It’s a bright, sunny day filled with laughter and the delicious smells of food as your family gathers to celebrate one of your aunts’ birthdays. Decorations brighten the backyard, music fills the air, and joyful chatter blends with the sounds of kids playing. You, Corey, Matthew, and Hazel arrive together, ready to enjoy the celebration.
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Your six-year-old son, Matthew, is brimming with energy, dashing off to join his cousins. Hazel, your fur puppy, eagerly sniffs around, her tail wagging nonstop. You and Corey find seats near the food table, where tamales, tacos, and fresh fruit tempt your appetite.
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As you move around talking to relatives, a familiar topic keeps coming up. "Do you think the Dodgers are going to make it to the World Series?"
You hear a mix of hope and skepticism from everyone. Finally, someone directs the question at Corey. "Corey, what do you think?"
He offers a small smile. "I think they’ve got a good shot if they keep playing like they have been. Baseball’s unpredictable—anything can happen."
Then, someone teases him with a smirk. "So, how’s it living with a Latina woman? Must be a challenge, right?"
Corey chuckles. "It’s not a challenge—it’s a blessing. Plus, she’s my wife." He glances at you with a look of love, and your heart warms at his words.
Just as you’re basking in the moment, you feel a small hand tugging your arm. You look down to see Matthew, his face red with frustration, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Mom, one of the kids is calling me names," he whispers.
A knot tightens in your chest, your joy giving way to anger. "What did they say, Matthew?" you ask gently.
He swallows hard. "They said I’m dumb because I couldn’t hit the ball."
Your blood boils. There’s nothing more painful than seeing your child hurt. "Corey, we’re leaving," you say firmly, taking Matthew’s hand.
Corey furrows his brow. "What’s going on?" "One of the kids was calling him names," you explain, trying to keep calm despite the fire burning inside.
His jaw clenches. "Who did it?" You shake your head. "It doesn’t matter. I’m not making a scene. Let’s just go home."
As you gather your things, your mom catches the sadness on your face. "Are you okay, Karely?" she asks, her hand resting on your shoulder.
You force a smile but can’t hide the pain in your eyes. "It’s just hard. It’s one thing if people are rude to me, but when it’s my son... I can’t handle that."
She squeezes your shoulder, understanding in her eyes. "Family is messy, but you’re doing right by him. Protecting him is always the right thing to do."
The ride home is quiet. Corey drives with his jaw tight, and you hold Matthew close in the backseat, your fingers running through his hair as Hazel sits calmly, sensing the mood.
Once home, you kneel in front of Matthew, your hands resting on his small shoulders. "Listen to me, mijo," you say firmly. "You are smart, kind, and loved more than anything. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel less than that."
He nods, his arms wrapping tightly around your neck. Corey steps up, placing a reassuring hand on your son’s back. "You’re awesome, buddy. Those kids? They don’t know anything."
That evening, you all snuggle on the couch with popcorn and Matthew’s favorite movie, the hurt from the party slowly fading away.
Because you will always fight for your family. And anyone who messes with your heart will have to face you.
