Chapter 5 - The Glass Castle
When Alejandro returned to the mansion, it was past three in the morning.
The house was dead quiet. The servants had been sent to their quarters, and the grand chandeliers were turned off, leaving only the soft amber glow of wall sconces illuminating the marble halls.
Alejandro walked up the grand staircase—the same stairs where he had nearly died hours earlier—and moved down the east corridor toward the master guest suite.
He pushed the door open softly.
Inside, the room was warm and dimly lit by a bedside lamp. Sofía lay in the center of a massive king-sized bed, looking impossibly small against the white Egyptian cotton sheets. The nebulizer machine sat silently on the nightstand beside a glass of water and a new, unopened pediatric inhaler that Dr. Morales had provided.
Mariela was sitting in an armchair beside the bed, asleep, her head resting awkwardly against her shoulder, her hands still clutching a wooden rosary.
Alejandro stepped quietly across the plush carpet.
He stood beside the bed and looked down at his daughter.
With her breathing stabilized by the medicine, her face looked peaceful. Her fever had broken, leaving tiny beads of sweat along her hairline. Now that he knew the truth, he could see it all—the shape of her chin was Elena’s; the dark, wavy hair was his; the tiny crescent birthmark was the exact mark his grandmother had carried.
He slowly knelt beside the bed.
He reached out, his big hand trembling, and gently tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
Sofía stirred slightly. Her eyes opened—big, dark, and clear in the lamplight.
She didn't cry. She didn't look afraid. She blinked at him, then looked at the big bedroom around her.
“Sir?” she whispered, her raspy voice small in the vast room. “Is this heaven?”
A tear slipped from Alejandro’s eye, tracing a path down his weathered cheek.
“No, mi vida,” he choked out, using the pet name he hadn't spoken in ten years. “No, it’s not heaven.”
“Why am I in the big bed?” she asked, looking at the velvet headboard. “Mami said I’m only allowed in the laundry room.”
Alejandro felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest that had nothing to do with his heart condition.
“You are allowed anywhere you want in this house,” Alejandro whispered, taking her tiny, cool hand in his. “You own this house.”
Sofía looked confused. She looked at her wrist, where the tiny gold bracelet caught the lamp’s glow. “Where is my Mami?”
Alejandro looked over at Mariela, who was stirring in the chair, her eyes opening in alarm as she realized Alejandro was in the room.
Mariela scrambled out of the chair, dropping to her knees on the other side of the bed. “Señor! I’m sorry, I fell asleep—"
Alejandro looked across the bed at the woman who had spent ten years cleaning floors, counting pesos, and starving herself so that his daughter could have medicine.
Mariela had lied. She had kept the secret. But she had also kept Lucía alive. She had held her through feverish nights, bought her inhalers with her last coins, and loved her when no one else knew she existed.
“Mariela,” Alejandro said softly.
The maid froze, shocked by the gentleness in his voice.
“You are not going back to Veracruz,” Alejandro said. “And you are not a maid in this house anymore.”
Mariela’s eyes widened with fear. “Señor, please... don't take her from me! She’s all I have!”
“I am not taking her from you,” Alejandro said, looking at Sofía, who was holding both of their hands now. “You saved her when she was left in the mountains. You raised her. But her name is Lucía de la Vega. She is my daughter.”
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He stood up, looking at both of them.
“And from this moment on, anyone who tried to erase her from this world will answer to me.”
