Page 83 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

“Yes, it is. It’s even worse.”

Because this time I knew exactly what could happen, I knew the possible outcome, and yet I still threw myself headfirst into the void, without a safety net. Because I still love her with a strength that shames me. And that’s the most humiliating part of it all: that even now, with my heart reduced to ashes and my soul raw, a part of me still needs an explanation, still wonders if every night she made love to me was real or if she lied to me while kissing me with that passion that seemed so genuine.

Miriam squeezes my fingers a little tighter, as if she wants to pass her strength on to me.

“Listen to me,” she says gently, lowering her voice so only I can hear her. “I don’t think Barbara lied about how she feels about you. Sometimes people get tangled up in their own lies without knowing how to get out.”

Her words cut even deeper. Because it hurts more to think that she truly loved me and, even so, was capable of doing this to me and hiding an essential part of her life from me.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head again, feeling like the world is crashing down on me. “I can’t take this anymore. I can’t go on like this.”

I feel like I’m drowning. Really. Like if I don’t let everything out, I’m going to burst like a wave crashing against the rocks.

“I can’t live surrounded by lies,” I say, no longer holding back, crying with rage. “I can’t keep being the last one they choose, the one left waiting while others take the place I thought was mine. I can’t…”

My voice comes out broken, desperate, as if every word costs me a superhuman effort.

“I just want to be happy,” I murmur, feeling the tears roll down to my lips and wet my chin. “I just want to be at peace, to wake up without this knot in my stomach. I don’t want to fight anymore for someone who doesn’t know how to stay, who always finds a reason to leave or to hide.”

My father hugs me tighter then, wrapping his arms around me as if he wanted to protect me from the whole world. And I let myself fall against him, let him hold me because I have no energy left, because tonight I feel like something has been ripped from me that I didn’t even know I’d gotten back—a piece of me I thought was dead and that now hurts as if it were alive.

I close my eyes and rest my forehead on my father’s shoulder. And for a few seconds, I try to hide there, to go back to being the little girl who could be healed with a hug and a promise that everything would be okay.

“Lidia…”

Barbara’s voice makes my whole body go rigid instantly. I lift my head slowly and find her a few feet away from us, her dress wrinkled, her hair tousled and falling over her shoulders, and her eyes red and swollen from crying so much. There’s sand on her ankles and her breathing is still rapid, as if she’d come running from the beach without stopping. She’s beautiful, even in this mess, and broken at the same time. And I hate that even so, with my heart bleeding inside me, I’m unable to look at her any other way than with love and desire.

My father stands up before I can react. He does it abruptly, and his chair screeches against the wooden floor.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says with a coldness I’ve rarely detected in his voice. “Go away.”

Barbara lowers her gaze for a moment, as if accepting the blow without protest. But she raises it again immediately. And she looks for me.

“Please,” she says, her voice breaking with emotion, pleading. “I need to talk to her. Just for a moment.”

“Now?” My father takes a step forward, tense. “Now you feel the need to tell the truth, after everything you’ve done?”

“I know,” she murmurs, lowering her voice. “I know I’ve done everything wrong, that there’s no excuse.”

“That’s an understatement,” my father snaps, his jaw clenched. “I told you once before: if you ever hurt her again, I’d never forgive you.”

The words cut through the air between us like a truth rising to the surface. This has happened before. My father witnessed how I fell apart after the divorce, how I had to learn to sleep in my bed without Barbara on the other side, how I filled my life with routines so I wouldn’t think about her every second of the day.

Barbara lowers her head for a second, as if carrying that guilt truly weighs on her shoulders.

“I’m not here to ask for forgiveness so I can feel better about myself,” she says slowly, choosing each word carefully. “I’m here because Lidia deserves the truth. The whole truth.”

I roughly wipe away another tear with the back of my hand.

“How curious,” I say at last, looking her straight in the eye. “Now it turns out you care about the truth.”

My voice comes out low, broken. But also sharp, laden with all the resentment I’ve been carrying inside. Barbara looks at me, and I feel the air grow thick between us.

“It’s always mattered to me,” she replies, her voice trembling but firm.

I let out a bitter laugh that scratches my throat.

“Don’t say that. Not now.”