𝐌𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐳. Even being born right next to the cruel and sick crime life never changed the charismatic and positive Mia who wanted to help change the messy world she formed part off.
Becoming a nurse at the age of 25 and joining her d...
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Ten months later
"Is here okay, son?" Rick asks, pointing at the counter of my new kitchen's house.
"Yes, thank you, Rick." I nod as I watch him set the box down. I have gotten used to him calling me son by now, but so far I haven't gotten myself to address him as dad, no matter how much I tried or wish I could.
I told him the truth about him being my biological father ten months ago, with nothing less than a letter. Maybe I should have told him in person, or at least with a call, but I wasn't ready to fully approach that reality back then so I did it in the only way I could think of.
I also told Matteo, and even though I was nervous at first I knew nothing will change between us, we will always be brothers no matter what percentage of blood.
And if I went with the letters it was only because writing my thoughts felt a lot easier than explaining them out loud. I sucked at opening up to others so allowing them to read what I felt made everything much simpler. The message would get across and I wouldn't have to put myself in the spotlight. It was perfect... or almost, in a way I was aware that doing that was me hiding but I promised myself that day that that would be the last time.
Nine months, that's how much time I spent in rehabilitation. I remember thinking that I wouldn't need more than a few months inside when I first decided to admit myself in the center but my problems grew a lot deeper than I thought. Because it wasn't just the alcohol or the drugs, my mental health was the main issue, depression, anxiety, PTSD, fear of abandonment, to put it bluntly, I was a psychologist's wet dream.
Thankfully after months and months of therapy—and the ones still to come—, I felt somewhat... stable, which isn't much but is definitely a lot better than how I was before and it also gave me hope that there is still room for me to grow, for me to actually heal.
Once I got out, about a month ago I came back home to New York City and started settling down. When I sold the business I also sold the apartments, everything except the main house, I couldn't let go of it just yet but it was way too big for me to move in alone so with the money I had left myself to be able to restart my life once I was out I rented an apartment. It needed a lot of work especially since I had to baby-proof it, I wanted to have everything ready before asking Mia about my options.
Julia Russo-Rodriguez was born as a premature eight-month-old baby seven months ago, healthy, even given the circumstances. Rick had been the one to reach out to me to tell me, in fact, it was him who updated me about everything related to Mia's pregnancy for all those months, apparently, she had asked him to do it. At first, I thought it would be temporary but as time went by I realized that it wasn't. Mia had chosen to distance herself, not totally, she did text me from time to time, mostly to send me pictures of Julia or as she apparently liked to call her, Jude, and also to ask how I was doing but that was it. She needed space and after leaving her the way I did —no matter how necessary it was— I understood why.
