Swallowing my grief, I used the last of my savings to have a suit custom-made—one last gift of dignity, a way to properly say goodbye to my daughter.
While I was preparing for the funeral, Regina showed up at my apartment. The moment I opened the door, one of her bodyguards drove a boot straight into my chest, knocking the air out of me.
“You think I’ve been too patient with you?” she snapped. “You think you can just keep stirring up drama with Hector and I’ll let it slide?”
“I had a custom suit planned for Hector’s birthday,” she continued. “And you—you went behind our backs and blacklisted him from every designer in the city. What, you wanted to humiliate him in public?”
I realized right away what had happened—an old friend in the design world must’ve done it in solidarity with me. It wasn’t my doing, but I didn’t deny it either.
Wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth, I stared her down. “So what if I did? You two killed my daughter. And you think you still get to celebrate like nothing happened?”
That seemed to set her off. She kicked me again, the pointed heel of her shoe jabbing into my ribs.