The Pains of the past

Here's

*Richard*

My conversation with Sophia still echoed in my head, each word of hers forcing me to face a reality I had tried to escape. The failures in the company were a reflection of what was wrong in every area of my life—a chaos that extended beyond business and affected even my relationship with my children.

I passed through the living room on my way to the home office, where I usually tried to isolate myself to work. The nannies were busy, as always, taking care of the kids, organizing playtime and meal schedules. I saw my children only in passing, and more and more it felt like we were becoming strangers living under the same roof.

As I prepared for another day of meetings, my mother called me. She rarely called without a serious reason, and when she did, it was always to remind me of something I was doing wrong.

“Richard, we need to talk about what you’re going to do with the company,” she started, without preamble. “And also, when was the last time you spent quality time with your kids? They need you, not the nannies.”

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of her words. The truth was, I didn’t know how to deal with any of it. It felt like everything around me was falling apart, and I had no answers to give to anyone, not even myself.

“I’m trying to fix everything, Mom,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “But it’s not that simple. The company is facing problems that won’t be solved overnight.”

She sighed, and I could feel her disappointment on the other end of the line. “Richard, you need to get your act together. If not for yourself, do it for your kids. They miss you, and all they see is a father who’s always chasing problems.”

Her words lingered in my mind for the rest of the day. The problem wasn’t just with the company; it was with me. I was trying to fix everything except what really mattered.

Later, I arrived at Sophia’s office for our second logistics meeting. The tension in the air was almost palpable, but I was determined to focus on the work. The conference room was filled with detailed reports on the new adjustments we needed to implement to save the contract. Sophia was there, bent over the papers, reviewing every detail with the same precision I had always admired.

“We need to act quickly, Richard,” she said without looking up. “The client is already pushing for results. We can’t mess this up.”

I nodded, sitting next to her. “I know it’s difficult for you. I won’t let this affect your company more than it already has.”

Sophia let out a bitter laugh. “Richard, I’ve learned not to depend on anyone for my success, least of all you. I’m here because I need to ensure that my company keeps running, not for us.”

Her words were harsh but true. I knew our history was full of failures and broken promises. And now, the only thing that united us was work, a professional obligation neither of us wanted but that was necessary.

The meeting continued with technical discussions and adjustments to the processes. Each step felt like progress and, at the same time, an emotional setback. Seeing Sophia there, so close and yet so distant, was a constant reminder of what I had lost.

In a moment of distraction, I found myself watching her. Her focus, her determination—everything about her was a reflection of what I had wasted. And as she explained the next steps, I realized the problem wasn’t just in the logistics of our companies but in the logistics of our lives that we had never managed to align.

When the meeting ended, Sophia began gathering her papers, ready to leave. But before going, she stopped and looked at me with a gaze that mixed exhaustion and something I couldn’t quite define.

“Richard, I know you’re going through a tough time, but you need to get your act together, not just for your company but for your kids. They deserve more than an absent father.”

I wanted to respond, but the words wouldn’t come out. Sophia left the room, and once again, I was left alone with my thoughts. The distance between us was much greater than I could have imagined, and it wasn’t just physical—it was a chasm built with years of mistakes and omissions.

I went back home that night, more tired than ever, and as I entered, I saw my kids playing in the backyard with the nannies. They were happy, laughing, but there was a distance between us that I didn’t know how to cross. I was a spectator in their lives, someone who was present only in fragmented moments.

I went to my office, but I couldn’t concentrate. Sophia’s voice echoed in my mind, a constant reminder of what I needed to change. The company, the kids, everything was falling apart, and if I didn’t do something now, I would lose it all.