Page 71 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

“Mmm…” she protests, moving a little closer, tangling her legs with mine until her nose brushes my chest. “Well, try again, come on. It’s still very early.”

I smile, but it’s a faint, almost invisible smile, the kind that doesn’t reach my eyes.

“I have to get up,” I add softly. “My dad wanted to have breakfast with me this morning. You know how nervous he is about the party he organized for tonight.”

“Betrayal,” Barbara whispers, still half-asleep, in that playful tone that always manages to make me laugh, even when I don’t want to. “And here I was hoping to enjoy you a little longer…”

I can’t help but let out a small chuckle that breaks the tension I’ve been building up. The sound hangs between us like a light note played on a piano.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” I say before leaning in and giving her lips a little kiss.

“You’d better…” she replies, settling back into the sheets with a satisfied sigh.

Within seconds, she falls back asleep, breathing deeply and peacefully. I watch her for a moment longer, taking in the way her eyelashes rest on her cheeks and how her chest rises and falls calmly. I’d love to stay here for hours, just watching her, enjoying her presence and the scent of her on my skin. But today, of all days, it’s impossible. Besides, having breakfast with my father will give me a little peace… even if I can’t shake this unease.

I get up slowly. I gather my clothes from the floor bit by bit, head into the bathroom, and after a quick shower, I step out of the bungalow. The morning air fills my lungs completely—fresh and heavy with the scent of the sea, salt, and that calm that seems to envelop the entire resort but doesn’t even touch me.

I hesitate between continuing on or taking a few minutes to enjoy the beautiful sunrise before my eyes, but it’s my stomach that guides me this time.

The restaurant is already bustling. Guests are trickling in, greeting one another and filling the space with soft conversation and muffled laughter. The first guests for my father’s wedding have begun to arrive, and you can feel it in the atmosphere: in the energy, in the smiles, in those greetings from afar, in that sense that something important is about to happen.

“Daughter!” My father’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

I look up and there he is, sitting at a table by the terrace, with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand and that smile of his that always makes me feel at home, as if nothing bad could happen while he’s around. I smile genuinely this time and walk toward him.

“Good morning, Dad.”

“Come here,” he says, standing up to greet me.

He hugs me tightly, as if he wants to pour all the love he has for me into that gesture.

We sit across from each other. For a few seconds we don’t speak; we just look at each other in silence. I don’t need to look into his eyes to know that he’s noticed everything—in my face, in my eyes, in how stiff my shoulders are, or in that sad look I’m trying to hide behind sunglasses that protect me from the light, but not from his ability to know when something’s wrong with me.

“Well…” he says, resting his elbows on the table. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or are you going to keep it to yourself like you always do?”

I sigh and look down. My fingers fiddle with the cloth napkin, folding and unfolding it aimlessly.

“Nothing’s wrong, Dad,” I reply, trying to make my voice sound light and carefree. “I just miss Jota… and my usual routines too. You know how I am.”

He doesn’t move, nor does he say anything, and that silence is a bad sign, because it means he doesn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth.

“You may not live with me anymore,” he says finally, “but I can still tell when something’s really bothering you, daughter. Tell me about it. Don’t leave me out.”

I press my lips together because he’s right. He’s always right. And I can’t hide from him the way I do from the rest of the world. Looking back, after my divorce from Barbara, I hid behind my own armor and didn’t let anyone else break through it. I thought that was the only way I could survive, but over the years I’ve learned that letting go helps you heal.

I look up and then I give in, because with him I always end up giving in, because right now he’s the only one I can talk to without that constant feeling of screwing up with every choice I make.

“I feel like something’s happening with Barbara,” I confess in a low voice. “And if I’m being honest… I don’t know if I’m ready to watch all this happiness I feel crumble and turn into a nightmare I don’t know if I’ll be able to escape.”

My father looks at me and takes his time answering. I know Barbara is very important to him, that after so much time together—between dating and marriage—he’s grown very fond of her. But I can’t carry all this uncertainty on my own.

“Are you sure about that?” he asks gently. “You know I love Barbara as if she were my own daughter, but you’ve been apart for a while… you’ve lived years away from each other, and even though everything has been fine, in the end… people change over time, and maybe you and she…”

“Everything’s fine between us, Dad,” I cut him off quickly, because I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want him doubting what we have. “Seriously. When we’re together, everything seems normal, everything’s just like before… but these last few days she’s been… kind of distant. Like her mind is somewhere else and she doesn’t know how to come back.”

I take a deep breath and swallow, trying to ease the lump in my throat a little.

“And I’m worried that she won’t tell me what’s going on. That she’s keeping it all to herself,” I explain. “It’s not the first time this has happened.”