Page 85 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

“She’s right,” I say, swallowing a sob that threatens to escape. “We need to talk. I need to hear it from her.”

My father holds my gaze for several seconds. I can see fear, anger, and love battling inside him, fighting to take control.

“Are you sure?” he asks at last, his voice deep.

I’m not. I’m not sure of anything. Not whether I can bear another lie. Not whether hearing it will save me or drag me deeper into this pit. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what she would have said, what excuse or what truth she was saving for me tonight.

I nod slowly, swallowing hard.

“Yes.”

My father clenches his jaw, defeated but resigned. Then he strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers, just as he used to when I had a fever and he stayed by my side all night.

“If she hurts you again, I swear I’ll…”

I don’t let him finish. I kiss his hand tenderly, thanking him for his protection.

“I know. But I have to do it.”

Miriam comes over and kisses my forehead affectionately, like a mother trying to give me strength.

“We’ll be right here,” she whispers close to my ear. “You’re not alone.”

I nod, unable to say more.

I wait for them to walk away. For their footsteps to fade among the empty tables and the tired lights of the party that is no longer a party. And then the silence falls again, heavy and absolute.

It’s just the two of us left. Barbara and I, face to face. Surrounded by the remnants of a night that just a few hours ago seemed perfect, and I cross my arms so I don’t start trembling again, to protect myself from what’s coming.

“You have five minutes,” I tell her in a cold voice, even though inside I’m shattered. “Five minutes to tell me something worth hearing, because I can’t take any more nonsense.”

Barbara closes her eyes for a second, and when she opens them, I glimpse in her brown eyes a storm worse than the one on that night when everything broke apart for the first time. And for the first time in weeks, I wish with all my soul that I had never loved her, even though a treacherous part of me knows that’s a lie.

CHAPTER 41

THE TRUTH DOESN’T SAVE EVERYTHING

Barbara

I look at her and feel the air get stuck halfway, right between my lungs and my guilt. The restaurant, which was buzzing just a few hours ago, now seems like a different place. The golden lights hanging from the palm trees are still there, the flowers continue to perfume the air, and the sound of the sea drifts in through the windows, carrying that distinctive scent of salt. Yet the magic that once burst forth is now shrouded in a thick silence that squeezes my chest.

Lidia stands before me with her arms crossed. Her eyes are swollen from crying so much, her cheeks still damp with tears that haven’t quite dried, and her jaw is clenched in an attempt to keep from breaking down in front of me. I know this because it’s not the first time I’ve seen that expression on her face. An expression that doesn’t diminish the magnitude of her beauty.

“You have five minutes,” she tells me in a voice as cold and sharp as a knife.

But she doesn’t fool me for a second. Beneath that sharp, harsh tone lies that open wound that I myself have reopened.

“Five minutes to tell me something worth hearing,” she continues, her gaze piercing mine without mercy. “Because I can’t stand any more nonsense.”

I swallow, and it tastes bitter, as if all my regret had pooled in my throat. Five minutes. Just five minutes to dismantle years of pride, of cowardice disguised as independence, of silences that lingered between us. Five minutes to confess to the only woman I’ve ever truly loved why I’ve played with her this way.

I don’t know if there’s enough time in the world to fix something as broken as what we have, but if there’s even the slightest chance, it’s here, in this very moment.

I decide to stop thinking about myself. I steer clear of flowery phrases. I stop hiding behind excuses and finally speak:

“The first thing I want to tell you…” I begin, and my voice comes out broken, a whisper lost in the distant murmur of the sea, “is that our divorce was a mistake.”

She doesn’t even blink. She just looks at me.