Around noon, we returned to the house. It was hot now, and we decided to spend the afternoon at the beach. Paula brought umbrellas and towels. I put on my swimsuit for the first time in three years.
I looked at myself in the mirror before I left. My body had aged. There were wrinkles, stretch marks, marks of time. But there was also the body that had carried two children. The body that had worked tirelessly. The body that had sustained me through everything.
At another time, I would have criticized myself. I would have thought about everything that was wrong. But today, I only felt gratitude. This body had brought me here, to this moment of freedom.
We spent the afternoon under the umbrella. Paula was reading a book. I just looked at the sea, feeling the sun on my skin, listening to the waves. There was peace here, a peace I didn’t know could exist.
At some point in the afternoon, I turned on my phone briefly. More messages. More calls. Now there were also messages from numbers I didn’t recognize—probably friends of Amanda and Robert recruited to make me feel guilty.
One message in particular caught my attention. It was from Amanda.
“We had to cancel everything. The hotels didn’t give us our money back. Robert is furious. The kids won’t stop asking for you. I hope you’re happy.”
I read the message twice. I expected to feel something—guilt, maybe remorse—but all I felt was a cold clarity.
This wasn’t my responsibility. It never should have been.
I replied for the first time: “I’m sorry you had to change your plans. The kids have parents. It’s time for you to act like them.”
I sent the message and turned off the phone again.
Paula looked at me.
“Everything okay?”
“Everything’s perfect.”
That night, instead of an elaborate dinner, we made something simple—pasta with fresh vegetables, salad, a glass of wine. We ate on the terrace while the sun set on the horizon.
“Happy Christmas Eve,” Paula said, raising her glass.
“Happy Christmas Eve,” I replied.
We toasted, and the sound of the glasses clinking was soft and clear. There were no fireworks. There were no expensive gifts. No stress. Just two friends sharing a quiet dinner by the sea.
“You know what the strangest thing is?” I said after a while.
“What?”
“That I don’t miss anything I left behind. I thought I would feel bad. I thought I would miss the kids, the traditions, all that Christmas craziness. But no, I just feel relief.”
