papa…That’s not how this works,” I whispered. “We’re supposed to carry things together
"You are my daughter. It is my job to protect you, not the other way around."
I wanted to argue and scream. I wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that we were supposed to carry each other, that family didn't keep secrets.
But he was too tired and didn’t have the strength to argue. He just looked at me, tired, stubborn, loving.
And I realized… he wasn’t going to change his mind tonight.
I swallowed.
"Okay,” I said softly. Not because I agreed. But because he needed peace more than he needed to be right. “Okay, Papa.”
A long silence passed, the machines continued beeping and the lights still hummed.
"Mija."
"Yes, Papa?"
"What are you going to do?"
I looked at him. "About what?"
"About the girl. Sarah, about the school. About all of it."
I wiped my face with the back of my hand. "I don't know, Papa. I've been thinking about transferring schools."
"Transferring?"
"It would be easier, you know, a fresh start. Somewhere no one knows me and somewhere no one has seen the pictures or the videos or…."
His grip tightened slightly.
"No."
I blinked. "Papa?"
"No transferring."
"But Papa…"
"Transferring schools only makes it look like you did something wrong." His voice was weak but firm. "And you did nothing wrong. Nada."
I stared at him.
"You are my daughter," he said. "You have my strong spirit in you. Your mother's heart, but my spirit." He squeezed my hand. "You are not going to transfer schools."
I don’t feel strong,” I admitted. “I don’t feel like I can walk back in there like nothing happened.”
“You don’t have to feel strong,” he said. “You just have to stand.”
I looked at him.
“You walk in there… head up. Little by little.” His voice was softer now, slower. “You don’t run.”
My chest tightened.
"Then what am I going to do?"
He looked at me. His eyes were tired but clear.
"You are going to go to school tomorrow with your head held high."
"Papa…"
"Escúchame. Listen to me." He took a breath. "You are going to walk into that building like you own it. You are going to look those people in the eye. And you are going to be proud of yourself."
"Proud of what? Everyone thinks I'm a…"
"Proud of the fact that she is jealous of you."
I stopped.
"She would not be jealous if she did not see something special in you. People do not destroy what they do not fear, people do not tear down what does not threaten them."
"Papa…"
"Her jealousy means she sees your light, mija, she sees your strength and she sees the star that you are." His voice was soft but certain. "And stars do not hide my darling, stars shine."
I was crying again, but different this time. Not from fear or from anger but his words.
Stars shine. It gave me a little bit of confidence.
"You are going to go to that school tomorrow," he said, "and you are going to stand tall, not because you are proving something to them but because you are proving something to yourself."
Stand tall.
Not for them.
Go tomorrow,” he said gently. “Not for them but for you.”
For me.
"Okay, Papa," I whispered. "Okay."
He smiled weakly.
"That is my girl."