Page 172 of Bad Prince
Ugly.
Honest.
“I don’t let anyone close,” I admit. “I don’t date. I don’t go out. I just… work.”
My fingers curl into my bedsheet.
“I don’t know how to do anything else.”
Her response is immediate.
Sharp.
“¿Romance?”she snaps. Her tone shifts—not soft anymore.“Eso es para los tontos.”(That is for fools.)
I close my eyes.
“Mamá—”
“No,” she cuts me off. “You listen to me.”
Her voice rises.
“¿Quieres ser como yo?”(Do you want to be like me?)
The words hit like a slap.
“¿Limpiando casas? ¿Trabajando todo el día? ¿Con bocas que alimentar y sin educación?”(Cleaning houses? Working all day? With mouths to feed and no education?)
Guilt floods my chest instantly.
“I taught you better than that,” she continues, faster now, emotion spilling through her Spanish.
“Te enseñé a ser fuerte. A ser independiente. A no depender de ningún hombre.”(I taught you to be strong. To be independent. To not depend on any man.)
“I know,” I whisper.
“Entonces enfócate.”(Then focus.)
Her breathing is heavier now.
“You didn’t come this far to get distracted by boys.”
“I know,” I say again.
And I do.
That’s the worst part.
“But Mamá…”My voice softens. “You never told me it would feel like this.”
Silence.
“…¿Cómo?”she asks, quieter now. (Like what?)
“Lonely,” I say.
The word barely makes it out.
