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Condenada a Nueva York (Uno)

The hum of the airplane, a dull mechanical sigh, vibrated up through her feet. Idalia sat in the window seat, arms crossed tight over her chest, cheek pressed to the oval glass. She stared out at the clouds, but her eyes weren't really focused. Somewhere over the Atlantic, halfway between the life she loved and the life she didn't ask for, she counted down the hours until landing with the same dread she imagined people felt before surgery. You knew it was coming. You knew it would change something. You just didn't know if you'd wake up better or worse.

She didn't want to go to New York.

She didn't care how many times her mother had gently repeated, "Solo por un tiempo, cariño." Just for a little while, sweetheart. Just until things settle. Just until you meet them. Just until it's too late.

¿Demasiado tarde para qué?

The words had been on the tip of her tongue when her mother kissed her goodbye outside security, but she swallowed them. Maddox hadn't told her he was dying. But she wasn't stupid. He looked hollow the last time they were together. He moved slower, like his joints were made of sand and regret. His voice cracked even when he wasn't trying to be emotional. And then there was the silence in between. Long pauses where he just stared at her, like he was memorizing something he already lost.

She wasn't dumb. She just wished he would say it. Or better, not try at all.

It wasn't that she hated him. He just hadn't really been there, had he? Not when she had her first ballet recital at seven and forgot all the steps. Not when she got sick at school and cried the whole way home. Not when she fought with her best friend Clara and didn't want to talk to anyone but sat on the fire escape anyway, waiting for someone to notice. Her mom had always been there. Always. Maddox had been someone in another apartment down the block. A ghost with sad eyes who sometimes sobbed late at night when he thought no one could hear.