The Divorce Attorney

Camila's POV

The first thing I noticed when I walked into the kitchen that morning was the money.

It was spread across the table in small, careful piles.

A few crumpled bills sat beneath my mother's fingers, while several coins were lined up beside them. She had her calculator in one hand and a faded notebook open in front of her.

She didn't notice me standing in the doorway.

Or maybe she did and was pretending she hadn't.

I stayed there for a moment, watching her add something on the calculator before crossing out a number in the notebook.

Then she sighed.

It wasn't a loud sigh.

It was the kind my mother had perfected over the years—the quiet kind that was supposed to disappear before anyone could ask what was wrong.

I knew that sigh.

"Mamá?"

Her head lifted immediately.

She smiled.

It was almost convincing.

"Buenos días, mija." [Good morning, sweetheart.]

"Morning."

I walked into the kitchen, still pulling my hair into a loose ponytail.

My eyes went back to the table.

My mother noticed.

She quickly put the calculator down and began gathering the money into one pile.

"You're going to be late."

"I'm not."

"You always say that."

"Because I'm usually not."

She gave me a look.

I smiled.

"Okay. Sometimes."

She shook her head, but there was a small smile on her face now.

That was my mother.

She could be exhausted, worried, and probably wondering how she was going to stretch the same money across another week, and somehow she'd still find a way to smile at me.

Elena Navarro had been doing that for as long as I could remember.

I walked over to the refrigerator and opened it.

There wasn't much inside.

Eggs. Half a carton of milk. Some leftover rice. Vegetables that needed to be used soon.

I stared at it for a second.

"We're running low again," I said.

My mother looked down.

"I'll go shopping after work."

"With what?"

The question slipped out before I could stop it.

She looked at me.

I immediately wished I'd kept quiet.

"Mija..."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, I shouldn't have—"

"Camila."

Her voice softened.

"I'm your mother. You don't have to worry about these things."

I almost laughed.

Of course I worried.

I was seventeen, not seven.

I knew what the electricity bill looked like when it was overdue. I knew how carefully my mother counted grocery money. I knew which days she worked at the hotel and which weekends she took extra cleaning jobs because her regular paycheck wasn't enough.

I knew she came home with sore feet.

I knew she sometimes sat on the edge of her bed for several minutes before getting up to shower because she was too tired to move.

And I knew she was worried now.

I just didn't know how to help.

My father had been gone for years.

Not gone because he'd left us.

Gone because he was dead.

He had been a construction electrician, the kind of man who could fix almost anything with his hands. He'd been the person who made our little house feel bigger simply because he filled it with his presence.

When I was thirteen, I still believed adults knew how to fix everything.

Then Dad died.

And I learned they didn't.

After that, my mother worked more. Rafael worked whenever he could. And I learned to stop asking for things. It wasn't that my family didn't love me.

We did. We just didn't have money for wants. Needs came first. Always.

My mother folded the last note and slipped it into her purse.

"Go eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

"You are always hungry."

"Not always."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Fine."

I reached for a piece of toast.

Before I could take a bite, footsteps came from the hallway.

"Who's eating my bread?"

I turned.

Rafa walked into the kitchen wearing his work trousers and a faded gray shirt, his thick dark hair still slightly messy.

He was twenty-one, but sometimes he behaved like he was fifteen.

"It's not your bread," I said.

"It was when I bought it."

"You bought it three days ago."

"Exactly. It's still mine."

I took another bite. He stared at me. I stared back.

My mother sighed. "Rafael."

"What?"

"Let your sister eat."

"I'm just saying."

"You always say something."

Rafa pulled out a chair and sat down. He looked at me for a moment before reaching across the table and stealing half my toast.

"Hey!"

"You weren't eating it."

"I was."

"Too late."

I grabbed the other half before he could take that too. He laughed.

For a few seconds, everything felt normal.

This was what mornings were like in our house. Money was tight. Life was complicated. But Rafael could still annoy me before eight in the morning. And somehow, that made everything feel a little less heavy.

"You have school today?" he asked.

I stared at him.

"Wow. What a difficult question."

"I'm serious."

"Yes, Rafa. First day after summer break."

"Good."

He nodded toward me.

"Then go."

I rolled my eyes. "You're not my father."

The words slipped out. Silence.

I froze.

Rafael's expression changed for half a second. My mother looked down. I immediately regretted saying it.

"I'm sorry."

Rafa shrugged. "It's fine."

But I knew him. It wasn't. He stood and grabbed his keys. "I've got to go."

"Rafael—"

"I'll see you later."

He walked out.

I looked at my mother.

She gave me a small shake of her head.

"Give him time."

I nodded.

My brother had always been protective of me.

Sometimes too protective.

After Dad died, Rafael seemed to decide that if someone had to worry about me, it would be him.

He never said it. He didn't have to. It was there in the way he waited until I got home before going to bed.

In the way he checked the lock twice at night.

In the way he'd complain about me being too quiet and then complain when I talked too much.

He loved me.

I knew that.

Sometimes love just came out awkwardly.

I grabbed my backpack.

My mother reached for my wrist before I left.

"Camila."

I turned.

She smiled.

"Have a good day."

"I will."

"And don't forget your lunch."

I lifted the small container from the counter.

"I've got it."

"Te quiero, mija." [I love you, sweetheart.]

I smiled.

"Te quiero también." [I love you too.]

Then I left.

---

By the time I reached school, the parking lot was already crowded.

Students moved around me in groups, laughing and talking as they made their way inside.

I wasn't exactly unpopular.

That would have required people to know me well enough to dislike me.

I was something else.

Forgettable.

I was the girl teachers remembered because I always handed in her assignments.

The girl students knew because they'd been sitting beside her for three years but couldn't remember her last name.

The girl who could walk into a room and somehow become part of the furniture.

Invisible.

I'd gotten used to it.

Mostly.

"Camila!"

I turned.

Bella came running toward me, her backpack hanging from one shoulder.

She nearly crashed into me.

"You're early."

"I'm always early."

"No, you're always boring."

I laughed.

"Good morning to you too."

She linked her arm through mine.

Isabella Reyes had been my best friend since freshman year.

I still remembered the first day we'd met.

I'd been sitting alone at lunch, pretending to be busy with a book because I didn't want anyone to realize I had nobody to sit with.

Bella had walked over, put her tray down across from me, and said, "You're Camila, right?"

I'd stared at her.

"How do you know my name?"

She'd looked genuinely confused.

"Because we're in English together."

"Oh."

"You didn't know that?"

"No."

She'd laughed.

And somehow, she never stopped sitting with me.

Three years later, she still hadn't gotten tired of me.

"You're quiet," she said now.

"I'm always quiet."

"No. This is different."

I glanced at her.

She narrowed her eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Camila."

"Nothing."

"You're terrible at lying."

"I didn't lie."

"You avoided the question."

I smiled.

She sighed. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

We walked inside.

And then I saw him.

Adrian Caddel.

He was standing near the lockers with Julian Price and a few other guys.

I didn't know Adrian personally.

Not really.

But everybody knew Adrian Caddel.

He was one of those people who seemed to belong everywhere.

Teachers knew him.

Students knew him.

Girls definitely knew him.

He was tall, athletic, confident, and always looked like he'd stepped out of an expensive advertisement.

His hair was dark blond, sometimes looking almost light brown depending on the lighting.

And his eyes, Gray-blue. I'd noticed them more times than I was willing to admit.

"You're doing it again."

Bella's voice pulled me back.

I looked at her.

"Doing what?"

She gave me a knowing smile.

"Nothing."

"I wasn't looking at him."

"You absolutely were."

"I was looking past him."

"At what?"

"The wall."

Bella glanced at the wall.

"Interesting wall."

I pushed her shoulder. "Shut up."

She laughed.

"You like him."

"I do not."

"Camila."

"He's just..."

I stopped.

She waited.

"He's just what?"

I looked away.

"Pretty."

Bella burst out laughing.

I covered my face.

"Oh my gosh."

"What?"

"You actually admitted it."

"I said he's pretty. That doesn't mean I like him."

"Sure."

I lowered my hands. "Besides, he doesn't even know I exist."

Bella's laughter disappeared.

She looked at me for a moment.

"That's not true."

"It is."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

I glanced toward him again.

Adrian was laughing at something Julian had said.

Girls nearby looked in his direction.

One of them touched her hair when he glanced over.

He belonged to their world.

I belonged somewhere else.

I wasn't bitter about it.

At least, I tried not to be.

I just knew how things worked.

People like Adrian Caddel didn't notice girls like me.

And maybe that was better.

Because a crush could stay harmless as long as it remained a secret.

---

By the time I got home that afternoon, the house was quiet.

Mom was still at work.

Rafa wasn't home yet.

I dropped my backpack beside the couch and changed into an old T-shirt before heading into the kitchen.

I had homework waiting.

I also had dinner to make.

So I did both.

I worked through my math problems at the kitchen table while rice cooked on the stove.

Every now and then, I got up to stir something.

It wasn't glamorous.

But it was my life.

And I was used to it.

When the front door finally opened, I heard Rafa before I saw him.

"Camila?"

"In the kitchen."

He walked in, dropped his keys on the counter, and looked at the stove.

"That smells good."

"Don't touch it."

"I wasn't going to."

"You were thinking about it."

"I was appreciating it."

"With your hands?"

He grinned. "Maybe."

I shook my head. "You hungry?"

"Always."

He grabbed a plate.

"Wait for Mom."

He stopped and then groaned. "Fine."

A little while later, Mom came home.

She looked exhausted.

But when she saw the dinner waiting, her face softened.

"Look at you."

"What?"

"Nothing."

She kissed the top of my head.

"Thank you."

We sat around the table together.

Three plates.

Three people.

One small kitchen.

Rafa complained about work.

Mom laughed at something he said.

I told them about Bella nearly getting us detention for laughing during class.

For a little while, nobody talked about bills.

Nobody talked about Dad.

Nobody talked about what we didn't have.

We just ate.

And I looked around the table, listening to my family laugh, and realized something.

Maybe my life wasn't what I wished it could be.

Maybe I didn't have the newest clothes or the biggest house or the kind of family money that made problems disappear.

But I had this.

My mother.

My brother.

My home.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, a stupid little crush on a boy who probably didn't even know my name.

For now, that was enough.