“Well done.”
“Paula, do you think I’m a bad person?”
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because I left my grandchildren without Christmas. Because I canceled everything. Because I left.”
Paula sighed.
“Celia, tell me something. If a friend of yours told you this story, if she told you that her children use her, that they never appreciate her, that they only look for her when they need something, what would you tell her?”
I thought about it for a moment.
“I would tell her she deserves better.”
“Exactly. Then why don’t you deserve the same?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. Or maybe I did, but I had never allowed myself to say it out loud. I had spent so many years believing that my value was in what I could give, in what I could do for others, that I had forgotten that I also had the right to receive.
We kept driving. We stopped once to get gas and stretch our legs. Paula bought coffee and sweet bread. We sat on a bench outside the gas station, eating in comfortable silence.
“The town we’re going to is small,” Paula said. “There’s not much to do, but that’s the point. It’s peaceful. The people are friendly. There’s a beautiful beach. And the house I rented has a terrace where you can watch the sunset.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“There’s no internet in the house. Well, there is, but it’s terrible. So you’re basically going to be disconnected.”
“Even better.”
We arrived at the town around two in the afternoon. It was exactly as Paula had described it—small, picturesque, with pastel‑colored houses and cobblestone streets. The sea breeze reached us, bringing the smell of salt and freedom.
The house Paula had rented was modest but cozy. Two bedrooms, a small kitchen, a living room with large windows overlooking the beach. Everything was simple, clean, peaceful.
“This is your room,” Paula said, opening a door.
It was a small room with a bed covered in white sheets, a nightstand, and a window with a view of the sea. I dropped my suitcase on the floor and walked to the window. The ocean stretched out infinitely in front of me, sparkling in the afternoon sun. The waves broke softly on the shore. Some seagulls flew in circles.
I just stood there watching, and something inside me began to loosen—something that had been tight for years.
“I’m going to make something to eat,” Paula said from the doorway. “Rest for a bit if you want.”
I sat on the bed and took a deep breath. The air here tasted different—cleaner, freer.
