[Previously titled 𝗚𝘂𝗶𝗹𝘁𝘆 𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲]
❝No, Ace. I can't do it," I sob.
"I know you can take more than that, sunshine, come on," he encourages, pummeling into me in fervent motions. "One more for daddy, yeah?" He coaxes in a gruffly voice...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A C E
It's been two weeks since my painful talk with Olivia. Every day feels like a battle with anger, frustration, and sadness. Regret clings to me like a shadow, reminding me of what I've lost. Watching Olivia grow closer to Jaxon only makes it worse. Jealousy eats away at me, a bitter feeling I can't shake off.
My nights have turned into a routine of seeking solace in bars, using alcohol to numb my emotions. The dim lights and voices offer temporary escape. Tonight is the same. I stumble into my apartment, a bit drunk. The world is blurry, my thoughts sluggish.
Unlocking the door is hard, and I let out a curse as my fingers fumble with the keys. Once I inside, I notice something unusual—the kitchen is alive with activity. Someone's cooking. The smell of food fills the air, and my heart races as I recognize the familiar figure.
"Hey," I say, surprised to see her.
The woman turns around, smiling warmly when she recognizes me. It's Marta, my childhood nanny—my second mother. She has always been a constant presence in my life, even as I grew older and our paths took different directions.
"¡Ace, mi niño!" she exclaims, rushing over to hug me tightly. (Ace, my son!)
"What are you doing here?" I ask, pulling away slightly to look down at her and Marta chuckles, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Well, I was supposed to be in Mexico with my family, but I wanted to surprise you," she explains and I feel a surge of emotions.
"I can't believe you're here," I say, a genuine smile tugging at my lips and Marta pats my cheek affectionately.
"And I can't believe you're coming home drunk," she teases by gently pinching my cheek; and I chuckle, the tension that has been gripping me slowly easing.
"It's been a tough couple of weeks," I admit, and her expression softens.
"There's something bothering you, isn't there?" She asks, her voice gentle and I hesitate for a moment before nodding.
"Yeah, there is," I confess and she gives my arm a reassuring squeeze.
"Whenever you're ready to talk about it, I'm here," she reassures me and I give her a genuine smile. "Mijo, how have you been?" She asks, genuinely concerned as she returns to her cooking.
I take a seat on the high chair near the counter, trying to clear my head from the alcohol.
"I've been okay," I reply, avoiding the real conversation.
Marta shoots me a perceptive look, seeing past my attempt to downplay my feelings.
"Just okay?" She speaks skeptically yet warmly.
I manage a faint smile, but my tired eyes betray the facade I'm trying to maintain.
"Yeah, just dealing with some stuff," I lie and she hums softly, her attention shifting to a small array of ingredients on the counter.
