MOTHERLY INSTINCT
Motherly Instinct is a 64,000-word loosely based on real events, feminist mother-daughter storyline in which a mother is forced to instigate the corrupt and patriarchal Mexican system in order to solve the mysterious kidnapping of her only daughter, Sonia. As she tries to discover what happened to Sonia, the mother is forced to examine their complicated relationship and learn to forgive her daughter for not growing up to the expectations she set.
In this heartwarming action novel, a mom named Lydia follows vague clues and partners with dangerous women to locate her daughter. During this journey, she comes across some of the best-kept secrets that maintain the corrupt Mexican government in place. After she uncovers that Sonia was murdered by her abusive boyfriend, she is not filled with sadness, but with rage.
This is a stand-alone novel that leaves room for a sequel fueled by Lydia's anger and desire for revenge. Below, please find the first chapter!
Chapter 1
Some might call it paranoia, but it is a motherly instinct.
It is Sunday morning, and I can’t let go of the feeling that something bad is going to happen today. Another family lunch, another never-ending discussion with my daughter Sonia, about her inability to make ends meet, or the charity center she calls “her boyfriends,” or her failed musician career. Who knows what is going to tick it off today.
I head to the kitchen. My bare feet absorb the coldness of the tile floors. I tell myself this is what an ordinary day looks like. The streets are the same as they always are. Kids racing to school. A man unlocking his car. Ms. Valentina walking her wiener dog. The kind of morning people forget as soon as it’s over.
But something is off.
I pour coffee in my “Best Mom” mug that Sonia got me in first grade—I can’t get myself to change mugs even after all these years. I drink it too fast and burn my tongue. I get five plates, five glasses, five forks, five knives, and five spoons out. I take them to the table and start setting everyone's place—me, my sister Olivia, her girlfriend Susana, my daughter Sonia, and her good-for-nothing boyfriend Ernesto.
Ever since Sonia started dating him, I see less and less of her—and more and more of him. When I do see her, her eyes are often puffy, and her sentences are shortened by insecurity. Ernesto plays the good boy, but I can see past him. It is no coincidence she quit school two months after meeting him.
Sonia was supposed to graduate from political science next year; congresswoman in three years; first woman president one day. That might be going too far, but she was supposed to be SOMEONE. Now her only ambition is to play guitar in her basement with her loser boyfriend's friends, while able to get drunk on a random Tuesday.
“I was only doing all that because of you, Mom. It just brought me resentment and no satisfaction. I am sorry I didn’t become the perfect daughter you envisioned.” Her words echo through my mind.
Crack!
I see a glass crash and explode as soon as it touches the ground, bringing me back to reality.
As I get the broom to clean up the mess, I promise myself not to bring up anything that can start a dispute—no mention of school, or her plans for the future, no asking if the band finally got a gig, and especially no passive-aggressive comments about Ernesto. I already feel Sonia sleeping away from my fingers; I can’t push her further away.
We will have an amicable lunch, and we will repeat it next Sunday, the week after, and so on.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. As I pull it out, the screen turns on, displaying the clock at 11:23 a.m. Wow, I didn’t realize how late it got. Everyone is already 20 minutes late— no surprise from Sonia and Ernesto, since they have never arrived before 11:30.
A text from my sister takes up the screen, “Running late, Susana fell down the stairs :(.”
Since I have some extra time, I take the opportunity and sweep through the rest of the kitchen. It is the only thing that will regulate my nerves. I don’t think I will actually calm down until I see my daughter sitting in front of me.
I glance at the clock again—11:31 now—and move to the window for what must be the tenth time. Cars keep driving through, but none pull up into the driveway. It is no surprise, since I would recognize her red mini-cooper as soon as it turned the corner.
Her “Find My Friends” location won’t update, and I keep waiting for an update text explaining her tardiness. But nothing.
11:44 a.m.
A chill runs through my spine. I know something is wrong before I pick up the phone. Ever since she started dating that punk-ass kid, I have been living in a constant state of surveillance. The ringing sound bounces through the walls, accelerating my heartbeat. I inhale one last time and take the phone to my ear.
“Ms. Lydia, we have your daughter. Follow our instructions if you want to see her again.”
I can’t remember letting the breath out.
In Mexico, 11 feminicides are committed daily. Everyone is taught this information, but no one prepares you for your own daughter to become part of the statistics.
Chapter 2