“I didn’t tell you because, well … we don’t really talk like that. Not about real stuff. Not really. And I couldn’t tell Dad.”
Bianca’s eyes filled with tears this time. Her words choked. “That’s my fault. That’s completely my fault.” She reached for Mila’s hand, her voice trembling.
She prayed she didn’t pull away. She didn’t. “That’s the reason for the head coverings.” Bianca nodded toward Mila’s head. A silk scarf had replaced the toboggan. “Can I see?”
Mila looked at her, breathing deeply. She trembled, and it looked as if she might cry. Slowly, she reached up to remove the scarf. Bianca blinked rapidly, her eyes fixed on the bald spot at the crown of her daughter’s head. She closed her eyes. Her fingers shook as she touched Mila’s scalp.
“I want to transfer to another school. I can’t go back there next year.”
“Then you won’t,” Bianca said instantly. Her heart ached, but she was on the verge of anger. Her eyes narrowed. She blew wind from her mouth. “Whatever it takes.”
“And my hair is falling out from the stress of holding it in.”
Bianca gathered her into her arms and hugged her fiercely. “You don’t have to hold anything in anymore, not with me.”
Mila clung to her, not completely trusting but not fighting it, either.
Later that night they sat on the deck listening to the cicadas humming loudly in the distance. The air was much coolerthan it had been earlier in the day. Bianca played music on the stereo—soft Spanish melodies. The slow, gentle strum of an acoustic guitar filled the house and spilled out onto the porch. Mila curled her knees to her chest on the old wicker love seat. Bianca sat nearby, barefoot, the blanket around her shoulders and a mug of ginger tea in her hands.
Neither of them spoke for a while. They just relaxed against the whisper of music and the faint scent of the ocean. Bianca was just grateful for Mila’s presence.
“I didn’t think you’d believe me,” Mila said eventually, her voice barely above a whisper.
Bianca looked over at her, startled. “Why would you think that?”
“Because …” Mila hesitated. “You always told me to be smart and careful. To not ever put myself in sticky situations.”
A flicker of pain crossed Bianca’s face. “Mila, telling you to be careful doesn’t mean I would blame you. That wasn’t your fault. None of it.”
Mila nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the dark sky. “I guess a part of me thought you’d be disappointed that I had ended up in such a stupid situation.”
Bianca reached over and took her daughter’s hand. “I am furious someone hurt you. If I knew who it was, I’d probably—” She blew air from her mouth, feeling the heat in her face. Her lips pursed. “It’s probably good I don’t know who it is right now.” Bianca leaned back in her chair. “I’m ashamed that we weren’t close enough for you to tell me sooner. But disappointed in you? Never, baby.”
Mila’s throat seemed to tighten. She looked down, trying to blink the tears away before they could fall. “I didn’t know how to talk to you.”
“That’s my fault too. I thought if I raised you to be strong like me, you’d never feel broken. I didn’t realize I was teachingyou to hide from me. It forced you to run to your father. You two were closer, I get it—he’s a great father—but it was hurtful watching you slip away from me.”
Mila looked at her.
Bianca sighed, then leaned in closer. “I want to fix this, Mila. Not just what happened at the party, but us too. I want us to be okay.”
Mila’s lip trembled. “I want that too.”
Bianca reached for her hand. “Then let’s start here. Let’s just … take care of each other for a while.”
Mila took her mother’s hand, and for the first time in a long while the silence between them felt safe.
When Bianca finally spoke, her voice was calm but firm. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about wanting to forget. I get it. I do,” Bianca continued. “But baby … forgetting and healing aren’t the same.”
Mila sighed. “It hurts just to think about it. I don’t even remember the faces, just the feeling. The fear of waking up and finding out you’ve been violated—in the worst way.”
“He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it,” Bianca said. “The fact that he’s walking the same earth as you and allowed to still breathe.”
“I don’t think he should either,” Mila admitted. “But what can I do? I don’t know who it was. I don’t even know who to blame.”
“You don’t need to have all the answers today,” Bianca said. “But there are people who can help you figure it out. People who deal with this all the time—investigators, advocates, attorneys who specialize in cases like this.”
Mila hesitated. “What if it doesn’t go anywhere? What if it only makes it worse?”