We Shouldn’t Do This Again

CHAPTER 1

THE WEDDING INVITATION

Barbara

The atmosphere in London changes radically after the rain. It’s as if the whole city is being cleansed, as if the weight of the day is washed away with every drop soaking the streets.

When I get out of the car and close the door, I take a deep breath and let the cool afternoon air clear my head and sharpen my senses.

We had a grueling practice today. It was a good day for the team, and we got one of our star players back.

Seeing her return to the field and enjoy the game again reminds me why I chose this life.

Why, despite everything, I said yes and agreed to work here.

“I swear, if she runs like that again on Saturday, I’m going to start thinking we signed an Olympic athlete instead of a forward,” Ingrid says beside me as she slings her gym bag over her shoulder.

Her voice sounds cheerful, and it’s no wonder.

She’s excited. We only have a few weeks left before the season ends, and she can barely contain that contagious smile as we walk toward the front door.

We’ve been together for a few months now, and every time I look at her, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, with the right person, living the most incredible moment of my professional career.

“Irina has always been a machine on the field,” I reply, though I know full well I’m only saying it to tease her a little and watch her frown. “She’s just gotten back into the shape she was in before the injury—that’s all.”

“Her form?” Ingrid turns to me with a smile lighting up her eyes. “Three weeks ago, she couldn’t finish her sprints without running out of breath and gasping like she’d run a whole marathon.”

“Three weeks with us,” I point out, raising an eyebrow knowingly. “Don’t forget that little detail. That changes everything.”

“You’re right, we’ve had a lot to do with her recovery, yes.”

Ingrid and I became coworkers after I accepted a position as a physical therapist on West Ham Women’s medical staff and left Spain. It was sudden and necessary, and she became my first connection—and also my support—during those first few months.

I walk over to the mailbox beside the door and pull out the small pile of envelopes that arrived throughout the day: bills, junk mail, a few letters from the club… the usual for any Monday afternoon.

We walk into the house, and the change in temperature from outside makes my muscles relax.

I set my keys on the small console table in the entryway and slowly stretch my neck, feeling the accumulated fatigue at the base of it.

These past few weeks, the atmosphere has been tense, and although I love this job, the truth is my body is already asking for a break.

Ingrid walks past me, takes off her jacket, and casually drapes it over the back of a chair.

“Despite everything, you can’t deny that I was unstoppable today,” she insists, pulling her blonde hair into a high ponytail. “That last sprint… I swear I pictured the rival coach’s face and everything.”

“He’s going to pass out, you’ll see,” I say, unable to stop a mocking laugh from escaping me.

“We’ll have to put the medical team on alert,” she remarks ironically, winking at me. “Just in case he faints and there’s no way to resume the game.”

I set the mail down on the living room table and drop the backpack slung over my shoulder beside the sofa.

The sound of the leather hitting the wooden floor makes me realize that, finally, the day is over and now it’s just the two of us left in this refuge we’ve built together ever since I decided Ingrid was exactly what I needed to give meaning to a life that was slowly beginning to take shape.

“You know what we need today?” she asks from the kitchen while opening the fridge. “A pizza and one of those movies that makes you laugh nonstop.”

“A romantic comedy?” I ask curiously.

“Yeah, one of those where you know what’s going to happen from the third minute on, and yet you still can’t stop watching it,” she explains playfully.

“I thought you preferred action movies, with chases and explosions everywhere,” I comment as I slowly take off my jacket.

“It depends,” Ingrid replies, poking her head out of the kitchen with a smile curving her lips.

“If the week goes well, I feel like watching something light that lets me zone out without thinking. If it goes badly and we lose the game, I need explosions to blow off all the anger I’m holding inside. ”

I let out a laugh.

“Then we’ll look for a comedy. I’m sure we’ll find something in that endless catalog.”

I smile as I absentmindedly start sorting through the envelopes. My fingers move almost instinctively through bills and flyers until Ingrid appears behind me with a bottle of water in her hand and wraps her free arm around my waist.

“Anything interesting?”

“I highly doubt it, honestly,” I reply with a shrug.

She plants a kiss on my shoulder, leans against the back of the chair, and snatches the pile from my hands to look through it herself.

I watch her out of the corner of my eye and can’t help thinking about how easy everything feels with her, how her presence balances my days even when work becomes too intense and the decisions too complicated.

I suppose that’s why we connected so well from the start.

Suddenly, she picks up one of the envelopes and studies it closely.

“Wait,” she says, furrowing her brow slightly. “A wedding invitation?”

I look up at her, intrigued.

“What?”

She hands me the envelope with curiosity and a raised eyebrow.

“It looks like one, yes. Look at the envelope—it’s too elegant to be anything else.”

I hold it between my fingers. The paper is thicker than the rest of the mail, with a simple but carefully designed finish, and my name is written neatly across one side.

I open it slowly, feeling the curiosity growing inside me, and as soon as I read the first few lines, something inside me comes to a halt.

“Pablo?” I read to myself, and a smile crosses my lips.

“Wow,” I murmur, almost to myself. “I honestly didn’t think he’d get married again.”

Ingrid watches me with interest, still leaning against the table.

“Who’s Pablo?”

I look up at her and answer casually.

“Lidia’s father. My ex’s father,” I explain without going into too much detail.

She and I haven’t talked much about Lidia, about what happened, about how everything fell apart.

I preferred to keep that part of myself locked away in a trunk.

It’s been two years now, and even so, it all still feels too recent.

Ingrid leans a little closer to the table and nods.

“Oh, I see.”

Her reaction is calm, with no questions or awkward silences, and that’s another thing I’ve always appreciated about her: she doesn’t feel the need to pry where it’s unnecessary.

She respects the private corners each of us keeps hidden away.

Although I’m aware that everything I carry with me could jeopardize the relationship we have.

I look at the invitation more closely again.

The image of the sunset on a tropical beach takes up almost the entire card; the water looks so clear that for a moment I can almost imagine the sound of the waves breaking against the white sand, the heat of the sun on my skin, and the salty scent wrapping around everything.

“The Maldives…”

“It’s a beautiful place for a wedding, that’s for sure,” Ingrid remarks, reading over my shoulder with a soft smile. “Paradise turned into a postcard.”

“Yes, it is,” I reply, unable to stop myself from remembering that Lidia and I met there. It was a moment that marked a turning point in my life, the beginning of a story that ended in the worst possible way.

“And it’s all your fault,” a little voice in my head reminds me.

I carefully set the invitation back down on the table, feeling a slight ache in my chest.

“You know what I told you about my family. Pablo was like a father to me,” I finally say thoughtfully. “He was always there when I needed him.”

“Was?” Ingrid asks curiously.

“He still is, I suppose,” I reply with a faint smile. “Time doesn’t change that. Since I came to London, we’ve called each other a few times and exchanged messages. But we haven’t exactly stayed very close.”

Ingrid takes a small sip from her water bottle and studies me carefully.

“It seems like he thinks about you a lot, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” I say honestly. “The truth is, I’m really happy to know he’s found another woman to be happy with.”

I stare at the invitation, and for a few seconds, I feel something in my chest, like when you hear a song on the radio and instantly know it affects you because it brings back memories you thought were buried away.

Ingrid notices, and her hand brushes against mine for a moment.

“Do you feel like going?” she asks softly. “We could check the dates, see if they work with the schedule. I don’t know.”

I look at her for a moment, and the idea of spending a few weeks in the Maldives begins to take shape in my mind. Then I think about work, about the matches ahead of us, about the season that’s about to end, and about other things—about us, about the balance we’ve built together.

“I don’t know,” I reply honestly with a shrug. “I guess I’d need some time to think it over.”

She nods without pushing the issue, respecting my pace as always, and stands in front of me with a mischievous smile lighting up her whole face.

“Well,” she says, resting her hands on my shoulders. “How about we take a quick shower and make something to eat? I’m starving, and my stomach’s already growling.”

I look at her and can’t help laughing wholeheartedly.

“I haven’t heard it yet…” I add playfully, wrapping my arms around her waist and setting the wedding topic aside to focus solely on her.

“There’s not much time left,” she corrects me teasingly. “If I don’t eat soon, I’ll start making bad decisions, and you’ll be the first to suffer the consequences.”

“What do you mean? Come on, explain,” I ask, playing along.

“Like… picking one of those dramatic movies that makes you question your entire life,” she replies with a laugh.

“That would be a complete disaster,” I admit, pretending to be horrified.

Ingrid steps a little closer and wraps her arms around my neck naturally, as if that’s exactly where they belong. Her perfume, soft and clean, surrounds me for a second and makes me close my eyes briefly, enjoying the feeling of having her so close.

“Then you’d better feed me well,” she whispers with a smile brushing against my lips. “Because I’m capable of anything when I’m hungry.”

“I know something you really like…”

“What are you waiting for?” she replies before kissing me.

The kiss is brief, warm, familiar—one of those kisses that becomes part of everyday life and still feels like home and peace. Her lips find mine, and for a moment the world shrinks down to just the two of us, the touch of her skin, and the shared rhythm of our hearts.

When she pulls away, she looks at me with shining eyes.

“Come on, let’s go,” she says, gently tugging my hand toward the hallway. “I promise to behave and pick a movie that’s actually worth watching.”

I follow her with a small smile, leaving the mail on the living room table. The wedding invitation remains there among the bills, and for a moment, before turning off the living room light, my gaze falls on it one last time.

“Maldives,” I repeat to myself.

Then Ingrid pulls me along, and the bathroom door closes behind us. The world stays outside, with its invitations and sudden surprises, while we sink into that bubble created by the steam from the hot water, the laughter, and the certainty that no matter what happens, we have each other.