Page 23 of Velvet Corruption

Back in the bedroom, I kissed Rosie’s forehead to wake her. “Time for school, mi amor.”

She stretched and yawned, her freckles scrunching up like tiny stars. “Five more minutes.”

“Nice try, peanut,” I said, pulling the covers off her. “Let’s go. We have to be out the door in thirty.”

“But Mami…”

“If I hear you complain again, I’m going to finish the cocoa puffs all by myself.”

She sprang up like a daisy, eyes wide with horror. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me,” I said with a smirk, knowing full well I could never be that cruel.

I wandered into the kitchen as Rosie shuffled down the hall toward the bathroom. The space looked more like a showroom than a place where anyone actually cooked—glass, chrome, edges too clean.

I opened the fridge and stared inside: green juice, almond milk, a sad lineup of vegetables. Even the food here looked like it was trying too hard.

On the counter, I spotted the half-full carafe in the machine and poured myself a cup, not caring that it was yesterday’s brew. The coffee was cold and bitter—fitting. I took a sip and tried to convince myself this was fine. Normal, even. That I could live like this a little longer.

Rosie came back and found the cereal and milk without needing help. The stainless steel appliances gleamed like they were judging us. I wished for something more familiar. A chipped enamel kettle. Mismatched mugs. A place that didn’t feel like it was waiting for a magazine shoot.

She ate in silence. I drank my coffee.

“Mami,” Rosie said, her mouth half-full, “is Daddy still setting my study schedule for Saturday?”

I paused, choosing my words carefully. “We’ll see, mi amor.” I forced a smile, but the frustration bubbled beneath the surface. Julian’s need to control every aspect of Rosie’s life was exhausting, but I couldn’t let her see that. Not today.

She frowned and went back to her cereal. I hated how I had to keep her in the dark about so many things. Julian’s micromanaging was one thing, but his recent distance was another. He was pulling away, and I feared he was taking Rosie with him.

I heard his car pull in.

My heart did a little two-step, a mix of anxiety and something that used to be excitement. I’d thought he was staying at the condo this week.

Rosie perked up instantly. “Daddy’s home!” she exclaimed, abandoning her cereal and running toward the front door.

I followed more slowly, coffee cup in hand, trying to steel myself for whatever reason he had for coming back.

Julian stepped through the door, all tall and disheveled grace. He wore one of those casual-but-actually-expensive shirts I used to buy him for his birthday. Now he bought his own, but they still held a trace of me in them.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, scooping Rosie up with one arm. She giggled and kissed his cheek. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” she said, “but Mami woke me.”

“For good reason. Early bird gets the worm.”

Rosie made a face. “Why would I want a worm?”

Julian laughed, a deep, warm sound that used to make me feel at home. Now it just echoed in the empty spaces of our lives. “It’s a saying, sweetheart. It means—“

“I know what it means,” she cut him off, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m not a baby!”

I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, unsure whether to move closer or retreat. This was the hardest part: seeing them together, happy, and knowing that I was the one who had started this fissure by wanting more than what we had become.

There was a part of me that didn’t know if I had ever loved Julian, or if I had just loved the way he treated my daughter.

But that was something to unpack in therapy, not right now.

If I ever had time for therapy again.