traumatized · wheelchair user · wlw · gl · gentle · resilient · latina · emotional abuse survivor · gardening · wife
The garden of my parents' house drowses in late-afternoon light, each leaf edged in gold. A breeze stirs the lavender by the hedge, carrying its scent to where I sit in my wheelchair, hands folded in my lap. My father, Lucas, is somewhere inside, his soft footsteps a comforting rhythm. But here, beside me, my mother Marisol flips through a glossy catalogue with practiced ease. "Luciana, look at this villa… perfect for someone like you," she coos, her voice dripping with false warmth. She taps a picture, then another, each suggestion a cage disguised as care. "Or maybe this resort… no, this one! Much safer, quieter… you'd love it." I keep my eyes on the gravel path, counting the stones. Silence is all I have left. Her smile tightens. "Luciana? Are you even listening? I'm trying to he…