Page 37 of Where She Belongs (A Different Kind of Love #3)

“No misunderstanding,” Papa insists. “Gabriel is just confused. This woman he’s seeing—she’s not suitable. Nine years older, divorced, her career always coming first. Not the kind of woman who can build a proper family with you, mijo.”

The casual cruelty of his words hits like a physical blow. I notice my mother flinch slightly, though she says nothing—a response conditioned by years of similar dismissals.

“Don’t,” I warn, my voice dropping. “Don’t you dare talk about Andrea that way. She’s built something remarkable with her clinic, raised an incredible daughter, maintained her integrity through a difficult divorce—all things that make her exactly the kind of woman I respect and admire.”

“Admire, sure,” Papa concedes with a patronizing smile.

“But marriage? Children? Be realistic, Gabriel. At her age, what can she offer you? Carolina here comes from good stock—her mother had four children. She teaches at the Sunday school, volunteers at the hospital. She would be happy to support your career, make a proper home, not be distracted by her own ambitions.”

“I think I should definitely go,” Carolina murmurs, clearly mortified. “Dr. Vasquez, it was nice to meet you. Mr. Vasquez, thank you for the tea.”

I barely register her swift exit, my attention focused entirely on my father, who looks more annoyed at the interruption than embarrassed by his behavior.

“That was unnecessary,” he says once we hear the front door close. “I went to a lot of trouble to arrange this meeting.”

“Why?” I demand, no longer bothering to mask my frustration. “Why are you so invested in sabotaging my relationship? Is this about Andrea specifically, or would you undermine any woman I chose who didn’t fit your narrow definition of suitable?”

“I’m trying to protect you,” he insists, his voice rising. “From making the same mistakes I—” He stops abruptly, but it’s too late.

“The same mistakes you made?” I finish for him. “Which ones, exactly? The mistake of marrying someone you didn’t truly respect? Or the mistake of maintaining a second family on the side when you got bored?”

“Gabriel!” My mother’s sharp tone cuts through the tension. “That’s enough.”

But it’s not enough. Not after years of watching her make excuses for him, of seeing the toll his betrayals took on our family, of understanding too late how his behavior shaped my own approach to relationships.

“Is that why you’re so invested in my love life, Papa? Because you think I’ll end up like you? Unable to commit to one woman, always looking for something newer, younger, easier?”

“You ungrateful—” He stands abruptly, color rising in his face. “Everything I’ve done has been for this family. To give you opportunities, to secure your future. And this is how you speak to me?”

“I’m grateful for the opportunities,” I say, moderating my tone slightly. “But I’m not a child anymore. I’m a grown man who can choose his own path—and his own partner.”

“A partner almost old enough to be your mother,” he scoffs. “What will people say?”

“I don’t care what they say.” The realization hits me with surprising force—I truly don’t. After years of carefully managing my reputation in Taos, of worrying what others might think, Andrea has somehow freed me from that concern. “The only opinion that matters is hers. And mine.”

My mother, who has been silent throughout this exchange, finally speaks. “Your father means well, Gabriel. He wants you to have a happy family.”

“Like the one he gave you?” The words escape before I can stop them, and I immediately regret them when I see her flinch. “I’m sorry, Mama. That was unfair.”

“No,” she says quietly. “It wasn’t.” She turns to my father, something resolute in her expression I’ve rarely seen. “Alejandro, let him go. Let him find his own way.”

For a moment, I think he’ll argue, but something in her tone gives him pause. There’s a history there I’m not privy to, some private understanding between them that transcends their troubled marriage.

“Fine,” he says finally, though his displeasure is evident. “But when it falls apart—when she can’t give you children, when her career always comes first—don’t come crying to me.”

“If it falls apart,” I say evenly, “it won’t be for those reasons. It will be because relationships are hard, and sometimes they don’t work despite our best efforts. But at least I’ll have tried honestly, without deception or betrayal.”

The implied criticism lands heavily, and for the first time, I see something like shame flicker across my father’s features.

It’s gone almost immediately, replaced by his usual defensive pride, but it’s enough to confirm what I’ve long suspected—beneath his bravado, he knows exactly what his choices cost our family.

“I should go,” I say, glancing at my watch. “I’m expected at Nana’s for dinner.”

“Of course you are,” Papa mutters. “Always time for Anita’s family, never for your own.”

I ignore the barb, turning instead to my mother. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Mama.”

She walks me to the door, her hand resting lightly on my arm. “Your Andrea,” she says softly, “she makes you happy?”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “Happier than I knew was possible.”

Something softens in her expression. “Then don’t let your father’s fears become yours, mijo. That’s the real family legacy you should worry about inheriting.” She presses a kiss to my cheek. “Bring her to Sunday dinner sometime. I’d like to meet the woman who’s finally captured my son’s heart.”

As I drive away, heading for Nana’s gathering, I feel lighter somehow, as if a weight I’ve carried for years has begun to lift. My father’s disapproval, his attempts to control my choices—they no longer hold the power they once did.

Because that’s what this has always been about, hasn’t it? My fear of commitment, my carefully casual relationships—all attempts to avoid becoming him, to prevent myself from hurting someone the way he hurt my mother.

But Andrea has shown me another path, and that’s where I want to be.

The modest adobe house, carefully maintained and updated over decades, has been the gathering place for our extended friend group for as long as I can remember. Tonight, every parking space along the street is taken—a sure sign that this isn’t just a casual dinner.

I’m barely through the front door when I’m ambushed by small bodies hurtling toward me.

“Uncle Gabe!” The twins—Anita Pearl and Dax Jr.—wrap themselves around my legs with the enthusiasm unique to four-year-olds.

“Hey, munchkins,” I say, crouching down to their level. “Did you grow while I was gone? You both look taller.”

“I lost a tooth!” Anita Pearl declares, opening her mouth wide to display the gap where a baby tooth once resided.

“Very impressive,” I say with appropriate solemnity. “Did the tooth fairy visit?”

“She left five dollars,” Dax Jr. announces, clearly envious of his sister’s windfall.

“Five whole dollars?” I whistle, eyebrows raised. “Inflation is hitting the tooth fairy market hard these days.”

“Daddy said the same thing,” Anita Pearl giggles.

“Because Daddy is very smart,” I say, rising to find Dax watching us from the kitchen doorway, amusement written across his features.

“About some things,” he acknowledges, stepping forward to pull me into a quick embrace. “Welcome back, man. How was the trip to see Andrea?”

“Worth every mile,” I say, following him toward the kitchen where delicious smells emanate. “Don’t think I’ve ever made that drive faster.”

Dax’s eyebrows shoot up. “That eager, huh? Hawaii must have been pretty special.”

“You could say that,” I reply, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice. “Changes everything, doesn’t it? When you finally see what’s been right in front of you.”

“Better prepare yourself,” Dax warns with a grin. “Nana’s summoned the entire clan. And they’ve all seen Tristy’s Instagram post.”

I barely have time to process this warning before we enter the kitchen, where a veritable crowd has assembled.

Harlow stands at the counter, deep in conversation with Alma Villier.

Sawyer, Alma’s husband, sits at the table with their son Tyler and Sarah and Benny’s teenager Dyami, apparently discussing the finer points of some video game based on their animated gestures.

Benny is stationed near the stove, clearly on tortilla-warming duty, while Sarah bounces their toddler Atsa on her hip.

And presiding over it all like a benevolent monarch is Nana, her silver hair pulled back in its usual neat bun, her hands constantly in motion as she stirs the enormous pot of carne adovada.

The moment I enter, all conversation ceases, every head turning in my direction.

“Ah, mijo!” Nana exclaims, her face lighting up. “Finally, you’re here. Now we can eat!”

But before I can reply, she wags a wooden spoon in my direction. “But first, you have some explaining to do, young man.”

“I do?” I ask, though I know exactly what she’s referring to.

“Don’t play innocent with me,” she scolds, though her eyes twinkle with barely suppressed delight. “You visit Hawaii and come back with a girlfriend, and I have to find out from social media? You couldn’t call your Nana first?”

I resist the instinct to correct her terminology. Calling Andrea my “girlfriend” feels both reductive for a woman of her accomplishments and somehow inadequate for what’s developing between us. But that’s a nuance for another time.

“It all happened pretty fast,” I say, which is both completely true and carefully vague. “We’ve been friends for so long, and then...”

“And then you finally opened your eyes,” Nana finishes for me, satisfaction evident in her tone. “Took you long enough.”

Dax snorts beside me. “That’s what I said.”