Her steely gaze doesn’t let up until I’m shoveling chunks of bread into my mouth. It’s still warm and crusty on the outside and as soft as a marshmallow on the inside. Shit. I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted, and I can’t help letting out a moan of pleasure. Food has been such a chore these past few months, and now my taste buds are coming back to life as well.
“You’ve hurt yourself,” she exclaims suddenly, noting the deep cut on my arm. “I hadn’t noticed with all that man’s blood on you. Let me take a look at it once you’ve eaten.”
I smile at her gratefully. I’d almost forgotten about the wound. The dull ache had somehow merged with the one in the area where my heart used to be.
Swallowing down the bread, I take a sip of water. “Who are these women?”
“Another consequence of the cartel way of life,” she says, following my gaze. “Prostitution in this country is legal in so-called government “tolerance zones”, but, like everything, the cartels found a way to corrupt the law for their own gratification. Brothels in the larger cities such as Cartagena and Bogotá are heavily monitored with regular sexual health screenings, but out on the cocaine processing plants where many of these girls were forced to work, the same practices don’t exist. Many of them were raped, abused, held against their will… Trafficked. We found them; we negotiated for them. Here, they are safe. Here we can heal their scars—the ones you can see and the ones not so visible.” Her eyes are burning a hole in my face. It’s as if she knows I have my own horror story to tell.
The spoon slips from my fingers and hits the table with a clatter. “Why don’t they just go home to their families?” I say, setting it to one side, my appetite now gone.
“Colombia is a very traditional place, Anna.” Her hand closes around mine and I feel her warmth and acceptance seeping into me. “Our society can be cruel… Unforgiving. There are stigmas that these women will carry around for the rest of their lives.” She sighs heavily, wearily, impressing on me her feelings about the matter without the need for more explanation.
“How long do they stay for?”
“Weeks… years. There are no time limits. No restrictions. Our charity is available to them for as long as they need it.”
“Is Vi one of these—?”
“No.” Gabriela shakes her head. “She is exactly who she says she is. I brought that wild flower up all by myself. For a time, it was just myself, my two sons, Viviana and… one other.”
“She told me about your sons… I’m so sorry.”
She nods, accepting my sympathy graciously. “Viviana carries that grief so deeply inside of her.”
“Will she ever forgive me?”
“For contacting Señor Santiago?”
A hush descends over the room at the mention of his name.
I nod, feeling self-conscious. “Will you?”
“I do not blame Señor Santiago for their deaths, unlike Viviana.” There’s a pause. “You made the right decision in calling him. You would have died otherwise. Fernandez is not known for his forgiveness.”
I glance at the women again. A couple are poring over a western fashion magazine splayed out in front of them, laughing and comparing like any other twenty-year-old would do. It’s hard to imagine the hell they must have faced. What I’ve faced…
“Oh shit, we brought their abusers to your door,” I say, rising up in horror. “There are close to a hundred sicarios outside!”
Gabriela stays seated. “We do not fear Carlos Gomez or his men. They fall under the direct order of another, who has sworn to protect this place.”
But my heart is beating too loudly to hear her reassurance.
“This isn’t just regular over-dinner conversation, is it?”
“You are so strong and bright and clever, Anna,” she says gently. “Don’t let those dark clouds block out your sunshine forever.”
“How did you know?” A sudden rush of tears is blurring my vision. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to me. Maybe because I see so much of myself in you, and because this is the place where the once-broken will seek to help the broken parts of others.” My head jerks up in shock. “I was twenty when I started working for a bad man who beat and raped me. I stayed because I had nowhere else to go. I stayed for twelve long, terrible years. I stayed because, even after all he did to me, I loved his wife and I couldn’t bear to leave her behind, even after I bore her husband’s child.”
“How did you get away?” I whisper.
“Good fortune, faith…” She squeezes my hand again. “His wife eventually killed herself, which was her way of escape. After that, I stayed because I couldn't remember how to leave. The human soul can only take so much before it starts to forget the joy of light and laughter.” Her words ring so true that I forget to breathe. “Then one day his son came to me. He handed me five thousand dollars and the keys to his car, and told me to leave.”
“Just like that?” I frown. “Why would he do that?”
“He had a baby daughter. He knew that if his father found out about her, he would do unspeakable things to her innocence. He begged me to take her and run.” Grief darkens every soft, salient inch of her face. “I kept my promise until the day his father hunted us down and stole her from my arms.”
“What did he do to her?”
There’s a pause. “He killed her.”
My hand flies to my mouth in horror. “Who is this monster?”
“Was,” she says swiftly. “He resides in hell now, sent there by the same man whose daughter he killed.”
We sit in silence for a moment as I ponder her words.
“We all have our stories, Anna,” she muses. “Some are more raw than others, but those who endure and conquer are the strongest, most beautiful of all. Whatever happened to you, never doubt your courage. Never doubt your sense of self. You are a princess, no matter how damaged your crown.”
My hand flies to my face again, this time to catch my pain. I can't stop crying today. I’m like a cracked faucet.
Gabriela crouches down next to me and pulls me into her soft embrace. She lets me grieve without expectation, the same as Vi. She doesn't need to know the reasons why I’m hurting, but she’ll comfort me all the same.
“Is the man upstairs your lover?” she murmurs into my hair.
“He’s my shadow,” I sob.
“All the beauty in life is made up of light and shadow,” she quotes softly. “Leo Tolstoy. A man of great wisdom and folly, as so many of them are.” I sit up and wipe my face, but it’s a futile effort when the tears keep streaming. “Tell your shadow your story. Maybe he’s the one who can bring you back your light.”
An older man appears in the doorway and beckons to Gabriela.
“News,” she states, and we both rise to our feet.
I try to translate their conversation as we hurry upstairs, but they’re talking too fast. In the end, I can't stand it any longer.
“Gabriela, tell me!” We’re standing outside Joseph’s door. “Is he…?” I can’t even bring myself to say the word. It’s too hazardous. It’s like taking a zipwire through Jurassic Park.