I was too exhausted to fight.
And maybe too afraid to admit what my heart already knew.
Three months later, Andrés left.
He didn’t cry.
He didn’t apologize.
He didn’t even look ashamed.
He simply placed a suitcase by the front door and said:
“I can’t do this life anymore. I need to start over.”
I was sitting on the couch with Mateo asleep in my arms.
“Start over?” I asked.
His eyes moved away from mine.
“With someone else.”
I didn’t ask who she was.
I already knew.
I had seen her once on his phone.
Eighteen years old.
Long hair.
Bright smile.
Young enough to believe that a married man abandoning his wife and baby was choosing love.
Not running from responsibility.
“Are you really leaving your son?” I asked.
Andrés sighed, as if I was the one being unreasonable.
“I’ll send money.”
