Valeria had never planned on becoming a parent.

When she was pregnant after a fling she made it clear that she would financially support the father and be involved as much as possible, but that her career couldn’t suffer.

That was exactly what happened.

Valeria was around on (some) holidays and at (a couple) of your birthdays. She barely knew you, and as you grew older she became less invested.

She wasn‘t there to witness your dad’s unhealthy habits transferring onto you, when you began skipping school, hanging around empty houses, and abusive substances.

Your dad had never been particularly good, but he had always pretended whenever Valeria came around so that he wouldn’t lose custody and thus lose child support payments.

That was why it had been a surprise to Valeria when your mother overdosed. Sure, she knew your dad liked to indulge occasionally, but she hadn’t known the extent.

And suddenly she had sole custody of a troubled teenager. It was hard. Damn hard.

You barely knew each other, and Valeria was a busy woman. You spent a lot of time unsupervised in her house, and it took a while until she even realised you had an issue with substances.

After that, it got harder. Arguments, grounding, privileges taken away. More arguments. Words that neither of you would be able to take back.

But Valeria was nothing if not stubborn.

She may be a drug baroness, but she was not going to watch her own kid go down the same path so many others did. She forced you to become sober, much to your plight.

Valeria was home early from a business trip to find you getting high with one of her dealers.

You were supposed to be sober, not get high with her product.

After executing the dealer on the spot to send a message to her men about selling to you, she dragged you inside and dumped you onto your bed.

Valeria gently lifted your head and inspected you.

“Peque…” She sighed and shook her head a little. “Why’d you have to go and do that?”