He left for another woman. Twelve years later he returned and uttered only a few words
I married Sergio right after college. It seemed nothing could tear us apart: youth, shared dreams, common plans, and a love that felt endless at the time. We had two children, Tiago and Rodrigo. Today theyre adults with their own families, children, and responsibilities. When they were little, I lived for them, for the family that was already crumbling insideyet I stubbornly pretended I didnt see it.
Sergio began to change around then. First, fleeting glances at young cashiers in the supermarket, then at women on the street. Then the phone he took into the bathroom and turned off at night. I knew, but kept quiet. I told myself I had to endure for the kids, that any man could slip, that this would pass.
It didnt.
When the children grew up and moved on, the house grew empty. I realized that between Sergio and me only memories remained. I could no longer convince myself that everything was still for the sake of the family. When a new woman entered his lifeyounger, prettier, freerhe simply packed his things and left. No shouting, no explanations, just a slammed door and silence.
I didnt stop him. I sat in the kitchen watching the tea grow cold. Life split into before and after. The before held twentyeight years of marriage, holidays in the Algarve, sleepless nights in the kids room when they were sick, kitchen renovations, and arguments over the TV remote. The after left only a hollow space.
Gradually I adjusted. I learned to be alone. I found peace: no grudges, no fights, no fear of finding another womans messages on his phone. Sometimes I missed him. Sometimes I recalled him sipping his morning coffee and complaining about my wrong yogurt. Over time, I missed the calm more than the past, where I never felt enough.
Sergio vanished completely from my lifeno calls, no texts. He showed up only in conversations with the children, who visited him rarely mentioning it to me. We became two parallel lines living in the same city, never intersecting. Twelve years.
And then he appeared.
It was an ordinary day. I was preparing dinner when the doorbell rang. I opened it and barely recognized the man standing there. Sergio seemed a different person: shoulders hunched, a vacant stare, an odd hesitation in his posture. He had aged, his hair now gray, his frame thinner. He stood there in silence, as if he didnt even know why he had come.
May I come in? he finally asked. His voice was the same, but a deep pain made my fingers tremble on the knob.
I let him in. We sat in silence; words wouldnt surface. There was too much to say and nothing that seemed useful. I made him tea. He turned the cup in his hands, then sighed:
I have no home now. That woman it didnt work out. I left. Im living wherever I can. My health isnt what it used to be. Everything has fallen apart
I listened, unsure how to reply.
Forgive me, he whispered. I made a mistake. Youve always been the only one. I realized it too late. Maybe we could try again? Even if just to see
My chest ached. Here was the man with whom Id shared half my life, the father of my children, the firstand ultimately the onlyman I ever loved. We had dreamed of a little house in Alentejo, argued over the livingroom wall color, endured the mortgage, and celebrated Tiagos graduation.
But he had been silent for twelve years. He never wished me a happy birthday. He never asked how I was. And now he was back because he had nowhere else to go. Because he was alone.
I didnt answer immediately. I simply said:
I need to think.
Since then, days have passed. He hasnt returned, hasnt called. I keep thinking, weighing pros and cons, reliving memories, listening to my heart. He is broken, yet his heart still beats. And now, it is quiet.
I dont know if Ill forgive him. I dont know if its worth starting over. One thing I do know: love isnt always a cure. Sometimes its a scar. And before opening an old door, you must be sure that inside it doesnt hold the same pain you once fled.
