Page 3 of Brittle Heart

I watch as he staggers into the living room, mumbling, then wince as I struggle to sit up from the floor, pain coursing through my body. My lip is busted and bleeding, and I know I’ll have bruises all over my torso again, but it seems like nothing is broken.This time.

He’s broken some of my ribs twice before. I don’t have insurance, so I’ve never been to the hospital to get them checked, but I felt it at the time.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, I take a shaky breath, my lungs aching. The bathroom door inches open, and Chiara’s wide, frightened eyes find mine. They share the same golden hue as our mother’s, and I see a flicker of her in them for a moment.

How I wish she could be here right now.

Thinking of my mother pulls a memory to the forefront, and my heart aches.

The world blurs around me as I run, the wind rushing past my ears, the grass tickling my feet. I feel invincible, like a bird soaring through the sky. But suddenly, my foot catches on something, and I’m tumbling forward. The ground rushes up to meet me, and I feel a sharp sting on my knees. I look down to see them scratched and bleeding.

“Topolina!” I hear Mama’s voice, filled with concern. She’s by my side in an instant, her hands gently examining my wounded knees. “Oh, my little mouse, are you okay?”

I bite my lip, trying hard to hold back the tears. I don’t want to cry. I want to be brave. But the pain is real, and the tears threaten to spill.

Then, I hear the soft cooing of my baby sister and my father’s familiar footsteps. He approaches, holding Chiara in his arms. Her big golden eyes look at me curiously, her tiny fingers reaching out.

“Here,” Papa says, handing her to my mother. He then kneels in front of me, his eyes searching mine. “It’s okay to cry, Lina.Pain is a part of life. But remember, it’s never okay to give up. You’re strong, and you can handle everything.”

I nod, tears streaming down my face. My father smiles gently, and with a strength that always amazes me, he lifts me onto his shoulders. From up here, the world looks different—brighter—and the pain in my knees fades as we walk.

With a gentle shake of my head, I push the memory away, knowing I need to be present, and my tears won’t be helpful to anyone right now.

With a silent nod, I beckon Chiara, not wanting to risk capturing Roberto’s attention. She hesitates just a second before coming over, her whole body trembling. She gently touches my arm as though to ensure she is not hurting me.

With her help, I get up, but I wobble, the pain piercing through. She steadies me but is still shaking herself.

Her voice is choked, almost a whisper against the lingering silence in the kitchen, and tears fill her eyes as she asks, “Are you okay?”

I muster a weak smile, more for her sake than mine. “Of course. Come on, we can’t have you late for school.”

She glances at my face, her brow furrowing with worry. “Your lip… It’s bleeding.”

“Let me wash this off,” I say, limping toward the bathroom.

She hovers nearby before I close the door behind me. Her presence is a bittersweet reminder that, in this chaos, at least we have each other. Even though I’d give a lot to have her out of here.

Taking deep breaths and fighting back tears, I wash away the blood from my lip. It’s tender, but the damage is not noticeable from afar.

“I’ll be fine. Just two more years.” I whisper to myself, taking in my reflection.

I snap the mask of indifference I show the world in place and prepare for another dreadfully long day.

CHAPTERTWO

Carolina

Once I leave the subway, I navigate through the bustling streets of Manhattan, heading toward the John Jay College of Criminal Justice.

The college is a massive glass building and part of the City University of New York. It’s my final year as an undergraduate student studying forensic science. I was lucky enough to receive a scholarship, thanks to my high GPA, our difficult financial situation, and some kind-hearted recommendation letters from my past teachers. Without it, I would have never been able to afford college and pursue my dream of becoming a forensic toxicologist.

This morning’s ordeal with Roberto has made me late, making me rush into the building, determined to make it to my classroom on time. I hate drawing attention to myself by arriving late, but I hate the idea of missing a lecture because of that awful man even more.

My professor glances at me with a raised eyebrow but thankfully doesn’t say anything as I quietly slip into the room and make my way toward the back. I quickly sit and get out my laptop, preparing to follow along with the class.

My classes start in the early morning. Since it’s my final year, I only have three courses left—Advanced Forensic Toxicology, Forensic Chemistry, and Forensic Science. I genuinely enjoy all of them, but it can be challenging to fully engage and function at such a high level with so little sleep.

When my classes for the day are over after lunch, I head to the Upper West Side to start my afternoon waitressing shift at a bread and bagel café.

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