The Last Chance: A Postnuptial Promise
The ringtone of my phone invades my dream, causing me to stop in front of X and Pandora's table with their astonished faces. Slowly, I open my eyes, hoping it's still morning, where I would drop Juan off at my mother's and head to Lausanne, but with a better outcome than being left at the boarding gate. My phone continues to insist, so I pick it up from the side table and answer impatiently:
"Hello?"
"Dalia, do you remember Mallorca?" Carlos asks from the other end of the line.
"Of course," I reply, sitting up on the bed. "What about it?"
"Meet me there in an hour, okay?" my husband says imperiously, hanging up without even waiting for my response.
I get out of bed and go to my closet, where I grab a white shirt and jeans. I'm not in the mood to choose what to wear; at this point in my marriage, any clothes are enough since Carlos won't notice. I take a quick shower, brush my teeth, and then comb my short, still-wet hair, letting the air dry it. In a few minutes, I'm ready and walk out of the house toward what destiny has in store for me.
***
I'm already on the corner of Mallorca when I spot my husband sitting at an outdoor table. He's wearing a suit, probably after this new brief conversation, he'll be heading to work, because Carlos is like that: no matter what happens, work comes first. However, as incredible as it may seem, seeing him sitting there, engrossed in his phone, still takes my breath away, just like the first time. I walk slowly toward Carlos, and then I see Elson arriving at the restaurant too. They greet each other, and then I see my husband's friend handing him some papers. Out of instinct, my husband turns around and sees me approaching. He waves in my direction and then stands up to meet me halfway.
"Elson? Seriously?" I question as he gets closer. "Are you trying to recreate our first encounter? Know that was the part I hated."
I say this, and it elicits a slight smile from Carlos, whose face reveals that he's suffering for some reason.
"It wasn't my intention," Carlos replies, taking a step to the side so I can pass. "Shall we?"
I pass by him and then sit at the table, observing Elson arranging the papers which I now deduce to be the ones for my divorce.
"Dalia," Carlos speaks, "I thought about everything we talked about, and then I asked Elson to prepare this document for us."
So, this is how the story of Carlos and Dalia ends? Who won, and who lost in this story? Well, it doesn't matter now. What matters is that from now on, there won't be Dalia Penedo Salazar anymore. There won't be an "us"... and just thinking about it chokes me up. Maybe that's why Carlos's face looks tormented. He's definitively letting go of us.
"You're right, I can't keep making promises I won't fulfill," Carlos holds my hand. "That's why I've decided to propose an agreement. In fact, I asked Elson to draft a postnuptial contract with all the promises I made to you and have kept."
I look at my husband in surprise, but he doesn't allow me to open my lips.
"If I break any of these promises, I commit to filing for divorce, and everything that's ours will go to you and Juan, and that will be the end of our story."
I take the paper and start reading attentively. Yes, there were all the promises made by my husband over all those years, and there was a clause called "Duny," in which he promised not to keep in touch with Duny anymore or cheat on me with any other woman. I reread that clause several times, and at the same time, tears of guilt fill my eyes. I know what I did, and I feel the urge to tell him. So I open my lips and say:
"And what do you want from me? The same things?"
"I don't want anything from you, Dalia. I just want you to give me this last chance to make you happy," Carlos replies, handing me a pen. "If you sign this document, I know you still love me and want to fight for our marriage. But that's up to you. So, what's your decision: sign it and start anew, or don't sign it, and we'll put an end to all this?"
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