Broken Promises, Shattered Dreams
I handed in my boarding ticket, boarded the plane, and finally arrived in Switzerland. Then, I found X at a restaurant with his wife and stood in front of them, speaking all the truths that had been trapped in my throat for all that time. I see the astonished expression on the couple's faces. If X thought his marriage was complicated, he had no idea who Dalia Penedo was.
That's what my heart begged me to do, but for some reason, my feet led me in the opposite direction of the boarding gate. I make the entire journey back to my house. Upon arriving home, I am greeted by emptiness and silence. I walk towards my room, dragging my suitcase as if it weighed tons. I open my wardrobe and put everything in its proper place, then sit and observe my clothes. That's it, that's all.
I take a deep breath and return to the living room, where I sit on the sofa and let the beautiful morning turn into the evening... Until I hear the front door open, the sound of keys placed in the bowl, and hurried footsteps that stop at the entrance of the living room. I lift my head and come face to face with Carlos's worried expression. He approaches and then kneels in front of me, touching my hands that remain resting on my knees. His hands continue to touch me, desperate, on my arms, neck, and finally, my face, where they stay firmly:
"Oh, Dalia, you're here," Carlos says before wrapping his arms around me, hugging me. "My love... I thought that... I thought you had left. When your mother called me saying that you were on your way to Lisbon and you didn't arrive... something told me that... I remembered what you said the last time we saw each other. I'm so sorry, my love. I should have entered the elevator... Yes, I should have entered that elevator with you."
He looks at me again and covers my face with kisses, but honestly, I'm not really there. I, Dalia, remained at the airport with my phone to my ear, listening to the silence on the other end of the line. I'm there, imagining what X did next after abandoning me once again.
"Dalia, sometimes we love someone so much, we go on living with that person, and little by little, we get used to receiving and forgetting to reciprocate, out of complacency, out of forgetfulness," Carlos continues. "That's how it was with us, my wife. I recognize that over time, I forgot to be the husband you deserve, and instead, I started giving you unnecessary trouble. I recognize it, and with all my heart, I apologize. I love, admire, and respect you, and above all, I promise that from now on, I'll make an effort not to give you so much trouble and to reciprocate everything you do, mean, and give to me. I love you, today and forever. You are my world, my foundation, my sky, and without you, everything would crumble! Forgive my carelessness, my love, and I promise that every day of our lives, I will try to be the best husband to the best wife."
"Do you promise?" I ask, looking into my husband's eyes as deeply as I can. "Just like you promised to love and respect me? Just like when you promised that your work wouldn't affect us? Or better yet, nothing would affect us? Do you remember when we were two years into our marriage, and you told me you would be more present at home? Do you remember that promise? Do you even remember the promise you made in Africa? That promise that you said would be the last one? That you would be the husband I deserved. Is this the husband I deserve?"
"Yes, I remember," Carlos affirms. "Just like I remember you saying you loved me. Do you still love me?"
"How do you expect me to love you, Carlos, when you don't allow it? When you make empty promises and don't even care to keep them. And worse: you're capable of saying you never promised anything!"
"I don't deny the promises I made to you," Carlos says. "But what can I do? Things didn't turn out as I imagined."
"I asked you so many times not to make any more promises to me," I say, crying. Then I wipe my tears. "I'm sorry, Carlos, but promises are not enough for me anymore."
He then steps back and paces around the room, thoughtful and dealing with everything I said to him. Deep down, I have nothing else to say, and I feel that I don't even have anything left to fight for in this marriage.
"You're right," my husband admits as if he read my thoughts. "Promises are not enough for both of us."
He walks towards the bowl, takes his set of keys, and leaves.
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