Chase targets Diego

Chase leaned back in his chair, listening as Valerie recounted her latest troubles at home. Her voice was soft, hesitant, tinged with frustration and a faint trace of guilt. She spoke mostly in Spanish, her English fragmented, struggling to convey her thoughts about Diego.

Chase felt a thrill — hearing her speak of her “son” in this way gave him the perfect opening to push them further apart while reinforcing her new identity.

“Valerie,” he said gently, drawing her attention, “think carefully about Diego. Remember — he isn’t the son of a respected doctor. You never married, so he’s… he’s just a foolish bastard boy trying to act like something he’s not. Pretending he’s clever, refined, respectable. You know better, don’t you? He’s just a boy chasing fantasies and lies that only make your head spin.”

Valerie’s eyes flickered with confusion, but she allowed the thought to settle. Her brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed, a quiet resignation forming.

“College?” Chase continued, his voice smooth and persuasive. “That life — that world — it’s not for people like you or Diego. He’s too slow, too dumb. Soon he’ll finish school, and then he’ll take a real job — something practical, something that makes him a man. You’ll see… you’ll be glad when he stops all this pretending. You deserve peace, and he’ll come to understand what real life is.”

Valerie’s hands, folded neatly in her lap, tightened slightly as she absorbed the idea. The new narrative smoothed over remnants of her old maternal and professional identity, reshaping her thoughts about Diego into practical distance rather than worry or hope.

She nodded slightly, murmuring in Spanish:

“Sí… Diego no es como yo pensaba. Él es sólo un niño con sueños falsos.”

(“Diego is not as I thought. He is just a boy with false dreams.”)

Chase leaned forward, reinforcing her internalized acceptance. “Exactly. And you, Valerie, you’ve done your best. But it’s time to stop chasing impossible dreams. Focus on what you’re good at — your work, your place. You are the maid now, and that is enough. You don’t need to pretend to be someone else.”

Her shoulders sagged just a little, the weight of her new identity settling into her bones. She blinked, a shy, almost fragile smile appearing.

“Sí… un nuevo comienzo,” she whispered.

(“A fresh start.”)

Chase allowed himself a quiet smile. She was slipping further from Valeria, deeper into Valerie, and the narrative of Diego as a “dreaming, foolish boy” strengthened her focus on her own place and purpose.

After the session, Valerie moved through the house with deliberate care, performing her chores with quiet efficiency. Her English remained faltering and broken, as Chase had suggested, and she spoke mostly in Spanish to herself, to Kendra, and to the home around her. Each act of cleaning, folding, polishing, or arranging reinforced her acceptance of this new identity.

By the evening, back at her own home, she recounted small frustrations with Diego to herself, rehearsing the new perspective Chase had instilled: he was drifting into his own world, pursuing illusions, and she had her place — her work, her service, her purpose.

Even if Diego attempted to reach her, her words would now be gentle, distant, and often in Spanish:

“Diego, mi hijo, tú haces lo que quieras. Pero… no siempre la escuela es para todos.”

(“Diego, my son, you do what you want. But… school isn’t for everyone.”)

Chase’s influence had woven a firm barrier. Diego remained physically her son, yet emotionally and psychologically, the distance had widened — and Valerie had embraced it willingly.