Chapter 151: CHAPTER 151 – SOFÍA’S PERSPECTIVE

POV: Sofía Ramos

The heart monitor beeped steadily in the emergency room while I sutured a five-centimeter laceration on the arm of a patient who had decided that cutting avocados without a cutting board was a good idea. My hands worked on autopilot—I’d done this procedure hundreds of times during residency.

—Pain? —I asked without looking up.

—A little, but manageable.

—Almost done. Two more stitches.

My mind wasn’t really on the sutures but on the fact that I’d been back in Miami for three months and still couldn’t sleep more than four hours straight without waking up with my heart racing and the sheets soaked in sweat, remembering Paris.

Remembering him.

Mateo Ferrer.

My cousin.

The man I had fallen so completely in love with that I could still feel his hands on my skin if I closed my eyes. I could still hear his laugh when he said something he found funny. I could still taste his kisses that tasted like coffee and promises we could never keep.

—All set —I announced, cutting the final thread—. Keep this dry for forty-eight hours. Come back in ten days to have the stitches removed.

—Thank you, doctor.

I left the trauma room for the brightly lit hospital hallway where I had spent every shift for the past three months hiding in work because it was the only place I could forget for a few hours that I had completely ruined my life.

—Dr. Ramos —one of the nurses called—. You have a patient in room three. Six-year-old girl with a high fever.

—I’m on my way.

Work was my salvation and my condemnation at the same time. It gave me purpose, but it also constantly reminded me that I had chosen emergency medicine partly because Mateo had admired that choice when I told him in that Paris café four months ago—four months that felt like another lifetime.

My shift ended at seven in the evening after twelve consecutive hours that left me physically exhausted but not emotionally, because emotional exhaustion required feeling something beyond the numbness I had carefully cultivated since I fled Paris.

Mom called as I was leaving the hospital.

—Sofía, where are you?

—Leaving work. Why?

—Your father and I need to talk to you. Come home.

—Mom, I’m tired. Can it wait until tomorrow?

—No. It can’t wait. It’s important.

Something in her tone made me stop halfway to my car in the hospital parking lot.

—Did something happen? Are the twins okay?

—Everyone’s fine. But we need to talk now. It’s urgent.

—Okay. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

I hung up, anxiety knotting in my stomach because my mother never sounded like that unless something truly serious was happening.

I arrived at my parents’ house in Coral Gables and saw both cars in the driveway, which was unusual because Dad usually worked late on Tuesdays.

I went in with my key and found them sitting in the living room with expressions I couldn’t read but that immediately scared me.

—What happened? —I asked—. Did someone die?

—No one died —Dad said—. Sit down, Sofía. We need to talk about something serious.

I sat in the armchair across from them, my heart pounding. The last time they’d asked me to sit like this, I was fifteen and they told me Grandma had had a stroke.

—We were at the beach house this morning —Mom began—. Emmanuel and Isabella asked us to come for an important conversation.

My stomach dropped.

No.

Please no.

—About what? —I asked, though I already knew the answer.

—About you and Mateo —Dad said, his voice carefully neutral in the way he used when trying not to show emotion—. About what happened in Paris.

The world stopped.

—How…?

—Mateo told his parents everything. They told us. And now we need to hear your version of the story.

The tears I had been holding back for three months finally broke free, sliding down my cheeks before I could stop them.

—I’m sorry —I sobbed—. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know who he was, I swear. If I had known, I never would have—

Mom moved to the couch beside me, pulling me into her arms as I completely fell apart.

—Tell us everything, my love. From the beginning. Leave nothing out.

I told them the story through sobs that made it hard to breathe—every detail from meeting Mateo in the bookstore to falling in love with him thinking he was a stranger, to the night we spent together, to the horrible moment I realized who he really was.

—And when I realized he was Mateo Ferrer, Emmanuel’s son —I looked at Dad— your best friend—I panicked completely because it meant he was my cousin, that we had done something terrible without knowing.

—You didn’t do anything terrible —Dad said firmly—. You don’t share blood. You didn’t grow up together. You didn’t know who you were.

—But we’re family! We grew up in the same extended family. We probably met when we were babies!

—Yes. But that doesn’t change that you fell in love honestly without knowing the complications that would come.

—And that makes it better? The fact that we didn’t know?

—It makes it different —Mom said gently—. And more emotionally complicated because you had that moment of believing it was simple before reality hit.

—So I did the only thing I could. I ran back to Miami thinking that with distance I could forget him. That eventually it would stop hurting.

—Did it work? —Dad asked—. Did it stop hurting?

—No. It hurts more every day because I didn’t just lose the man I loved—I lost him for reasons completely out of my control.

—Do you still love him? —Mom asked.

—With every part of me. I wake up thinking about him. I spend the day trying not to think about him. I fall asleep crying because I can’t stop thinking about him.

—Then why did you run?

—Because we’re cousins, Mom! Because all of Miami still talks about Emmanuel and Isabella twenty-five years later. They still call them “the controversial couple” as if it were a scandal instead of a love story!

—And you didn’t want to be the next generation of that scandal —Dad said, understanding.

—I didn’t want to be the granddaughter who repeated the pattern. I didn’t want people pointing at me and whispering about how the Ferrer-Galli family has issues with appropriate boundaries.

—And Mateo? What does he want?

—I don’t know. We haven’t spoken since I ran from Paris three months ago.

Mom and Dad exchanged a look I couldn’t interpret.

—There’s something you need to know —Mom said—. Mateo came back to Miami.

My heart stopped.

—What?

—He came back three days ago. He’s living in an apartment in Brickell. And this morning he told his parents he loves you and that he’s going to fight for you.

—No. He can’t. He has to forget me. He has to move on with his life.

—Is that what you really want? —Dad asked—. For him to forget you?

—I want this not to be so complicated! I want to be able to love him without it meaning betraying my family or becoming gossip or repeating a pattern half the family thinks never should have started!

—But those things aren’t under your control —Mom said—. The only thing under your control is whether you let fear of what others think take away your chance to be happy.

—It’s not just fear of what others think. It’s fear of hurting this family. Of causing division. Of being the reason you and Uncle Emmanuel stop being friends after forty-seven years.

Dad knelt in front of me, taking my hands.

—Sofía, look at me.

I did through tears.

—Emmanuel has been my best friend since we were seven. We’ve survived everything together. And if there’s one thing he taught me during the eleven years he waited for Isabella, it’s that true love is worth any sacrifice.

—Even sacrificing your friendship?

—Our friendship won’t end because our children love each other. If anything, it will grow stronger because we’ll be connected in even deeper ways.

—And if it doesn’t work? If Mateo and I try to be together and everything explodes and it turns into a disaster that hurts everyone?

—Then we’ll deal with it if it happens —Mom said—. But Sofía, my love, you’ve spent three months miserable, barely sleeping, working double shifts to avoid thinking. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life like this?

—I don’t want to hurt you.

—You’re already hurting us by watching you suffer —Dad said—. I would rather face any complication that comes from supporting you with Mateo than keep watching you slowly destroy yourself inside.

—You would really support me? Even knowing what it means?

—We support you completely —they both said at the same time.

I cried harder then—not from sadness, but from relief mixed with terror. Because now I had no excuse. I couldn’t hide behind “my family wouldn’t accept it” when my family was literally telling me they did.

—I don’t know if I can do this —I admitted—. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to love Mateo knowing half the family will judge us.

—You don’t have to be strong alone —Mom said—. You have your parents. Emmanuel and Isabella. Everyone who truly matters supporting you.

—And Mateo? Does he know you talked to me?

—Not yet. We wanted to give you space to process before he shows up at your door.

—He’s going to show up at my door, isn’t he?

—He probably would already be there if his parents hadn’t asked him to give you a few days —Dad said—. But yes. Eventually he will. That boy is as stubborn as his father, and when the Ferrers love, they love with everything.

—I’m not ready to see him.

—When will you be ready?

—I don’t know. Maybe never. Maybe in five minutes. I can’t think clearly when it comes to him.

—Then rest —Mom said—. Process this. Take the time you need. And when you’re ready to talk to Mateo, do it knowing you have our full support.

I stayed at my parents’ house that night, sleeping in my old bedroom that still had medical school posters on the walls and family photos where Mateo probably appeared somewhere because our families had been intertwined for decades.

And for the first time in three months, I slept more than four hours straight because the weight of keeping the secret had finally lifted.

But I woke up knowing that now came the hardest part.

Deciding whether I was brave enough to love Mateo Ferrer publicly.

Or if fear would win again.