A/N: So this chapter ended up being too long as well - I've had to split was what Chapter 10 into Chapters 10, 11, and 12! I think I get carried away, but I'm sure you guys don't mind. Thanks again to my beta readers for being wonderful, and I should have chapter 12 out soon!
Song: "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten
"So you don't have it yet?" The following Sunday, Nora, Eli, and Rafael were gathered in Rafael's apartment, discussing campaign logistics. The meeting had already lasted two hours and Eli hadn't stopped pacing from the kitchen to the living room for more than a minute.
"I have a draft of it," Rafael said, "and please sit down before you make yourself - or me - sick."
Eli spun around and crossed his arms. "Why is this taking so long? I could have had four speeches written by my people in this time," he said. "It's been a week."
"It's easy to write four fifth-grade level speeches," Rafael shot back.
"Okay, I think you both need to calm down," Nora said.
"And speaking of other countries heard from, where is my daughter?"
"She has strep, I told you that." Nora rolled her eyes. "You don't have a monopoly on her time." The truth was that Marissa wasn't actually sick, but she and Nora had worked out a plan and it involved her being absent from the strategy meeting. Marissa was pissed at Rafael for withholding the truth from her - especially knowing it had something to do with the campaign - and she didn't want to say something she knew she would regret later. Besides, Nora suspected Marissa was glad for the day off anyway.
"Well, why couldn't she just-"
"Eli, how am I supposed to announce if I catch it and can't talk?" Rafael asked.
"Fine," he said. "Nora! Make sure you fill her in on anything we've talked about today."
"And I'll send her your best wishes for a speedy recovery while I'm at it," she replied.
"What? You don't see me demanding she get out of bed and get down here, do you?" She raised an eyebrow, almost a dare.
"I wouldn't put it past you."
"Speaking of calming down," Rafael interjected, though he was amused by the scene playing out in front of him, "Eli, I swear to you, I've got a draft. Sort of."
"A draft SORT OF?" He sighed heavily and sunk down onto one of the bar stools. "Let me see what you've got so far."
"I never let anyone see the drafts. You'll have the final in three days."
"Three days?!" Eli rubbed his forehead. "I need more time than that. We're supposed to announce next week! I need to review it to make sure you've hit all the relevant points."
"I'm pretty sure I know what the relevant points are supposed to be. It is MY campaign, after all," Rafael said. Nora snorted.
"You hit on the importance of maintaining consistency in the office?"
"Yes."
"And your own conviction record?"
"Yes."
"And you responded to Buchanan's accusation of the D.A.'s office only wanting to build reputations on the backs of victims by convicting innocent people?"
"Of course."
"And If I don't see a draft in three days, you'll let me contact the speechwriters again?" Eli looked hopeful for the first time all morning.
"Yes," Rafael said, exasperated. "But that won't be a concern. I'll have the draft to you. I'll have Marissa send it over on Wednesday. She should be back by then, yes?"
"I would think so," Nora said.
"Okay, deal," Eli said. "Next thing: have you spoken to your mother yet?"
Rafael bristled. "Not yet," he said. "I'll get to it."
"Rafael, you need to take this seriously," Eli said, with the full knowledge that this would piss off his candidate. He was right.
"Eli, do you think I don't?" Rafael felt the words pouring from his lips with increasing irritation. "Do you think I don't understand the implications of this campaign for what little family I have?"
"I know that, but-"
"No, let me finish. I will talk to my mother, before we announce. But you have to have some patience for the fact that not everyone can be or even wants to be as blunt as you are, and I need to figure out a way to bring up the fact that what my father did to us is going to go public that doesn't make it sound utterly terrifying." His nostrils flared, and he held eye contact with Eli until Eli finally blinked.
"I'm only reminding you because once the campaign starts, they won't hold back. They probably already know about the police report. If I found it, so did they." He placed his arms behind his back in an attempt to look contrite. "I want the people you care about to be prepared for what's ahead." At that, Nora's head snapped up and Rafael saw her glance at Eli. She appeared to study his face quickly, before going back to jotting down notes.
"Understood. I'll take care of it. Just hold off the vultures until I do."
"I already am. So do it quickly." Before Rafael could start arguing again, he continued, "now, before we go, there's one other thing we need to discuss."
"And that would be?"
Eli hesitated and glanced down. "Your tie choice. For the announcement."
Rafael couldn't help but laugh. "Are you kidding me? Eli, if you haven't noticed, I'm perfectly capable of picking my own clothing. I've been doing it for quite some time, and I have a pretty extensive collection of-"
"I think this is something I can help with," said Nora. She stood up and turned to face Eli, a calm look on her face. "Eli, why don't you go down to headquarters and see how the cubicle installation is going? I'll help Rafael pick out a tie and meet you there afterward." He looked at her suspiciously, but nodded.
"You do have a certain… err… flair," he said, looking at her sapphire-blue heels, which had arrived with the rest of her belongings the day before. She was surprised; she didn't think Eli ever noticed anything about her appearance.
"Okay, then I'll see you in about an hour or so," she said. "Text me if you need anything in the meantime."
"All right. And Rafael," he said, as he headed for the door, "please make sure you touch on the increase in sexual assault convictions since you-"
"Goodbye, Eli," Nora interrupted. He stiffened, then shut the door behind him. She turned back to Rafael. "Thank God, I thought he'd never shut up."
"He's not exactly shy about expressing his feelings, is he?"
"He's just upset that he isn't in total control of this campaign," she said. "He's not used to candidates who don't do exactly as he tells them. Even Governor Florrick wasn't as stubborn as you, and he certainly never insisted on writing his own speeches."
Rafael flinched. "Yeah, about that…"
"You don't really have a draft done, do you?" Nora, he realized, was more perceptive than she appeared. But then, he was a perceptive person as well.
"You don't really think I need help picking out a tie, do you?" He smirked. "What is it that you need to talk to me about, and why is Eli not allowed to hear it?"
"How do you know it's something that Eli isn't allowed to hear?"
"Because you got rid of him by saying the cubicle installation was today. No office design company does installations on Sunday."
She sighed, relenting. Here goes, she thought.
"Rafael, I really don't mean to overstep my boundaries here. And I know Marissa won't want to talk to you about it, because you're still her boss and there are some boundaries SHE doesn't want to cross. But she told me about your date last night."
He attempted not to react, but internally, he flailed. He had so many questions that he struggled to make sense of any of them. How had Marissa known it was a date when HE hadn't even known it was a date? Why did she feel the need to tell Nora about it? Why couldn't Eli know?
"How did she know it was a date? I only asked her to make the reservation."
"She's not stupid," Nora replied, a little defensively. "She figured it out. Based on what she told me about the circumstances, it was pretty clear."
Was I really that obvious? It didn't matter, though. He was not going to engage in a debate about his personal life, even when, deep down, he knew it was relevant. "Nora, I really don't see how this is anyone's-"
"Don't pretend you don't understand this," she said. "It's relevant because politics doesn't care whether your decisions are personal or professional. Because we need to know everything about your personal life in order to protect you. Because whoever this woman is also deserves to decide whether or not she wants to continue seeing you given the scrutiny you're going to be under."
"Protect me from what?"
"From character assassination. Sit down, please." He wasn't really in the mood to sit down, but he did as she asked. They took a seat on the couch and Nora looked at him very seriously. "I watched John Buchanan's announcement just like the rest of you. I've been doing this a long time, and do you know what struck me? This guy doesn't even know who his opponent is - though I'm sure he has a pretty good idea - and he's already on the attack. That means he won't hesitate to go after you in every way he can think of once you've announced. We've got to be prepared to defend or get in front of anything that could possibly be construed as problematic."
"Okay, even if it might come up that I'm seeing someone - and please note that we have had exactly ONE date, so it's not like it's serious - why would that fact alone possibly be construed as negative? I'm not married. I'm not cheating on someone. There's no moral question here."
"How long have you known her?"
"Her name is Lauren. And I've known her since high school."
"Consistently?"
"Well… no," he confessed. "But I know her. She's a good person. She's a lawyer."
"But you don't know what skeletons might be in her closet. You can't know. Like you said, you've had one date after how many years of being out of touch? The only way for us to know if there's going to be a problem is if we know exactly who we're dealing with." She leaned forward. "You know I'm right, Rafael."
He glared at her, and then immediately felt bad about it. Pragmatic, logical Rafael knew that Nora was right - he had made judgments based on candidates' personal lives before as well. He could tell she was trying to be as kind as possible while still getting the message across, but that didn't make it any easier to swallow.
"So why are you coming to me with this instead of going to Eli? He would seem to be the most logical person to talk to," he said.
"Because," she said, "it's not my place to tell him details of your personal life." Her eyes were warm, but her expression remained stern. "But you need to tell him before he gets blindsided with it. In Eli's world, nothing happens without a four-page press release. Otherwise, he goes off the deep end, and I am not in the mood to deal with a heart attack anytime soon."
He laughed softly.
"Look," she said, "I personally believe that everyone, including politicians, is entitled to a personal life as long as two consenting adults are involved. Your partner, your family, they shouldn't make a damn bit of difference to how people perceive you. But the fact of the matter is, they do. You're not afforded the luxury of a personal life when you're in public service."
"I suppose this means I should tell Lauren, too."
"If you're planning to see her again, you probably should," she said.
"So, you think it's okay if I see her again?" Nora thought for a second. The truth was, she DIDN'T think it was a good idea. It would certainly complicate the entire campaign, and no matter whether she or Rafael was the one to deliver the news, Eli was still going to go berserk. But she also didn't want to be another person telling him what to do.
"I think that you should do what you feel is best for you," she said, "and we'll handle it. But you HAVE to tell Eli, sooner rather than later."
He really didn't want to think about having that conversation. Eli asked a thousand questions about a two-minute speech, so Rafael couldn't conceive of how many questions he would have about Lauren - questions for which Rafael had no answers.
"All right," he said. "If Lauren and I decide to go out again, then I'll tell him. There's no need to mention it otherwise, would you agree?"
"I suppose not," Nora said cautiously.
"Okay, then. Deal," he replied, and then checked his watch. "You'd better get down to the headquarters before Eli gets there."
"Oh, no need. Watch this," she said, and took out her phone. "Hey, Eli. No, we found a tie. It's…" She looked at Rafael.
"Blue," he mouthed. He had plenty of blue ties to choose from.
"It's blue. Anyway, listen, I just got a call from the installation company. They can't get there til tomorrow. I know, I'm sorry. No, I can't - no. Yes. Okay, I will. Bye." She hung up, and grinned.
"You're way too good at coming up with bullshit stories on the fly," he said. "You should have gone to law school."
"It wasn't really that much of a stretch," she said. "They're coming tomorrow anyway. You need anything before I go?"
"I think I'm all right," he said. "I'm gonna order some takeout and get to work on this speech. Any advice?"
"You don't need my advice," she said. "It's no different than a closing argument. And I hear you're pretty good at those."
"Biggest closing argument I've ever done," he said.
"No, that's your victory speech." She flashed him an encouraging smile. "Call if you need anything."
"Tell Marissa to feel better soon, or I'll destroy the filing system in her absence."
Once Nora had gone, Marbury reappeared from her hiding place under his bed. Eli had accidentally stepped on her tail when he'd arrived, and she'd wanted nothing to do with any of them. He refilled her bowl, went to his office, and sat down with a notepad. There was no more stalling; he had less than forty-eight hours to come up with the speech of a lifetime. He thought about what Nora said: it's no different than a closing argument.
Per usual, he began with the first line, and, per usual, it was the hardest part. Eli had told him that the PAC had already earned a quarter of the contribution limit, which he supposed was largely a function the combination of the New York Times article and Eli's big mouth. He had to make this count. People already had faith in him. He sat, staring at the page, for twenty minutes, drawing a blank.
Then it dawned on him. He'd written down notes from his conversation with Carisi the previous week. He rummaged around in his briefcase, praying he hadn't just tossed them. Finally, he found the notepad they were written on.
You care more about the victim than conviction rates.
Too many of them get away with it.
Willing to throw himself in front of a train.
I'm not that guy.
Reviewing those thoughts was like a jolt of lightning to his brain. The words came to him quickly, and before he knew it, he had an opening line that would blow Buchanan's entire speech out of the water. Once that was out of the way, the rest of it just flowed. What's more, he found that the more he wrote and edited his thoughts, the more he believed in the power of his own campaign.
"Marissa!" Rafael walked into the office on Wednesday morning to find his assistant bent down at the copy machine, apparently trying to fix a jam. "Are you feeling better?"
"Yep," she said, without looking up. "I'd be a LOT better if this copier didn't eat every print job I try to send through."
He eyed her suspiciously. "You're not… contagious, are you?"
"I could cough on you and we could find out," she said, slamming the front door of the copier. "There, I think that should…" The copier started to whirr, and then spit out multiple print jobs.
"Funny. Anyway, I'm glad you're back because I have a few things I need to get done today, and I'm sorry to say that most of them involve you running back and forth from the clerk's office."
She sat back down at her desk. "Okay," she said, and then started typing away without ever looking at him.
"You sure you're feeling better?" He asked. She looked out of sorts, not her usual conversational self.
"Perfectly fine," she replied. She still didn't look up. He couldn't really say anything; she wasn't being rude. She just wasn't being talkative, and he couldn't penalize her for that. And it wasn't as though he didn't have days where he wasn't feeling particularly outgoing. Maybe she just has a lot of emails to catch up on, he thought. So, he went into his office and closed the door behind him. Two minutes later, he nearly jumped of his chair when the door burst open and Marissa stormed in. The look on her face was slightly frightening; he'd never actually seen her angry before, at least not with him. The copy machine, maybe, but not with him.
"Do you remember at the beginning of this campaign when you told me that you would keep me in the loop on everything if I promised never to lie to you?" She folded her arms.
Uh oh. "Yes, I do," he said, trying to play dumb.
"Have I lied to you?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Then I would really like to know why you didn't tell me you had a date on Friday," she said. "And don't tell me you didn't think it was relevant, because I know you're not that stupid."
He wasn't particularly happy about being spoken to this way by a subordinate. His sense of superiority momentarily kicked in. "Marissa, I'm still your boss, you know."
"Fine, then I quit right now," she said, waving her hand. "But I still deserve an answer, given that I held up my end of this bargain, and I thought you were a man of your word."
He winced. She was right; she had held up her end, and he knew exactly what he was doing on Friday when he withheld the date with Lauren from her. He knew it was relevant to the campaign - even if it hadn't been a date, it gave the appearance of one. He'd failed to keep his promise. She had a right to be upset.
"Marissa, I-"
"You know what?" She continued, "If you can't keep your promises to me, you'd better just drop out of this race right now. Because you're going to be making a lot more of them to the public, and they won't be inclined to forget them."
"You're right," he said. He tossed his pen down and stood up from his chair. "I know I should have told you. But I didn't want anyone to talk me out of doing it."
He gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. She sank into it. The same thought she'd had the other night floated back across her mind: her father was so cynical and suspicious. He only thought in terms of politics and reputation, insinuations and image.
"Do you think I'm like my father?" She asked, a bit sadly. He was surprised by the question and raised an eyebrow at her as he sat back down.
"Would it be a bad thing if I did?"
"I'm not sure," she said. "I wondered the other day if I'm becoming too much like him. I felt guilty for being so suspicious of you."
"You were right to be," he said. "But I know you only did what you did because you care about the campaign. Whose idea was it to stalk me, anyway?"
She let out a small laugh. "Nora's, actually. She's spent too much time hanging around my Dad, too. Deep down, though, I knew the answer before she suggested it. I just didn't want to be like… look, like I've said, my father is a good man-"
"He is," Rafael said, squinting, "but you don't want to be like him?"
"I want to be a human being. I don't want to be a person who doesn't trust what other people tell her. And," she continued, "I want to be able to trust you."
With the way her curly hair fell in front of her eyes, Rafael remembered how young Marissa really was. He was almost impressed at how she'd managed to retain a sense of innocence, despite all she'd seen in her father's line of work.
"I know what it's like not to want to be like your parents," he said, trying to provide some measure of camaraderie. "I don't want to put you in that position. I won't lie to you again."
"You better not," she said, rising from her chair, "or I'll come to your apartment and let Marbury make a nest out of your ties."
He laughed. "Don't think she hasn't tried. By the way, the draft of the speech is in your inbox. Can you please send it over to Eli?"
"Yep," she said, "as long as I'm allowed to read it first."
"You would, even if I told you not to," he replied with a smirk. She rolled her eyes and turned to leave the office, but Rafael called after her.
"Would you have told me not to go?"
"What?" She turned back around.
"On the date. Would you have tried to talk me out of it?" Marissa was silent for a long while, appraising him. He was absently paging through a file, clicking his pen (a nervous habit that drove her crazy). It was as if he hadn't just asked her to weigh in on his dating life. She could barely see his face, but it betrayed nothing.
"I would have told you that you have to make decisions wisely," she said. "I wouldn't have told you not to go, but I would have told you exactly what Nora did."
"Nora…" He thought for a second. Then, it dawned on him. He looked directly at her, eyes flickering. "Were you really sick the last few days?"
"No," she confessed. "So I guess I sort of lied to you too. I just didn't want to say something to you that I'd regret."
"You mean like I'm stupid?" He tried to withhold a smile.
"I actually said I know you're NOT that stupid," she replied. "Look, you can't stop being a person just because you're a politician. But you need to be smart about it. If there are things in your personal life that are going to be problematic, you need to be honest with us. That way, no one is caught in any crossfire, including third parties. You get my meaning?"
He sighed. "I do. Thank you, Marissa. Could you close the door behind you, please?"
"You're welcome, boss," she replied. After she'd closed the door behind her, he whipped out his cell phone. Though he knew Marissa had been talking about Lauren when she'd mentioned the crossfire, he was reminded of a very difficult conversation that he needed to have. The campaign announcement was in just a few days; he needed to deal with this before the first shot was fired.
"Mami," Rafael said as he opened his front door. "Come in, come in." He hung her coat on the rack next to the door and led her into the kitchen, where had already prepared a cup of coffee for her.
"Are you okay, mijo?" She didn't waste any time, as usual. "You never ask me to come over here. I was worried."
"I'm fine, Mom," he said. "Well… not exactly."
"I knew it. A mother always knows."
"I'm not sick, if that's what you're thinking," he said, handing her the steaming mug. "There's already creamer in it, your favorite." She immediately set the cup down next to her.
"So if you're not sick, why in the world-"
"There's no easy way to say this," he said, "so I'm just going to have to come out with it."
"This has to do with the campaign, doesn't it?" He suddenly realized he knew where his ability to see through bullshit came from. "What have they found?"
"Let's go sit down," he suggested, leading her to the living room. He set her coffee cup on the end table next to her, then sat down. He put his hands between his knees and looked down at the floor, gathering his thoughts.
"Rafael, just say it," Lucia said, leaning forward a bit, trying to see his eyes. "Stalling won't make it any easier."
"Mom, they know about that night," he said. "They have the police report."
Lucia's eyes got wide for a moment, and then she sighed heavily.
"I'm sorry, Mami, I didn't realize they were going to dig that deeply. I should have, but I didn't think what I did as a juvenile would hurt me - or you." His eyes were still turned to the floor, studying a small knot in the wood. She didn't say anything for what seemed like an eternity, and then turned to face her son.
"Look at me," she said, and when he didn't, she repeated it as she might have when he was a boy. He looked up with watery eyes. "Neither one of us should be ashamed of what happened that night, or any other night. We didn't cause it. Your father did."
"But I acted unreasonably. They're going to hone in on the one time in my life I got violent and make it seem like you let it happen, or that I wasn't provoked, or that I'm a violent person by nature."
"So what if they do?" She sat up a little straighter and took one of his hands. "You were defending yourself, and me. The police never charged you. So there was a report. So what?"
"I can handle it, Mom," he said, "but I don't want you to have to deal with it. It's going to get very bad for a while. I can't say how long. I can try to bury it, but I don't know how long I can."
"Rafael, don't you think that if I could survive what your father put us through, I can survive a few reporters lurking around the apartment?" she said. Rafael shook his head.
"The other thing is… I need you to be really careful not to talk to those reporters. Eli needs to be able to handle this very strategically, and we don't want you to say something that could be misconstrued." He felt badly for making this subject about the campaign, but he had to be pragmatic for the moment.
"I have no desire to talk to reporters about anything involving my son," she said. "The most they'll get out of me is a shot in the face with pepper spray." He laughed.
"I'm sure Eli would be equally as unhappy about that," he said. Since they were already on the subject, he decided to ask a question he'd wanted to ask for years. "Mom, why didn't you ever leave him?"
Lucia inhaled a shaky breath. "I'm surprised it took you this long to ask," she said. "I expected it right after he died."
"It didn't seem like the right time at the funeral," he replied. "And then, it never seemed like the right time at all."
Lucia rose from her seat and walked to the front window. Rafael had been lucky enough to find an apartment with some semblance of a view - he at least had a small park to look at, whereas some of his attorney friends stared at brick walls. She leaned against the wall and looked out over the city. "Rafael, when I met your father, he was not the same man as when he died," she said.
"I can't imagine he was," he replied. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have been with him at all."
"He was quite charming, and very handsome. You get your looks from him, you know." He shuddered slightly. He would have preferred not to be reminded of the fact that he and his father shared the same eyes and light skin.
"Anyway," she said, "by the time I realized he drank too much, you were five years old. Your grandfather died when I was young. So in my mind, growing up with an alcoholic was better than growing up with no father at all."
He nodded, trying to make sense of it. She didn't wait for his response before continuing. "He didn't start hitting me until a few years later, when you were maybe eight years old or so. It started with just the occasional slap. Afterwards, he would apologize, bring me flowers, say he wouldn't touch me again. And he never touched you - at least, not until the night of that fight. So I stayed. Then, it became a regular part of life, and I stopped getting apologies. I wanted to leave him every day by then, but he made the money, he made the decisions. He never would have let me leave, and I knew what happened to women who did."
"Did you ever come close?"
"Yes," she whispered. "The night you hit him back. That was the first time he ever hit you, that I'm aware of, at least."
He nodded again. "It was."
She turned back around to face him. "That night, I made a plan. I was going to wake you up in the middle of the night, and we were going to go to your abuelita's. But…"
"But what?" He stood up and approached her slowly. He didn't want to upset her, but he also wanted to be close to her.
"I was a coward at the last minute," she said sadly. "I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was afraid of what he would do, to me, to you, to your abuelita."
"I wouldn't have let him," Rafael said. His fists clenched at the thought of his father hurting any of them. His breath was quick, and he felt sweat breaking out on his forehead.
"That was one of the reasons I didn't leave that night, mijo. You were so close to getting out anyway, going to college. I didn't want to make you think you needed to stay for me."
He was suddenly taken back to the A.J. Martin case: his wife had stayed, claiming she had been at fault and that her husband was a good man. That trial had shaken him. Even during his cross-examination, he had fluctuated between losing his temper and being on the verge of tears. He had tried not to blame Paula Martin. He knew she was a victim. He knew all the statistics and all the studies about codependence and the cycle of abuse. But the fact that she stood behind her abuser had always unnerved him, and until now, he didn't know why. Not only had she put herself in danger, she'd put her son in the position of watching his father beat his mother, probably routinely. At the very least, he would grow up thinking that was how you treated women; at worst, he would be a victim of his father's abuse himself. Then, he flashed to what Lauren had said about it being easy to tell what was happening, and completely lost it.
"So you just let him keep abusing us? Why didn't you leave when I was a kid? Then we both could have avoided this mess. He beat you, he beat me from the day of that fight - he broke my nose that night, Mom. I was sixteen years old, for God's sake! I hid bruises, I had to make excuses for wearing sleeves in the summer. Didn't you care? Didn't you want to protect me?"
"It wasn't as simple as that, Rafael," Lucia replied. She sounded somewhere between exhausted and annoyed. "Of course I loved you, of course I wanted to protect you. But I couldn't figure out a way to leave him with no money, no job, and no safe place to go. I was wrong. I was wrong to keep you there as long as I did. My only solace is that you turned out as good as you have, despite your father's best efforts."
Rafael stood still for a moment, trying to relax his cramping hands. His breathing had returned to normal, and his heart rate had gone down. He sank back onto the couch and put his hands between his knees. "I hated you for staying," he said, so quietly it was almost imperceptible. "I hated you every time he hit me."
"I know," she said, coming back to sit next to him. "And I deserved it."
Lucia Barba had never been one for affection, but something about seeing her son looking so deflated made her remember that once upon a time, she had nursed him, taken care of his scrapes, and dropped him off at kindergarten. She put her hand on the back of his head, trying to comfort him. At this gesture, he felt terrible. It occurred to him that his mother had settled for a life of pain in an attempt to do what she thought was right for him, and had likely been punishing herself for it ever since.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to- you know, accuse you. I should know better. I know you didn't have any options. I know you did your best with what you had. God, how am I going to handle a campaign full of accusations if I can't even talk to you like a rational person?"
She sighed and took his hand. "There is nothing rational about this situation, Rafael. You can't look at our lives objectively, because you are emotionally invested. But I know that you are a brave man. I knew it when you jumped between your father and me that night. You'll be brave now. And so will I."
He looked at her, softening his gaze. She was still holding his hands. He was sure she had been more maternal toward him in the last six months than she had all his childhood. Sometimes he wondered why she had been so distant back then. Maybe it was her way of making him independent so that he had the strength to get out when the chance arose.
"Okay," he said. "Okay."
"You need to do what's right. Don't lie to protect me, and don't lie because you think you've done something wrong. I told you, we don't need to be ashamed of ourselves. We don't need to hide what we are."
"And what are we?"
His mother smiled in a way that he hadn't seen before: it was the sort of smile you might give someone when you share a secret with them; an understanding that hadn't been there before.
"We're survivors, mijo."