𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝

17 | Late night drink

VALENTINA

I sat at my desk, the soft glow of my laptop a stark contrast to the darkness and emptiness I felt inside. 

I shut my laptop, abandoning my work, the documents on the screen just a blur to me. The thoughts about my mamma's diary bugging me constantly. The small, leather bound book that seemed harmless from the outside held the weight of my mother's hidden past.

My heart pounded with anticipation as I picked it up from behind a stack of books, on the corner of my desk.

I hesitated before opening it, the leather warm under my fingers. The first few pages were simple—notes about daily life, sketches of her art, musings that were all so beautiful. It was comforting to see her handwriting, to feel connected to her fro the first time rather than remembering all the abuse.

 For a moment, I let myself believe that perhaps the diary was just a collection of ordinary thoughts, but deep down I knew they weren't. The entries grew darker, more intense. The first entry that caught my attention was dated August 25th 2007, 3 months after I was born. Her writing was hurried, almost frantic, and the words seemed to leap off the page.

 August 25th 2007

The sky was so clear today, but I could barely see it through the weight on my shoulders. I'm beginning to realize that the threats we've been receiving aren't just idle warnings. I've always known that my past would come back to haunt me, but I didn't expect it to be like this—so direct, so insidious. It started with strange phone calls, voices that would hang up as soon as I answered. Then, the letters began—cryptic messages that seemed to know too much about our lives, our routines. I've tried to brush it off, to convince myself that it's just my imagination running wild, but deep down, I know the truth.

They're coming for us. For me. And if I'm not careful, they'll come for the children, too. I must be vigilant. I've started taking different routes when I go out, varying our schedules, but it's hard to stay one step ahead when you don't know where the next blow will come from. My heart aches when I look at Valentina, so full of life, so blissfully unaware of the danger lurking just outside our door. I have to protect her, no matter the cost. Even if it means confronting the ghosts of my past.

I read the entry several times, trying to understand what she was experiencing. I am scared, terrified about finding out about her and her death. Reading the entry many time, I could feel anxiety churning in my stomach. Her fears were starting to seep into my own consciousness, and I could feel a knot tightening in my stomach.

 August 28th 2007

Today, I felt their presence more acutely than ever before. I was walking through the mall when I noticed a man trailing behind me. He wasn't close enough to draw attention, but there was something about him—his steady gaze, the way he matched my pace—that set my nerves on edge. I turned a corner, and another man was there, waiting. I recognized him from a photo I saw years ago, back when I was still entangled in the life I've tried so hard to leave behind. They've found me.

I rushed home, my heart pounding in my chest, trying to remain calm. I didn't want Valentina or the boys to see my fear. But how do you hide something like this? The walls of our home, once a sanctuary, now feel like a cage. Every creak, every shadow, sends my mind spiraling into dark places. I've started making mental notes of where the exits are, how quickly we could escape if we had to. I know it sounds paranoid, but I can't afford to take any chances. The threats are real, and they're closing in faster than I anticipated. I've begun to prepare for the worst, though I pray it never comes to that.

 I could almost hear the tension in her writing, the way she described her mounting anxiety. It was disturbing to think that she had been so afraid, and even more troubling to realize that she had kept this from us, from me. But what was scaring her?