The journey back stretched like an eternity suspended among clouds, a personal purgatory where time seemed to have stopped. The constant and monotonous hum of the private jet's engines, the annoying pressure in my ears that reminded me of the altitude, the claustrophobic sensation of being trapped in a metal tube thousands of feet in the air, all conspired to exacerbate the anxiety that gripped my chest. I didn't want to succumb to sleep, fearing that the shadows of my mind would drag me back to that spectral town, to the melancholic voice of my Aunt Mariela, to the terrifying sensation of falling into an endless abyss. But the physical and emotional exhaustion was a weight too heavy to bear, my eyelids closing involuntarily, my body yielding to a deep and oppressive weariness.
My parents, seated beside me in the luxurious leather seats, kept their faces expressionless, as if wearing masks of indifference carved in stone. They offered no comfort, did not allow me to release the torrent of tears that threatened to overflow, nor to show the deep pain that tore me from within. They tacitly demanded that I behave with their composure, that I repress my emotions as they did, that I become a statue of coldness and poise in the face of adversity.
Finally, on Monday morning, the elegant private jet landed smoothly on the runway at London Heathrow Airport (LHR). A whirlwind of contradictory emotions hit me with brutal force, like a giant and unexpected wave that dragged me mercilessly into the dark depths of the sea. Louie, Brianna, and Anna would be waiting for me at the high school, oblivious to my recent grief, to the magnitude of my loss. The sudden death of my godfather, the strange and premonitory vision of my aunt, her words laden with a chilling mystery, all swirled in my mind, creating an unbearable chaos that threatened to overwhelm my sanity.
As I descended from the plane and saw the bright and familiar lights of the airport, a painful memory invaded me without warning: the last time I had seen Josep, his sad and resigned smile, his silent farewell laden with a hidden meaning that I now understood all too well. The suffocating sensation, the agonizing mixture of love, loss, and confusion, were slowly consuming me from within. Tears began to sting my eyes again, threatening to overflow in an uncontrollable torrent. I shook my head in a desperate attempt to regain composure, sighed again and again, blinking repeatedly to ward off the sharp pain that clung to my throat.
I followed my parents through the airport, surrounded by a silent entourage of imposing escorts, feeling like a prisoner in my own city, exhibited and watched at every step. People froze as we passed, their gazes filled with an uncomfortable mixture of reverent fear and indiscreet curiosity, creating an empty and respectful corridor around us. It was always the same, wherever we went, the same cold and distant ritual of silent submission.
We moved in silence towards the luxurious black car that awaited us outside the airport, its engine purring softly. The smooth and cold leather of the seats, the characteristic new car smell that always permeated our vehicles, the oppressive silence that hung over us, all reminded me of the profound emotional distance that existed between my family and me, a frozen abyss that seemed insurmountable. It was time to go home, to face the harsh reality of my loss, to prepare for my godfather's wake, a final farewell that felt like a painful parting from an essential part of my own soul.
I had always liked the drive home, despite the persistent melancholy that invaded me when I remembered my godfather and the happy moments we had shared. The familiar urban landscape slid before my eyes like a mosaic of lights and shadows, accompanying me on this forced journey towards a reality that now felt strange and painful. As we drove away from the airport, the bustling city gradually transformed, giving way to an area of wide, tree-lined avenues and imposing mansions, separated by lush and well-kept gardens.
Finally, the car stopped smoothly in front of the imposing wrought-silver gate that marked the entrance to my home. A cold and ostentatious gate that, despite its lack of warmth, represented the stability and security that I so desperately needed at that moment of profound vulnerability. Upon entering the property, the long driveway lined with tall and silent pines stretched before us like a dark green tunnel, slowly leading us towards the main entrance of my house, a place that paradoxically felt more like a prison than a refuge. The familiarity of the place, instead of offering comfort, intensified the sharp sense of loss and the confusing mixture of contradictory emotions that tormented me relentlessly.
As I got out of the car, my parents looked at me with their expressionless faces, their eyes cold and distant as if made of polished marble. "Bathe and change your clothes immediately," my father ordered, his cold and authoritarian voice echoing in the afternoon silence. "We'll wait for you at the entrance in exactly thirty minutes to leave. If you take longer than that, we'll leave you here, Josephine. We don't have time to waste."
His words chilled me to the bone. There wasn't a hint of compassion in his tone, not even a glimmer of concern for the deep pain he knew I was feeling. I waited in silence for them to enter the house, feeling loneliness envelop me like a cold and heavy shroud. Then, I saw my nanny, the faithful housekeeper who had cared for me since I was a child, waiting for me on the doorstep with open arms and a gaze full of comforting warmth. I ran towards her without hesitation, desperately seeking refuge in her familiar and protective embrace. An embrace that I didn't know how much I needed until that moment, an embrace that reminded me that there was still a little genuine humanity in this cold and relentless world.
Tears welled up in my eyes uncontrollably, unstoppable as an overflowing river, as I clung to her tightly, seeking solace in her silent and loving presence. She gently stroked my hair, whispering words of encouragement and affection in my ear. "Go and get ready, my little girl," she said in her soft and sweet voice, full of genuine concern. "When you come back, we'll talk as much as you need. We already know how your parents are, and they are perfectly capable of leaving you behind without hesitation."
I nodded, unable to articulate a word because of the lump of pain that closed my throat. I went upstairs in silence, feeling the world I knew slowly crumbling around me, leaving me alone in a dark void.
I took a quick and hot shower, feeling the water try to dissolve the knot of pain and the extreme exhaustion that had settled deep within me. I let my dark curls loose, feeling the wet weight of my hair on my shoulders, a tangible reminder of the life that continued its relentless course despite the irreparable absence. I put on a beautiful long-sleeved black dress, the soft and elegant fabric contrasting painfully with the roughness of my emotions. The garment, delicately fitted at the torso and with a loose skirt that fell a few inches above my knees, was a silent symbol of respect and mourning. I put on low-heeled black boots with small gold details, feeling the height add a touch of somber formality to my mourning, a fragile shield against the fragility that threatened to consume me.
I almost ran towards the entrance of my house, feeling the pressing urgency to say goodbye to my godfather, to pay him a last sincere tribute. My parents were already there, standing by the door, their faces expressionless, their gazes cold and distant. They gave me a quick and evaluating look, examining my attire from head to toe, and nodded with a slight inclination of their heads, approving my sober outfit. There was no warmth in their eyes, not a hint of compassion in their gestures, only a cold and silent approval.
We left the house and got back into the luxurious black car, feeling the oppressive silence that enveloped us like an invisible shroud. The smooth and cold leather of the seats, the characteristic new car smell, the engine purring softly in the distance, all contrasted painfully with the emotional chaos that consumed me from within. We drove in silence towards my godfather's imposing mansion. It wasn't far, but the journey felt endless, each second stretching into a silent agony. Through the tinted window, I saw the world pass by indifferent to my pain, to my deep loss. The houses, the trees, the people walking on the sidewalks, all slid before my eyes as if I were watching an old black and white movie, without sound or emotion.
Upon arriving at my godfather's majestic mansion, a multitude of people dressed in black filled every corner of the garden and the entrance, creating a constant murmur of muffled voices that contrasted with the sepulchral silence of the car. Everyone turned to look at us as we arrived, their eyes filled with an uncomfortable mixture of silent pity, distant respect, and barely disguised curiosity. I felt their gazes weighing on me as if I were under a relentless microscope, every movement, every facial expression, analyzed and judged by an invisible audience.
As I finally entered the main hall of the house, my heart clenched with a sharp and unexpected pang of pain. The dark coffin, surrounded by a profusion of white flowers and lit candles that flickered softly, occupied the center of the room, becoming the focus of all attention. The photograph of my godfather placed on the coffin, his kind smile and his eyes full of a life that had now been extinguished, hit me with the raw and definitive reality of his absence. Without thinking twice, my heart pounding in my chest, I approached the coffin, feeling my legs move with a painful inertia.
There he was, still and pale, his hands crossed over his chest, but with an indescribable expression of peace that contrasted with the torment within me. He would no longer suffer, I thought with a lump in my throat, feeling a strange mixture of relief for his rest and a selfish pain for my loss. Tears began to fall without my permission, silently slipping down my cheeks like rivers of contained sorrow. I tried to maintain the composure that my parents expected, but sadness was slowly consuming me, drowning me in a sea of memories and a deep sense of emptiness.
I closed my eyes for an instant, feeling the helplessness and a dull rage take hold of me. "Why him? Why not me?" I murmured in a barely audible whisper, feeling the cruel injustice of his departure.
In that moment of deep anguish, I felt his unmistakable presence, a familiar and comforting warmth that enveloped me like an invisible embrace. The soft scent of his characteristic perfume, a mixture of mild tobacco and citrus cologne, filled my nostrils, bringing me a vivid memory of his closeness. An invisible hand rested gently on my back, and his voice, soft and light as a warm breeze, resonated clearly in my head like a loving whisper. "I'm fine now, my little princess. I'm not suffering anymore. Don't cry anymore, my golden girl. I will always take care of you, I will always love you, never forget that."
A strange and unexpected peace washed over me, calming the storm of pain that raged within. His presence gradually faded, vanishing like the soft afternoon wind, leaving behind a void that ached like an open wound, but also a comforting feeling of not being completely alone. Tears pricked my eyes again, but this time they were tears of gratitude for his unconditional love and for that last silent farewell.
My parents, standing at a respectful distance, gave me a stern look that I understood perfectly: "Behave and maintain composure." I said goodbye to my godfather in silence, thanking him in my heart for all his love, his unconditional affection, for always believing in me when no one else did, and for loving me like the daughter he never had. "You did so well, my dear godfather," I whispered, my voice barely audible, feeling an important part of my soul leave with him.
I moved calmly away from the coffin, just as the funeral home staff approached to seal it and prepare it for its final journey in the hearse.
They were waiting for us outside to take him to his final resting place. The silence in the hearse was deafening, broken only by the soft murmur of the engine and my silent sobs that I tried to suppress. I felt my parents' cold and demanding gaze fixed on me, constantly reminding me of the composure they had to project, the image of a strong and united family that did not allow itself to show its grief in public.
We arrived at the church, where an even larger crowd of people had gathered for the solemn mass. The dense smell of incense filled the air, mixing with the sweet and pungent aroma of flowers, creating an oppressive and deeply sad atmosphere. As I entered the temple, tears welled up in my eyes again uncontrollably, unstoppable at the magnitude of the loss. But in the midst of the pain, I felt his comforting presence beside me, his warm and familiar aura, the subtle scent of his perfume filling my nostrils. I knew he was there, accompanying me in this last and painful farewell.
The mass passed like a whirlwind of words and religious chants, but I could only focus on his invisible presence, on the strange but comforting feeling that I was not completely alone in my grief. I let out a trembling sigh when we finally arrived at the cemetery, a place of silence and shadows where the imposing family mausoleum awaited to receive his mortal remains.
As the funeral home staff lowered the coffin into the cold marble tomb, someone played the song "Nadie es eterno" by Darío Gómez. Tears welled up in my eyes again, and I began to sing the lyrics that I knew by heart, each word resonating deeply with the sharp pain of loss. My parents, standing beside me with their expressionless faces, maintained their facade of composure, trying to show the people there that we were the perfect family, the united family that did not succumb to pain. But I knew the truth they hid behind that cold mask. I knew that their apparent coldness was a fragile facade, a way to hide the deep emptiness they felt inside.
They finished laying my second father's coffin in the cold earth, and the crowd began to disperse slowly, leaving behind a heavy and oppressive silence that seemed to suffocate any attempt at comfort. We drove back to the mansion in the car, the return journey passing in an uncomfortable and tense silence, each kilometer feeling like an eternity. Upon arriving at the entrance of the house, my father turned to look at me with a seriousness that chilled my blood.
"Starting tomorrow, you will resume your normal routine without any exceptions," he said, his cold and authoritarian voice echoing in the silence of the entrance. "You will return to your music, singing, language, dance, ballet, sewing, cooking, and drawing classes. And, of course, to your regular high school classes. I need, young lady, that in each and every one of those activities you obtain the highest possible grades. I will not tolerate any mediocrity."
I let out a tired sigh, feeling the weight of my responsibilities settle back onto my shoulders, crushing me under its burden. "Yes, Father," I replied in a subdued voice, resigned to my fate. "Will I also have to continue cleaning the mansion?" The question escaped my lips almost unintentionally.
"No," he replied in a curt and definitive tone. "It's no longer necessary. I sincerely hope you learned your lesson during this time. Focus exclusively on your school activities and on obtaining impeccable results."
I let out an even more tired sigh and watched as my father walked away up the marble stairs of the mansion, his rigid and distant figure disappearing into the dimness of the upper hallway. Loneliness washed over me again, an oppressive silence that resonated in every corner of the house, amplifying my sense of isolation.
Then, I saw my nanny, her warm and comforting figure appearing in the kitchen doorway. Her presence was a beacon of light in the darkness that enveloped me, a silent reminder that genuine affection still existed in this cold and formal home. She called me with a gentle gesture of her wrinkled hand, a silent invitation to seek comfort in her company. Without hesitation, I followed her upstairs, feeling the deep need for her understanding, for an ear that would listen without judging in the midst of the emotional turmoil that shook me.
In my room, the space that had always been my sanctuary but now felt permeated by my godfather's absence, we sat together on the bed. The initial silence was comfortable, a tacit pause that allowed my emotions to settle a little before sharing them. Finally, we began a long and drawn-out conversation, a thread of soft voice weaving a bridge between my pain and her empathy. She told me in her sweet and worried tone that Louie, Brianna, and Anna had come to visit me on the first day of summer vacation, their arrival marked by joy and the expectation of seeing us reunited. Nana had explained to them tactfully and carefully that my parents, with their usual inflexibility, had forced me to leave for vacation suddenly, without giving me the opportunity to say goodbye to them.
With the trust that is only placed in a loved one, I told her everything that had happened in France, in my older sister's imposing and strange mansion, the tense argument with my parents that had triggered my departure, the incident with Mrs. Álvarez, and the firmness with which I defended her from injustice. Every detail, every hurtful word from my parents, every moment of tension and frustration, I shared with her, seeking in her gaze the validation I so desperately needed. Nana listened to me with deep attention, her eyes full of silent understanding and palpable empathy. She didn't interrupt, allowing my words to flow freely, relieving the weight that oppressed my chest.
Finally, when I finished my story, she took my hand gently and said in her soft and soothing voice, full of silent wisdom: "Everything is alright, my child. What you did was right, Josephine. You acted with courage and with a just heart. The unjust ones here are your parents, committing a terrible injustice both to you, my little one, and to poor Mrs. Álvarez."
Her words were a balm to my wounded soul, a silent confirmation that my pain and my confusion were valid, that I was not alone in my perception of injustice. She told me to lie down, to try to rest even for a brief moment, since a long and exhausting day awaited me tomorrow, filled with the pressure of resuming an imposed routine that felt alien to my grief. She handed me the detailed schedules of all my classes, both high school and private, carefully noting the classrooms and times with meticulous precision, as if every minute of my time was already predetermined, with no space for respite or mourning.
I let out a sigh of genuine gratitude, feeling a small burden lifted from my tense shoulders at her unconditional support. Then, unable to help it, tears welled up in my eyes again, this time filled with a deep nostalgia for the happy days shared with my dear godfather and a sharp pain at his irreparable absence. Nana comforted me with her usual affection, gently stroking my hair with her wrinkled hands while whispering words of encouragement and understanding, until I finally managed to calm the trembling of my body and the oppressive knot in my throat.
I took a long, hot shower, letting the warm water wash away the accumulated tension and the extreme exhaustion that had clung to me for the past few days like a second skin. I put on my soft silk pajamas, feeling the delicate fabric caress my sensitive skin, and lay down in bed, closing my eyes with an exhausted sigh. Weariness finally overcame me, dragging me into a deep and dark sleep, where in the stillness of the night I hoped to find at least a brief respite from the emotional storm that still raged relentlessly within me.