𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍
pairing: Benito Antonio Martinez Ocasio x Thalía Solene Dos Santos.
summary: Years after leaving Puerto Rico to become the global superstar Bad Bunny, Benito returns to his barrio seeking peace and anonymity, only to unknowingly walk into the family restaurant owned by his first love, Thalía Dos Santos—an Angolan-Puerto Rican woman he never truly forgot. Their unexpected reunion is charged with unfinished feelings, especially when he discovers she’s married and has a six-year-old son, a life built while he was busy building fame. As old memories resurface and tension simmers beneath polite smiles and deep conversations, Benito is forced to confront the love he left behind—and the possibility that not everything from the past is as over as it seems.
cw: this mini series contains sexual themes, domestic abuse, a lot of swearing, mentions of racism, emotional abuse, and SA. Not perfect English translations.
CHAPTER TWO: LO QUE PASA CUANDO SE CIARRAN LAS PUERTAS
That night, after the restaurant closed and the last chair was flipped upside down on the tables, Thalía’s smile finally dropped. The kitchen still smelled like garlic and fried fish, but the warmth from earlier had turned heavy, suffocating. Mateo was asleep on a small couch in the back office, wrapped in a Spider-Man blanket, his little chest rising and falling peacefully in a way that made her heart ache because she knew she had to keep that peace intact at any cost. Luis was counting the register, jaw tight, movements sharp, like every bill personally offended him.
“¿Desde cuándo tú y ese cabrón son ‘amigos de la escuela’?” (Since when are you and that dude ‘school friends’?) he asked without looking at her.
She kept wiping down the counter even though it was already clean. “Luis, cálmate. Es verdad. Estudiamos juntos. Eso es todo.” (Luis, calm down. It’s true. We studied together. That’s all.)
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “¿Tú crees que yo soy pendejo? Todo el mundo sabe que tú estabas detrás de él cuando eran chamaquitos.” (Do you think I’m stupid? Everyone knows you were after him when you were kids.)
Her hand froze for half a second. “Yo no estaba detrás de nadie.” (I wasn’t after anyone.)
He slammed the drawer shut. The sound made her flinch, even though she told herself she wouldn’t anymore. “No me mientas, Thalía. Ese tipo te miraba como si todavía fueras suya.” (Don’t lie to me, Thalía. That guy was looking at you like you still belonged to him.)
“Pues eso es problema de él, no mío,” (Well, that’s his problem, not mine.) she shot back, tired of shrinking.
Luis finally looked at her, eyes cold. “Tú siempre has sido así. Te encanta la atención. Especialmente de tipos como él.” (You’ve always been like that. You love the attention. Especially from guys like him.)
“¿Tipos como él?” (guys like him?) she repeated, knowing exactly where he was going but wishing she didn’t.
“Famosos. Con dinero. Que te hacen sentir que saliste del barrio,” (Famous. With money. The kind who make you feel like you made it out of the hood) he said, but the way he said barrio sounded dirty, like something to scrape off your shoe.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice so Mateo wouldn’t wake up. “No hables así. Este barrio es mío también.” (Don’t talk like that. This neighborhood is mine too.)
He rolled his eyes. “Sí, sí, la africana orgullosa.” (Yeah, yeah, the proud African woman.)
The word hit harder than she expected, even though she’d heard versions of it her whole life. Negra. Prieta. Pelo malo. Vete pa’ tu isla. (Black. Dark-skinned. ‘Bad hair.’ Go back to your island. ) Like Puerto Rico wasn’t hers too. Like her Angolan mamá and her Black Puerto Rican papá hadn’t worked their entire lives to claim space in a country that loved their food and music but not always their skin.
“Don’t,” she warned softly. “No metas eso aquí.”(Don’t bring that into this.)
“¿Qué? ¿La verdad?” (What? The truth?) he snapped. “Tú sabes que mi familia nunca estuvo de acuerdo con esto.” (You know that my family never agreed with this)
“¿Con qué? ¿Con que soy negra?” (With what? That I’m black ?) she whispered, the word tasting bitter.
He didn’t answer directly, which was answer enough.
Luis grabbed his keys. “Vámonos. No quiero que ese cabrón piense que puede venir aquí cuando le dé la gana.” (Let’s go. I don’t want that asshole thinking he can just come here whenever he feels like it.)
Thalía wanted to say he was the one who sounded threatened. That Benito—no, that Bad Bunny, the global superstar—didn’t need to take anything from anyone. But she swallowed it. Peace for Mateo. Always Mateo first.
The drive home was silent except for reggaetón playing low on the radio. Ironically, one of Benito’s songs came on. Luis changed it immediately.
When they got inside the house, Mateo barely stirred as she carried him to bed. She tucked him in gently, brushing curls off his forehead. He had her skin tone but lighter, Luis’s nose, her eyes. A perfect mix of both of them. Biracial, beautiful, innocent. She kissed his cheek and whispered, “Mamá siempre está contigo, ¿ok?” (Mommy is always with you, okay?) even though he was asleep.
In their bedroom, the air felt colder.
Luis shut the door behind them and locked it. The click echoed.
“Te gustó verlo, ¿verdad?” (You liked seeing him, didn’t you?) he asked quietly.
“Luis, por favor. Estoy cansada.” (Luis, please. I’m tired)
He stepped closer. “Respóndeme.” (Answer me.)
“No fue nada,” (It was nothing,) she insisted. “Ni sabía que iba a estar allí.” (I didn’t even know he was going to be there.)
He grabbed her chin suddenly, fingers pressing harder than necessary. Not enough to bruise immediately. Enough to remind. “A mí no me gusta sentirme como un pendejo.” (I don’t like feeling like an idiot.)
She pried his hand away. “Entonces no actúes como uno.” (Then don’t act like one.)
The slap came fast. Loud. It wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t even the worst. But it still shocked her every single time, like her body refused to normalize it. Her cheek burned instantly.
“Watch your mouth,” he hissed.
For a second, she considered screaming. The neighbors were close. But shame is a powerful silencer. So is fear of being the “angry Black woman” everyone already expects.
“I’m your wife,” she said, voice trembling but steady. “You don’t get to hit me because you’re insecure.”
He stared at her like she’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “Insecure? Tú sabes lo que es ser hombre aquí? Tú sabes lo que la gente va a decir si piensan que mi mujer todavía está babeándose por un cantante?” (Do you know what it means to be a man here? Do you know what people will say if they think my wife is still swooning over a singer?)
“I am not—”
He pushed her onto the bed, not violently enough to leave marks on her arms, but hard enough to take control of the moment. “You think he’d want you now?” he muttered, cruel and calculated. “Con un hijo. Con ese cuerpo.” (With a child. With that body.)
Her stomach dropped. “What about my body?”
“You used to be tighter,” he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather. “Ahora estás… más grande.” (Now you’re… bigger)
She knew she was chubby. She knew her hips were wide, her stomach softer after pregnancy. But she was healthy. Strong. She worked twelve-hour shifts at the restaurant. She carried Mateo on her back when he got tired. She was not weak.
Still, his words found cracks.
“Get off me,” she said quietly.
He didn’t. Instead, he kissed her neck roughly, not tender, not loving. Possessive. Like marking territory. She turned her face away.
“Luis, no.”
“Soy tu esposo,” (I’m your husband,) he murmured against her skin, as if that erased consent.
Her body went still. That’s what she’d learned. If she fought too hard, it got worse. If she cried, he called her dramatic. So she stared at the ceiling and let her mind leave. She thought about the ocean in Luanda from the photos in the restaurant. She thought about Benito at seventeen, writing her dumb poems about escaping and coming back rich enough to buy the whole block.
She didn’t say yes. She didn’t say anything
After, he rolled over like nothing happened, already scrolling on his phone.
“You’re overreacting about earlier,” he said. “Just don’t embarrass me again.”
Embarrass him.
She lay there, staring at the wall, cheek still throbbing. Somewhere in the house, the fridge hummed softly. Mateo coughed in his sleep.
Across town, Benito couldn’t sleep either.
He was back in his old room at his mamá’s house, posters still half-peeled from the walls. He kept replaying the way Thalía looked at him. Not just surprised. Guarded. Like someone who learned to measure every reaction.
He’d noticed the way her husband gripped her waist. The way she answered questions like they were traps.
“Cabrón, déjala,” (Dude, leave her alone,) one of his friends had said earlier when they dropped him off. “Está casada. Tiene hijo.” (She’s married. She has a child.)
“I know,” Benito had muttered. But knowing didn’t erase the feeling in his chest.
He grabbed his phone and opened his notes app. Words spilled out the way they always did when he didn’t know what else to do with them.
La vi sirviendo comida (I saw her serving food.)
pero parecía que estaba sirviendo silencios (But it seemed like she was serving silence.)
como si cada sonrisa costara algo (Like every smile cost something.)
como si alguien le estuviera cobrando por existir… (Like someone was charging her just for existing…)
He stopped typing and threw the phone onto the bed.
Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe she really was fine.
The next morning, Thalía wore concealer thicker than usual. The bruise was faint but there. Her mamá noticed immediately.
“¿Qué te pasó?” (what happened to you?) she asked softly in the kitchen before opening.
“Me di con la puerta del carro,” (I hit myself on the car door,) Thalía lied automatically.
Her mamá didn’t look convinced. “Mija…”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, forcing a smile.
Around noon, the bell above the restaurant door rang.
She didn’t need to look to know who it was. Some energies you feel before you see.
Benito walked in alone this time, cap low, no entourage, no friends. Just him.
“Buenos días,” he said casually, like he wasn’t about to complicate her entire life.
She wiped her hands on her apron and walked over, heart racing in a way that scared her because it felt too close to hope.
“¿Otra vez cliente?” she teased lightly.
“Te dije que iba a volver,” (I told you I’d come back) he replied.
She gestured to a table near the window. “Siéntate. ¿Lo mismo de ayer?” (Sit down. The same as yesterday?)
“Lo que tú quieras darme,” he said again, softer this time.
As she turned to go to the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of her cheek under the lights. The faint discoloration. The way she subtly turned her face away from him.
His stomach dropped.
When she came back with his plate, he didn’t touch the food.
“¿Quién te hizo eso?” (Who did this to you?) he asked quietly.
She froze. “¿Hizo qué?” (did what?)
“Don’t lie to me, Thalía.”
For the first time since he walked back into her life, her composure cracked. Just slightly.
“No es nada,” she said, but her voice wavered.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Yo te conozco. Tú nunca supiste mentir.” (I know you. You never knew how to lie)
A long silence stretched between them.
Finally, she whispered, “Las cosas no son tan fáciles como parecen.”
He clenched his jaw. “¿Él?” (Him?)
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
Benito sat back, anger simmering under his skin in a way that felt dangerous. Fame had given him power, influence, money. But none of that mattered if the girl who once believed in him more than anyone was going home to fear.
“Thalía,” he said carefully, “tú no mereces eso. Nunca lo mereciste.” (Thalía, you don’t deserve that. You never deserved it.)
Her eyes filled, but she blinked the tears away quickly. “No empieces, Benito. No vengas aquí a salvarme como si yo fuera un proyecto.” (Don’t start, Benito. Don’t come here to save me like I’m some project.)
“I’m not—”
“Tengo un hijo,” (I have a son) she cut in. “Todo lo que hago es por él.” (Everything I do, is for him)
He softened immediately. “Y él merece ver a su mamá feliz.” (And he deserves to see him mom happy)
The word hung between them again. Feliz.
She looked out the window, sunlight catching in her braids. “A veces la felicidad no es opción. A veces uno se queda porque quedarse es lo que mantiene todo en pie.” (Sometimes happiness isn’t an option. Sometimes you stay because staying is what keeps everything together)
Benito shook his head slowly. “No. A veces uno se queda porque tiene miedo.” (No. Sometimes you stay because you're scared)
Her eyes snapped back to his, for the first time since he walked into that restaurant, the truth sat fully between them.
@𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝟏𝐄 , 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔
