❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞. ❞
When Ricardo Esposito bursts through a door and finds a girl handcuffed on the floor, he decides to take her in and give her something she never had.
A fam...
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Killing a human being with one bullet is feasible. It is doable. But just because something was doable, it did not mean it should be done that way.
Rafael told me he preferred to fire three bullets to get the job done: one in the head, another one in the heart and the last bullet in the place where the wound was.
Marco is not your real father.
Katarina aimed for my head first, confusing my thoughts, but to say it hit me deeply would be a lie. My biological father was my birth father; I stored his name in my brain, but he was not the first man I thought of when I heard the word 'father'. That man was Ricardo.
You're a rape child.
A rape child was born to a raped woman. My mother was raped, which was a crime. Rape was a crime. Which also meant that I was a crime.
One thing I had to hand to Katarina, she knew something about good timing because before I had a chance to process this information; before I had an opportunity to get up, she fired the next bullet.
Henry is your uncle.
The open wound. It never healed; even if it was possible to heal someday, it would leave more psychological scars than physical ones.
I had no idea what was supposed to happen now, though. Maybe my heartbeat would slow down, but instead- my breathing became uneven, even though it was supposed to stop. But my brain was still functioning, a good sign that I was still alive.
A rape child shouldn't be alive.
I managed to tear my gaze away from the spot on the wall I had chosen and let my eyes wander until they found Rafael; Katarina was gone.
Her intelligence could be questioned, but if there was one thing she was better at than anyone else, it was protecting herself. She had set off the bomb but had left before it exploded. However, she had underestimated its range.
"I'm sorry," Rafael said, interrupting me as I tried to wish death upon his cousin, once again directing my anger at the wrong person rather than at those who deserved it.
I forced a smile; there was nothing he had to be sorry for. It was not him who had lied, nor was he in a position to tell me the truth. This was between Alessandro and me, so I understood why he thought it was better to stay out of it.
"What are you sorry for?"
A 'there's nothing you must apologise for' would have been enough.
"I know this is not what you imagined."
I could not figure out why, but for some reason, I kept pestering him. "Which part? The rapist as my father part or my rapist as my uncle part?"
Rafael clenched his jaw. Others, like my first therapist, gasped and shuddered as if a shiver ran down their spine when they heard the word. Others widened their eyes as if it was a crime to say it out loud and admit that it happened to you.
