On what should have been a joyous birthday evening, I sat alone in the shadowed quiet of my living room, waiting for Eduardo and Leonel to come home. Instead, my phone buzzed with a message that shattered the fragile calm—a video from Eduardo’s first girlfriend, Adriana. The screen flickered to life, revealing Eduardo and my son Leonel beside Adriana. Leonel’s small arms wrapped tightly around her, the innocent words escaping his lips pierced me deeply: “I wish you could be my mother.”
The image cleaved through my heart. Shocked, I felt no urge to call Eduardo and confront the betrayal. Instead, a cold clarity settled within me. Silently, I packed a suitcase and placed divorce papers on the coffee table—the final testament of what had once promised to be a lifetime.
Eduardo arrived home just past midnight, an unusual time for him to return. The house was plunged in darkness apart from the steady glow I always left on for him. He handed Leonel off to the housekeeper without a word, then retreated to the master bedroom. I sat poised on the sofa, my suitcase neatly packed beside me, divorce papers waiting.
“What is this, Marisol? Another one of your dramatic scenes?” Eduardo scoffed, brow furrowed.
I met his disdain with unwavering calm. “I want a divorce.”
His expression twisted with disbelief. “Is this because I forgot your birthday?”
“It’s not about that,” I said, sliding the papers toward him. “Sign it. Let’s end this.”
Flipping through the pages, he sneered. “You’ll leave empty-handed. Where will you go without me?”
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. He believed I was trapped here, isolated in Valverde, with nothing to hold on to.
“Sign,” I urged, pressing the papers firmly.
He hesitated, then hardened his voice. “Fine. Divorce it is. But custody of Leonel isn’t negotiable. You won’t get him.”
At that moment, Leonel appeared, tears streaming as he looked at me.
“I’m staying with Dad! I don’t want you! You’re a horrible mother! A witch!” he shouted, his childish anger raw.
“Enough, Leonel!” Eduardo barked, but the words bounced off the boy’s storm.
“If you hadn’t come between Dad and Adriana, she’d be my mother now!” Leonel spat, the accusation cutting deep.
My voice chilled the room. “I don’t care, Leonel. About any of this. I just want the divorce.”
Eduardo’s jaw clenched; his eyes darkened with frustration. “Are you certain?”
I tossed a pen onto the table. “Sign it. And let this end.”
A flicker of doubt crossed his features before I grabbed my papers, suitcase in hand, and moved toward the door.
“Tomorrow at 9 a.m. sharp. Town Hall. Don’t be late,” I announced, voice steely.
He grabbed my wrist tightly.
“Let go,” I said, voice cold.
With a sneer, he accused, “In such a rush? Already have someone else waiting?”
I stared him down. “Eduardo, I never disliked you more than now.” His grip slackened. I didn’t look back as the door closed—a sound sweeter than any celebration.
At Valverde regional airport, the buzz of travelers swirled around me as I prepared to board. My phone vibrated suddenly. It was Leonel’s voice—sharp, anxious, pleading over something trivial.
“Ask Adriana,” I told him calmly.
Eduardo’s irritated voice cut in. “Marisol, why argue with a child?”
Already boarding, I replied, “If a child can’t understand, the adult must.”
As the plane ascended, leaving the city shrinking beneath me, I knew it was truly over.
Four years later, I returned—not as the wife Eduardo had taken for granted, but as a candidate for a position at the Valverde medical center. The director, Matias, welcomed me warmly, discussing my credentials and the role ahead.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed again—a reminder of unfinished business. I excused myself, stepping away just in time to enter an elevator where I saw Eduardo, flanked by Adriana. Their presence—a silent confession—stung. Eduardo never publicly acknowledged our marriage, but here they were, the couple preparing to wed.
The elevator dinged at the ground floor, and as the doors parted, I faced Eduardo. His imposing figure and piercing gaze met mine.
“Excuse me,” I said coldly, passing.
He grasped my wrist, demanding an explanation for my four-year silence.
“I gave up my son, Eduardo. What right do you have?”
A car honked nearby as a man called my name. Eduardo’s grip tightened.
“Who is he?” he demanded.
Moments later, in the nearly empty medical center reception, Leonel stood by the coffee machine—taller, yet that boyishly familiar face etched with pain. Our eyes locked—his a sharp reflection of Eduardo’s—and for a long moment, the silence was suffocating.
“Do you work here?” he asked, voice heavy with unspoken hurt.
“Yes. And you?”
“Visiting my mother,” he replied, scoffing.
Before I could respond, Adriana’s heels clicked confidently around the corner. Her navy blazer screamed perfection, her smile thin and toxic. She laid a possessive hand on Leonel’s shoulder.
“What an unexpected reunion,” she sneered. “Still here, Marisol? Taking care of things, being the woman Eduardo always deserved.”
Leonel glanced at me, hesitation in his eyes.
“Is something wrong?” I asked gently.
Adriana stepped forward, venom dripping. “Some mothers are replaceable. Others forgotten.”
I replied softly, “Some women mistake manipulation for motherhood.”
“Leonel,” Adriana called, pulling him away. His lingering glance back was a fleeting bridge between lost worlds.
Eduardo appeared beside a marble column, arms crossed, eyes shadowed.
“Enjoying yourself?” I asked.
He stepped closer. “Four years gone, and you just show up. Didn’t even talk to him.”
“He spoke to me,” I said. “Told me you taught him to forget.”
His eyes blazed. “You ran away like he never mattered.”
“Don’t lecture me on what matters,” I shot back. “You never granted me that right.”
“And your companion?” he sneered, nodding toward Matias near us.
“None of your business.”
Matias approached, sensing the storm. “Everything alright here?”
“Now it is,” I said.
Eduardo eyed him like a predator sizing prey. “Matias, Dominic Vanderbilt.”
“I’m aware,” Matias replied coolly.
“We were discussing Dr. Marisol’s potential role here,” Matias clarified, emphasizing my title.
Eduardo’s stare sharpened. “She’s always run from her hardest problems. Even her own blood.”
I warned softly, “Eduardo.”
He smiled—a blade hidden behind a mask. “Glad to see you, Marisol.” Then he walked away.
That afternoon, through the hospital window’s golden light, I watched Adriana usher Leonel to a black car. His hand trembled at the door handle but he met my gaze—a silent exchange of doubt, memory, and something too fragile to name.
Days later, I heard the unmistakable sound of expensive footsteps behind me.
“Always leaving through the back door now?” Eduardo’s voice was sharp.
I didn’t stop. “Our talks only end in blame.”
“Maybe this time it’ll be different,” he said, offering one word: “Dinner.”
“Nothing makes sense anymore. We’re nothing.”
“Which is why you owe me an explanation. Why did you leave? Why abandon Leonel?”
I closed my eyes. “One dinner. 7:30. But one wrong question and I’m gone.”
He smiled, uncertain.
The bistro was unchanged—the amber glow, the soft melodies, the pungent aroma of fresh herbs mingling with bread.
He had already poured wine, his glass clinking against mine. I didn’t respond.
“Talk,” I said.
He confessed, “My wedding with Adriana is postponed.”
“Or canceled?”
“Deciding.”
I laughed bitterly. “I thought you controlled everything—me, Leonel.”
“Do you still care?”
“I’m not here to argue.”
“Marisol, after we broke, I sought comfort in Adriana. You were distant.”
“You justify well. I fled before hearing a word.”
“My son doesn’t ask for you… but sometimes he murmurs your name in sleep. Once, screamed it.”
I averted my eyes. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m telling the truth. You were everything to him. Then came videos, arguments, replacements. I resented you, but now more that I can’t forget you.”
Suddenly, Matias appeared. “Funny seeing you, Eduardo. Thought you were with your fiancée in Paris.”
Eduardo’s smile faded. “Plans change.”
“Some don’t,” Matias said, departing.
I broke the silence. “Just dinner. Meaningless.”
“It meant you were right to leave.” I walked away, leaving Eduardo alone with untouched wine and memories.
That evening, a knock startled me. Through the peephole, I barely recognized the hesitant figure beneath a hood.
It was Leonel.
“I didn’t think you’d answer.”
“I never thought you’d come.” He dropped his backpack, sinking into the quiet of my home.
“Adriana yelled at me for asking why you left. She said you ran off with another man. Dad’s story was different.”
“What did you hear?”
“That it was him who sent the video on your birthday—to expose you as unstable. I don’t know who to believe now.”
“I was just a kid. Back then, I hated you. But I wondered if it was all lies.”
“I saw that video, Leonel. Alone. No celebration. You hugging the woman who stole your father. Hearing you wish she was your mother broke me.”
“Do you resent me?”
“No, only myself for thinking I was irreplaceable.”
He blinked back tears. “Then why didn’t you come back?”
“You called me a witch.” He swallowed hard, the weight of those words heavy on us both.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I just needed a mother who stayed.”
“And I a son who called.”
Silence wrapped us like a fragile thread.
“And now?” he asked.
“Now, we are here. That is more than I dared hope.”
Suddenly, knocking echoed. Leonel opened the door—Adriana stood there, her perfect facade cracked by tension.
“Grayson’s father is desperate! Come home!” she pleaded.
He stood firm. She tried to enter, but he blocked her.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“He came for the truth,” I said.
She spat, “She abandoned you! I raised you!”
Leonel, voice strong, replied, “You trained me to resent her—and it worked. But you also taught me manipulation. Now, leave.”
Adriana left at last.
Eduardo arrived quietly. “I’m here for my son.”
“He’ll go when he chooses.” Leonel didn’t move.
“Did you tell him the truth?” Eduardo’s voice was softer than ever.
“I told him enough.” I sighed. “You controlled everything, Eduardo—even feelings.”
He stepped closer. “I still love you.”
“I remember you, but it’s not the same.”
His eyes fell. “What if…”
“Stop.”
“What we had is past. Some love just doesn’t grow again.”
He nodded quietly. “Take care of him.”
“Now, he chooses who cares for him.”
Eduardo left without a word.
Night wrapped the home in a comforting silence. Leonel washed his mug in the kitchen.
“Can I stay a few days?”
“Of course,” I said softly.
He smiled, fragile but genuine. “We can watch a movie. Do all the things we missed.”
Together on the couch, silence held us—not empty, but full. For the first time in years, we were there. Together.
