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Emilia’s POV
The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the wide windows of the library, casting golden patterns across the polished wood floor. My fingers brushed against the spine of an ancient leather-bound journal, its surface cracked and worn with time. I had found it tucked away in a small wooden chest Alonso had left in the room I was temporarily staying in-a chest I wasn’t supposed to open but couldn’t resist. I hadn’t even remembered about it until now.
The name Inscribed on the cover made my breath catch. Isabella. My mother.
I hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. I had spent weeks trying to piece together who she really was, struggling to separate the idyllic image I had as a child from the fragmented truth Alonso had given me. And now, here in my hands, was her voice-her thoughts, her fears, her love-all bound in a fragile relic of the past.
My heart pounded as I flipped open the cover. The pages were filled with a delicate script, the ink faded but still legible. I ran my fingers over the words, feeling an odd sense of connection to a woman I barely ever knew.
June 3rd
I met Alonso at the cafe again today. He brought flowers, as he always does-sunflowers, my favorite. He is kind and patient, nothing like I imagined a man in his world to be. But when I look into his eyes, I see something darker, something he tries to hide.
I love him, though. I know I shouldn’t, but I do.
I stopped reading, my chest tightening. My mother had loved Alonso. That much I had suspected, but seeing it in her own words made it real in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
Did she know what he truly was? How much of her life had been shaped by the choices he’d made? I turned the page, desperate to know more about her. About everything.
July 15th
Alonso wants us to move in together. He says he can protect me better if I’m with him, but I don’t know if I want to be part of his world. The danger feels closer every day, like a shadow creeping into my life.
I think about leaving sometimes. About running far away and starting over. But then I see him, and I can’t imagine a life without him. Am I weak for staying? Or brave for trying to love him despite everything?
Her words felt like a punch to the gut. I could see her dilemma so clearly, the same conflict that now simmered inside me. Could you love someone without losing yourself in their darkness?
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. This wasn’t just a story anymore-it was her life, her pain, her hope. And it was terrifyingly familiar.
I turned another page, each word pulling me deeper into her world.
August 22nd
I’m pregnant.
I haven’t told Alonso yet. Part of me is thrilled, but another part is terrified. What kind of life can I give this child? A life filled with secrets and violence? Alonso would never hurt me, but the world he lives in-it’s not safe.
I’ve started hiding things. Small things at first-letters from my family, mementos from my old life. It feels wrong, but it also feels necessary. I don’t want to lose myself completely.
Tears blurred my vision as I read. She had been so young, so unsure of her choices. And yet, she had tried. She had fought to hold on to the pieces of herself, even as the world around her threatened to consume her.
I wiped my eyes and flipped ahead, skimming the pages for more clues. The entries grew darker, the once romantic tone replaced by a growing sense of fear.
October 5th
I overheard Alonso on the phone today. He was talking about a man named Jonas, someone from a rival family. His voice was cold, angrier than I’ve ever heard it.
When he saw me, he tried to smile, but I could see the tension in his jaw. I didn’t ask who Jonas was, but I have a feeling I don’t want to know.
Jonas. The name leapt off the page like a bolt of lightning. My stomach churned as I realized who she was talking about. Jonas Castillo. Alaric’s father.
The journal slipped from my hands, landing with a dull thud on the table. My mind raced, trying to make sense of the connection. Alonso and Jonas. My mother caught between them. What had really happened?
I picked up the journal again, my hands trembling. There were only a few pages left, the ink smudged as if written in haste.
November 12th
Something is wrong. Alonso won’t say it, but I can feel it. He’s distant, preoccupied, always looking over his shoulder.
He told me to take the baby and go to my parents’ house for a while, but I don’t trust him. What is he hiding? What aren’t they telling me?
I don’t know who to trust anymore.
The final entry was dated a week later.
November 19th
They came for us last night. I barely escaped with Emilia. Alonso wasn’t there-he said he had business, but I think he knew.
I don’t blame him. Not entirely. But I can’t stay. I have to protect her. My sweet girl. My Alessandra.
If anything happens to me, I hope she knows how much I love her. How much I wanted to give her a better life.
I closed the journal, all the things I just read pressing down on me like a physical force. She had been scared, desperate, trying to protect me from a world she couldn’t control.
And Alonso? How much of this was his fault? Had he really loved her, or had he used her, like so many men in his world used the people closest to them?
I sat back in my chair, the journal clutched to my chest. The answers I had found only led to more questions, each one more painful than the last. But one thing was clear: my mother had loved me fiercely, and she had done everything in her power to keep me safe.
I needed to know more. About Jonas. About Alonso. About the choices that had led to her death. But right now…. But right now, I just sat in silence, her words swirling over and over in my mind. I just wished … God. I just wished I had known her before she died.