Chapter 8 - VALENTINA’S SECOND FALL
Three years after Celeste’s arrest, Valentina fell again.
This time no poisoning.
No conspiracy.
She tripped over the corner of a rug.
Broke her hip.
Life does not always hide a villain behind pain.
She needed surgery.
Rehabilitation.
I was a registered nurse by then.
Not her nurse.
Important.
I visited as family.
Not staff.
Valentina complained continuously.
“They make me walk.”
“That is rehabilitation.”
“They are cruel.”
“You terrorized physical therapy yesterday.”
“He deserved it.”
Dante sat by her bed.
She pointed at us.
“When are you marrying her?”
I nearly choked.
Dante said:
“Ma.”
“What?”
“She is already thirty-one.”
“Thirty-two.”
I corrected.
Valentina waved.
“See? Time.”
No boundaries.
Still herself.
Later, outside the hospital, Dante apologized.
“She likes you.”
“She wants grandchildren.”
“Yes.”
“Different.”
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“Do you?”
“What?”
“Want children?”
Actual adult conversation.
Not assumption.
“Maybe.”
“Marriage?”
“Maybe.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
No proposal that night.
Good.
Six months later, he asked again.
Not marriage.
“Still maybe?”
“Yes.”
Another year passed.
I completed my BSN.
Became a trauma nurse.
Dante attended graduation.
Sat with Mom and Mateo.
No private donation.
No building.
No scholarship.
Afterward he handed me flowers.
My mother whispered:
“He could have bought better flowers.”
“Mom.”
“What? He is rich.”
Dante laughed.
He had learned to survive us.
Then one Sunday morning, at exactly 7:00, I woke to the smell of coffee.
Dante entered the bedroom carrying a cup.
I sat up.
“What is this?”
“Attempt.”
I tasted it.
Terrible.
“You've learned nothing.”
He looked offended.
Then set the cup down.
Took out a ring.
“Oh.”
“Serena Cruz.”
“You used bad coffee as distraction?”
“Yes.”
“Creative.”
He smiled nervously.
The feared man in Chicago.
Nervous.
Good.
“I spent most of my life believing love meant preventing people from leaving.”
My smile disappeared.
He continued.
“Then you left.”
“And I had to learn that if I wanted you in my life, staying had to be your choice.”
That hit.
“I don't want a wife who works for me.”
“I don't want a woman who owes me.”
“I want you.”
“Your work.”
“Your family.”
“Your terrible judgment about coffee.”
I laughed through tears.
Then:
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
Then I pointed at the cup.
May you like
“But this goes down the sink.”
“Fair.”
