Page 4 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

She lets out a short, light laugh, full of understanding. We’ve been working together at the same school for three years, with the same kids and the same routines.

“You’re too responsible, Lidia. And sometimes I wonder how you put up with it without letting it wear you down.”

“Someone has to be in this crazy world,” I reply with a smile born of the affection I feel for each of the children who make my job wonderful.

“Yeah, well…” she says, shrugging. “When you get tired of being the responsible adult of the group, let us know and we’ll join the party without a second thought.”

I watch her disappear down the hallway, and then I quietly gather up what’s left of my things, allowing myself to savor this moment of peace slowly settling in around me. The school empties out in a matter of minutes, as if the entire building were breathing a sigh of relief after the children have left. When I step out into the courtyard, the breeze carries the scent of damp earth from the flowerpots arranged by the main door, and I take a deep breath, letting the aroma of geraniums fill my lungs.

Valencia has a way of constantly reminding me why I decided to stay here despite all the bad things that have happened to me in recent years. I don’t think I’ll find another place in the world that makes me feel quite so at home.

A couple of hours later, I’m walking along the sidewalk in my neighborhood with Jota, my dog. He tugs gently on the leash, infecting me with a bit of his energy and vitality. Jota has that boundless energy typical of puppies; he thinks every walk is a unique and exciting adventure, full of new smells and details only he can appreciate.

“Jota, calm down. Don’t get so close,” I tell him firmly when he tries to get too close to a bicycle leaning against a nearby lamppost.

The dog looks at me with that expression of his, somewhere between innocent and cheeky, wags his tail enthusiastically, and continues walking by my side as if nothing had happened, though I know deep down he’s still dreaming up his next bit of mischief. The sea isn’t very far from here. Although I can’t see it, I can smell the salt in the air. It’s always there, mingling with the scent of the neighborhood bars and the constant murmur of people filling the streets with life at this hour.

When we get home, I take off my shoes in the entryway and set the grocery bag—with a few things I picked up on the way—on the kitchen counter, where the colors of the fruit contrast with the pristine white of the cabinets. Jota runs straight to his water bowl as if he’d crossed an entire desert without tasting a drop, and I can’t help but watch him fondly.

He’s been with me for a year and a half. A birthday gift from Dad. A gift that arrived when I needed it most and felt completely lost. Jota, in short, saved my life.

After a quick shower that refreshes my body and clears my mind, the living room transforms into my little personal sanctuary, that space where I can simply be myself without masks or rushing. I open my laptop, pull out several folders with school documents, and sit on the couch with my legs tucked under me, ready to focus on what really matters right now. The clock strikes four o’clock sharp when I get up to grab a beer from the fridge and pour myself a small plate of olives to settle my stomach.

I’m reviewing a detailed list of notes when my phone vibrates insistently on the table. I frown slightly because I’m not expecting any calls and pick it up out of curiosity. The screen lights up instantly; my father’s name glows, and I can’t help but smile. I press the button to accept the video call, and although the image takes a moment to stabilize, within seconds everything around me disappears, and I find myself captivated by a paradise-like beach that looks like something out of a dream—and that I recognize instantly. A white sand beach so bright it looks like a blanket of diamonds in the sunlight, with an intense turquoise sea that reflects the sky as if it were a liquid mirror full of life. The wind gently rustles the leaves of palm trees leaning over the crystal-clear water, creating a perfect postcard scene that takes my breath away for a moment.

“The beaches in the Maldives are so beautiful…” I think, and a second later, I snap out of it.

“Come on!” I exclaim affectionately. “Is this a normal call or a full-blown provocation?”

The camera moves awkwardly, and then my father’s face appears in close-up. His white, graying hair sets off his tanned skin, and he flashes a smile so wide and radiant that I immediately sense something good and special is happening in his life.

“Do you like the view I have here?” he asks with pride in his voice, as if the landscape were a trophy he’d earned through hard work.

“I don’t know if I like it or if it makes me want to hate you a little for showing off so much,” I reply with a laugh, though my heart fills with joy at seeing him so alive and happy.

Miriam appears behind him. Her dark hair sways in the sea breeze, and her eyes reflect that deep calm she’s always conveyed to me since the day I met her.

“Don’t listen to your father,” she says with a soft, melodious laugh. “He’s been bragging about the scenery all morning as if he’d created it himself with his own hands.”

“Because it’s breathtaking,” my father replies with enthusiasm, making me smile even more. “Look at this for a moment, sweetheart, and tell me it isn’t paradise.”

The camera pans again, and for a few seconds the sea fills the entire phone screen, with its gentle waves and that endless horizon that invites you to dream. I can’t help but stare at it, absorbed in its beauty. The sound of the waves drifts faintly through the speaker, and suddenly a warm, comforting sensation washes over me.

“Okay, I admit it,” I say sincerely. “It’s beautiful, it really is, and it makes me happy to see you so happy in that corner of the world.”

Dad reappears on the screen with an expression of pure satisfaction that lights up his eyes.

“I wanted to remind you how beautiful it is.”

I rest my elbow on the arm of the sofa and watch the two of them closely, savoring the moment as if I were right there with them.

“How’s everything going over there?” I ask with interest, because I want to know every detail of their happiness.

“Everything’s going wonderfully, sweetheart,” Miriam replies with a calm, radiant smile. “The weather is perfect, the people are lovely, and your father has already befriended the entire resort, as if he’s been living here for years.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” he protests with feigned indignation.

“Pablo…” she says affectionately.