Page 64 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

That, at least, isn’t entirely a lie. Lidia approaches slowly, carefully, as if I were something fragile that could break with the slightest touch, and she gently strokes my cheek.

“It happens to me too,” she confesses with a small, honest smile. “But it’s not a bad thing, is it? Stirring things up sometimes helps put them in their place.”

I shake my head gently, even though part of me strongly disagrees.

“No… it isn’t,” I murmur.

But there’s a part of me screaming the opposite. Because stirring things up also means bringing everything that’s hidden into the light, and what I’m hiding is too big, too complicated, too painful not to think about the consequences.

Her hand naturally seeks mine and squeezes it with that confidence that always makes things seem easier, more bearable.

“Hey…” she adds, looking into my eyes tenderly. “It doesn’t have to be perfect right now. Let’s just… enjoy what we have, the present. The rest will come when it has to.”

I stare at her for several seconds. And in that moment, I want to believe with all my might that this is enough. That we can stay right here, in this fragile and beautiful balance, without talking about what lies beyond this island, without facing what I’ve done, without reality catching up with us. I want to believe that we can keep walking like this, hand in hand, with the sea as our witness and the sun warming our skin.

But I know it isn’t. That it isn’t real. That it isn’t fair to her. That it isn’t sustainable. Even so, I squeeze her hand back, intertwining my fingers with hers more tightly.

“I’m here,” I reply, and in that moment it’s true. “And I want to stay here.”

Because I’m with her. Because I feel her close, warm, alive. Because I love her with an intensity that scares me. Because even that isn’t enough. Especially when the truth comes to light, when this perfect bubble we’ve created stops being perfect, when I have to look her straight in the eyes and tell her what kind of monster I’ve become.

We keep walking as if nothing had happened. As if everything were fine between us. Our steps fall in sync, the wind ruffles our hair, and the sound of the waves accompanies us. Every now and then Lidia points something out and I smile, nod, and try to join in, but inside me there’s something that’s already started to break, and I don’t know if, when it finally breaks completely, anything will remain standing between us. I don’t know if her trust will survive the truth. I don’t know if her love will be strong enough to forgive what I still don’t dare confess to her.

I only know that the clock keeps ticking, that the day goes on, and that every minute that passes without us speaking is one more minute of lies. One more minute in which I love her with all my being and, at the same time, I’m betraying her beyond repair.

I want to stop walking, hold her tight against me, bury my face in her neck and breathe in her scent, whisper in her ear that I’m sorry, that all of this is a disaster I’ve brought upon myself. But I don’t. I simply keep walking with her hand still intertwined with mine, pretending that this walk is just that: a romantic stroll on a paradise island.

At one point, Lidia stops and turns toward me, gently pulling my hand so I’ll look at her.

“You know what?” she says in that low, warm voice that always makes me feel at home. “I love being here with you. Far away from everything. Just the two of us. As if the world had stopped.”

Her words hit me right in the chest. I want to tell her that I love it too, that I’d love nothing more than to stay here forever, in this bubble. But instead, I just smile and move a little closer, until our foreheads are almost touching.

“Me too,” I whisper, and I’m not lying.

We stay like that for a few seconds, breathing the same air, feeling the sun’s warmth on our skin. For a fleeting moment, I almost manage to convince myself that everything will be okay, that I’ll find the right words, that she’ll understand and forgive me. But then my phone vibrates again in my pocket, and reality crashes into me once more.

This time I pretend not to notice. I just squeeze Lidia’s hand tighter and keep walking, my heart pounding wildly in my chest and the certainty that today, before the sun sets, I’ll have to break this silence that’s suffocating me. Because, even if it costs me everything, I have to be brave for once and face what I’ve done. Even if that means losing her. Even if it means that this perfect island suddenly becomes the setting for our second goodbye.

CHAPTER 33

THE MAGIC OF LOVE

Lidia

There are moments that seem insignificant… until you’re living them. They go unnoticed until they’re right in front of you, and you realize that unforgettable things don’t have to be grand. Sometimes, what stays etched in your memory is just that—a moment you share with the people you love, an instant filled with love, affection, and happiness.

Barbara and I walk together toward the little boutique where Miriam and my father have decided to do the final fitting for what they’ll wear on their wedding day. The afternoon air is still warm, though it doesn’t feel as heavy as it did at midday. A light breeze rustles the palm trees and makes everything seem more alive and vivid. Or maybe it’s just me who feels more alive than ever.

These past few days I’ve felt whole again, as if all those pieces I lost after finalizing my divorce from Barbara had come back and fallen into place. I feel immensely happy, relaxed, confident, filled with a gentle energy that flows through my skin until it makes my heart swell. After the morning we spent together, the laughter and the glances we shared, I have the feeling that everything has finally fallen into place between us. As if this place, this moment, and this version of us were the right ones. Even though a part of me remains uneasy. Because I know her, and I know that Barbara is hiding something.

Barbara isn’t well. Her smile, though still magical, is shadowed. There are moments when she gets lost in her thoughts, as if she were somewhere else, in another time, in another reality that isn’t the one we share.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask her, unable to hold back.

She looks at me, blinks for a second, and then smiles softly.

“That you’re almost ready to become an expert wedding planner,” she replies in a light tone, though her eyes tell a different story.