The next day, despite how tired I am, Moses and I go to the farmer’s market on the wharf. He has the day off and wants to cook Eggs Benedict from scratch, so I follow behind him, my hand in his, as we work our way around the merchant stands. A salty breeze wafts through the white tents while seagulls peck at crumbs on the ground, and tourists take photos of sea lions basking in the sun on the docks. 

Moses pauses at a produce stand, so I hug his back, inhaling the ocean’s bitter breeze, and I’m at peace. At this moment, my life doesn't feel like it has imploded.

“Want a side of sliced avocado?” He glances over his shoulder at me.

“Sure.”

“I was thinking of buying some oranges to make fresh OJ. What do you think?”

“Do we have a juicer?”

“We do. Although I rarely use it, so today is a perfect day to dust it off.”

“Whatever you say, my love.” I press a kiss to his back, which prompts him to twist around to give me a proper hug. After a big squeeze, he takes my face in his hands and caresses my cheek with his thumb.

“There’s a glow about you today. I like seeing you happy.”

“You make me happy,” I reply, and he studies me for a few seconds, the breeze ruffling the edges of our hair.

“I wish I could have arrived at Bruno’s sooner to protect you from that asshole.”

“He’s not worth fighting over.” I shake my head. “I’m surprised the bouncers didn’t call the cops on Julian. He can be so hot-headed. We’re not teenagers anymore, and he could have gotten arrested, but once Julian sees red, there is no talking him down.”

“I still don’t like how that guy put his hands on you or the things he said. He owes you an apology.”

“That will never happen.” I shift away from Moses and pick up an avocado. “We should buy a few more and make guacamole later. I’m in the mood for nachos for dinner.”

“I'm down for some nachos.” Moses leans in and plants a gentle kiss on my temple. “I love you, Val.”

“I love you too.” I bite back a grin, but he tickles my side, and a burst of laughter escapes my mouth.

The produce merchant is staring at us, but we continue goofing around as I attempt to wiggle away from Moses, and he reels me back to pepper my face with kisses. It tickles so much I can’t stop laughing.

“I’m going to pee!” I squeal, so Moses stops but holds me tight.

"Alight, I'll stop."

With a brush of his lips against mine, I circle my arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. This has become the best morning I’ve had in a long, long time.

∆∆∆

After breakfast, we spend time binging Netflix, except neither of us pays attention to Mad Men as we mess around on the couch. By mid-afternoon, I make guacamole, and we snack on it while playing card games, which results in stripping an article of clothing for each round we lose. 

We don't stay dressed for long, and I might have cheated to get Moses naked much faster.

When evening rolls around, my lips are swollen from kissing, my abs are sore from laughing, and I’m pretty sure I’m not walking right. Yet, it’s been the best, laziest day I’ve ever had, and it was with Moses.

“What should we have for dinner?” I ask, my head on his chest as we lay in bed.

“Pizza?” 

“Mm, yes. With extra sauce and double cheese.”

“We should get dessert too. How do you feel about banana splits?”

“I am pro banana split.”

“Good. I knew I liked you for a reason.” He grins and kisses my nose.

When he rolls out of bed to pull on his boxers, I grab a palmful of his bottom, but he swats my hand away and wags his finger at me.

“Pizza first.”

“Aw, come on,” I beg.

“Little Moses needs to re-energize,” he tuts, and my phone chimes.

“Saved by the bell!” I smirk. Moses tosses his shirt, so I slide it on.

“Don’t steal that one. It’s one of my favorites.”

“I didn’t steal the last one,” I laugh as I walk over to the dresser. “I borrowed it.”

“Yet you still haven’t given it back.”

“It’s in that pile over there.” I point to the clothes in a heap on the chaise lounger. When Moses places his hands on his hips, I laugh some more. “Don’t give me that look. I haven’t had a chance to do laundry, ok?”

When I glance at the text, my laughter subsides as I read the messages from Julian. He's livid and rambling about assholes on the internet and how he’ll beat every one of their asses. Confused, I click on the links he added for TikTok, and an Instagram Reel, which leads to videos of me at the courthouse and my dad in chains. The comments are appalling when I read them, so I slap my hand to my mouth.

“What is it?” Moses crosses the room.

“Look.” I give him the phone. “Look at what they’re saying!”

“Their relationship had to be more than a father-daughter one. They were definitely sleeping together.” Moses furrows his brows as he scrolls through the comments. “Did you see the way they looked at each? You could cut the sexual tension with a knife.”

“Why would people say these disgusting things!?”

“Val, these people are garbage. They don’t know you. They like drama, and they’re sick.”

“My dad has never, ever sexually abused me.” I wipe my eyes. “How dare they insinuate he would!”

“It’s gossip.” Moses sets aside the phone and pulls me into his arms. “Julian shouldn’t have sent that to you. There’s no point in seeing those comments.”

My phone chimes again, so I break free from him to grab it, but he holds it out of reach and looks me in the eyes.

“Nothing good will come from seeing whatever else Julian is sending you.”

“Please give me the phone,” I whisper.

“Val,” he sighs. “These people don’t know you, and reading their comments will erode the cheerful, bubbly, and beautiful person you are. Trust me.”

“I need to see.”

“Fine,” he sighs again and hands me the phone but leaves the room.

Sinking onto the bed, I open the message from Julian, and he’s cussing up a storm now and threatening bodily harm to whoever is responsible. With trembling fingers, I click on the other links he sent, which opens to footage of us at Bruno’s. The caption says, Kidnapped Child Valentina Moreno Finds Herself in a Lover's Quarrel with Two Men, and Neither of Them Is Her Boyfriend. My stomach sinks because whoever captured this photo of me sitting on the couch with Sofia at Bruno's did it at an angle, and it looks like Julian is kissing me on the mouth instead of on the cheeks. Then, there's a video of Garrett grabbing my face and shoving his tongue down my throat. The worst part is that the footage slows and zooms in on our mouths, so it looks like we're making out. They cut off the part where I pushed him away.

The next part of the video is of Julian fighting Garrett and the bouncers kicking us out. As afraid as I am to look, I click on the comments and begin scrolling. It shouldn’t be a surprise, but I’m being slut shamed, and others are saying I’m damaged goods who needs therapy. 

There is another link, so I click on that too, but now I’m even more furious than before. It’s a video of Moses and me at the farmer's market this morning, and somehow, it was manipulated to look as if we’re bickering. Except, I remember this moment, and we were teasing each other, not arguing. The caption says, Valerie Rossi, Also Known as Kidnapped Child Valentina Moreno, Argues With Boyfriend After He Discovers She’s Cheating on Him.

The people in the comments accuse me of being like my father and say that because a liar raised me, I learned this behavior from him. Others discuss the day of my father’s arrest and the press conference which revealed his double life with Linda and Miranda. Since then, both women have given brief interviews about him. Linda expressed the hurt he’s caused her family, while Miranda took the opportunity to trash him. So all of this has turned into juicy gossip for people on the internet to weaponize against me. 

Chucking my phone aside, I begin sobbing into my hands. Instead of supporting me, I’m being slut shamed and accused of cheating on Moses, but the worst part is the insinuation I had an inappropriate relationship with my father. 

That’s the part that hurts the most. 

“Ah, babe,” Moses says in the doorway and crosses the room to wrap his arms around me. Despite being in a terrible state of ugly crying, I look up at him.

“Why are people so cruel?” 

“I don’t know.” He uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe my runny nose. “You must remind yourself that none of those people matter or their opinions of you. The people who love you and know who you are would never say those things about you.”

My phone chimes again, and my gaze darts to it, but Moses shakes his head. I know I shouldn’t look, but my skin is crawling with an itch to see what else Julian has sent me.

“How about we order that pizza?” he tugs my hand to get me off the bed, but the itch intensifies.

“But what if it’s something important...” I reach for the phone, and Moses whacks it off the bed. “Hey! Why did you do that?”

“Damn it, Val! Because I know what looking at that bullshit can do to a person,” he exclaims, and it sobers me since it’s not like him to get so upset.

“Hey…” I place my hands on his waist.

“Val, I’m not angry with you,” he sighs. “I’m frustrated for you. I don’t want these hurtful comments to break you down. When my parents died, there were all sorts of stories and gossip about me. I didn't have the best relationship with my parents, and I was the typical troublemaker in school, so people painted me as a killer.”

“Why would people say those things about you? It’s cruel.”

“You can’t even imagine the wild theories people slapped together about me, and I became obsessed with reading every single one. However, nothing good came from it. I got so depressed I thought it would be easier for Noah and Ruth if I weren’t around, and I began stealing our aunt’s sleeping pills. I thought if I collected enough, I could go to sleep forever.”

“Oh, Moses.” I pull him into a hug and cry into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. Therapy helped me put it behind me, but I didn’t tell you this to make you sad.” He wipes the tears from my cheeks. “I told you because nothing good will come from looking at the links Julian is sending you. I know he’s fuming over the lies people are saying, but showing them to you, after everything you’ve been through, is shitty.”

“You’re right,” I whisper.

“How about, for the rest of the night, we ignore our phones, eat pizza, watch more Netflix, and…” he wiggles his brows. “Make hot, sweet, sweet love.”

“What?” I snort. 

“You know you want to.”

“I do,” I exhale and squeeze him tight. “I love you, Moses.”

“I love you, Val.”

For the rest of the night, we do precisely as Moses suggested and fall asleep sheathed in each other’s arms on the couch. Later, I awake and peel myself away, needing something to drink. So, I head for the kitchen and glimpse the glowing clock on the oven. It’s ten PM, yet it feels past midnight as I yawn and stretch, but then I hear my phone ringing. The only person who calls me other than Moses is my dad. It can’t be him, yet my feet carry me to the bedroom, where I pluck the phone from the floor.

It’s a number I don’t recognize, so I’m hesitant as the ringing continues, but I answer the call.

“Baby girl,” my father says. “I only have a few minutes since a guard let me borrow his phone.”

“Hey.”

“It’s good to hear your voice,” he sniffles. “They’ve been letting me watch the news in here, and I’ve seen some of the tabloids about you. I know people are saying you’re a bad apple because of me, but I need you to know you have a light that shines and brightens a room with your smile and kindness. Don’t let anyone suppress that light. You are brave and resilient with the biggest, most accepting heart I’ve ever known.  None of it has come from me. These are traits organic to you and only you. Hold your head up high, baby girl, and remember, many, many people love you. Do you hear me?”

“I do,” my voice cracks with a cry, and I wipe my nose. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear this today.”

“I love you, and I’m sorry for all the hurt I’ve caused.”

“It’s ok.”

“No, it’s not, baby girl,” he sniffles again, and the guard says something to him in the background. “Hey, I gotta go, but one last thing. Promise me you won’t go to my sentencing.”

“What? No.”

“Valerie, please. I know how bad your anxiety gets, and with the tabloids sensationalizing everything you do, I don’t want this to affect you. So instead of going to the sentencing, I want you to focus on rebuilding your life. Put me behind you. Move forward and don’t look back.”

“I can't do—”

“Please, Valerie,” he chokes out a cry. “Promise me.”

“Ok. I promise.”

“I love you. Goodbye.”

“Dad, wait. I love—”

But the line goes dead. Right as I’m about to crumble, Moses is there to scoop me into his arms and hold me. As he rubs circles into my back and rocks me, I come to a conclusion. My father and Moses are right. I can't let what others say affect me anymore, but maybe there is one truth in their hateful comments.

I am damaged.

My father is not my real father, and instead of hating him for kidnapping me, I feel as if half of me has been severed.

Twenty years is a long time to believe you're someone you're not. It's an even longer time to love someone you thought was your father.

And I don't know how to let go of this feeling. Maybe I never will.