Chapter 9 - Eleven Seconds
Mia found the recording by its date.
“I started it after she followed me into the bedroom.”
She pressed play.
My mother’s voice filled the kitchen.
“You can’t lock yourself in here every time someone tells you something.”
“I’m feeding Nico.”
“Then feed him. Nobody’s stopping you.”
“You keep opening the door.”
“This is my son’s house.”
A pause.
Then Mia.
“I’m calling Rafael when he gets home.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
Something scraped.
Mia’s breathing quickened.
“Give me my phone.”
“Finish the laundry first.”
“Lourdes, give it back.”
It was the first time I had heard Mia use her name without Mom in front of it.
Then Nico cried.
My mother spoke again, louder.
“Give him here. You’re upsetting him.”
“No.”
“He’s my grandson.”
“Get away from me. Don’t touch him.”
There it was.
The eleven seconds.
Not an attack.
A frightened mother trying to keep someone from reaching for her baby during an argument.
On the full recording, Mia spoke again.
“Please stop pulling at the blanket.”
My stomach tightened.
Mom answered, “Then hand him over.”
Mia stopped the audio.
“She didn’t get him,” she said quickly. “I held him.”
I hated that she thought she had to reassure me.
“Did you tell Celia any of this?”
“She never asked.”
I looked at the message thread.
My aunt had received eleven seconds and built a verdict around them.
“What do you want to do?” I asked.
Mia considered it.
“Send her the full recording. Just her. I don’t want my voice passed around the family.”
“Okay.”
I wrote to Celia before attaching it.
Mia has agreed for you to hear the full recording. Do not forward it. Please listen before contacting her again.
Then we waited.
An hour passed.
I changed Nico.
Mia ate half a sandwich.
My phone rang.
Celia didn’t begin with an argument.
“Oh, Rafael.”
I said nothing.
“She told me Mia tried to keep the baby from her for no reason.”
“You heard the reason.”
“Yes.”
In the background, I heard a television.
Then Celia lowered her voice.
“She’s here.”
“Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know you listened?”
“Not yet.”
There was a sudden rustle.
My mother’s voice came through, sharp and close.
“Who are you talking to?”
Celia answered.
“Your son.”
“Give me the phone.”
“No, Lourdes.”
The television went quiet.
May you like
Then Celia said something I had never heard anyone in our family say to my mother.
“You need to stop lying.”
