CHAPTER 42
LOVE AND FORGIVENESS
Lidia
A few days later
The sound of the sea drifts in through the open windows of Miriam’s bungalow.
No matter how many days I’ve been here, Ukulhas continues to surprise me with its ability to envelop everything in softness and lightness, as if the very air around us had conspired with fate to grant me the peace I’ve been craving for days.
The scent of salt mingles with the sweet fragrance of the white flowers that make up her bridal bouquet and with that tropical perfume Miriam wears almost every day.
I smile at the thought as I hold between my fingers the delicate pearl headpiece she’ll wear in her hair.
It’s beautiful, elegant, and fits her style perfectly.
Tiny pearlescent flowers strung together by fine silver threads that look like dewdrops suspended in the air, so delicate that I’m almost afraid to break them.
As beautiful as it is simple. So Miriam.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, looking at me through the mirror with that playful tone that manages to draw a smile from me, even though inside I’m still a mess. “You look like a French stylist deciding whether I’m worthy of wearing such a work of art in my hair.”
I let out a brief laugh, the kind that just slips out on its own, even though the knot I’ve been carrying in my chest for days hasn’t quite loosened.
“It’s just that you’re making it really hard for me to keep my composure,” I reply as I step up behind her to adjust the headpiece on the low bun she styled so carefully. “After what happened, I’m feeling really sensitive; today I’m going to be a walking drama.”
Miriam laughs.
“You inherited that from your father, sweetheart.”
“My dad cries even at cologne commercials, Miriam. Don’t exaggerate.”
“Your father is so sensitive he’s capable of crying because he lost his favorite shirt,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh for real. This moment loosens the knot I’ve been carrying in my heart for days and lets me breathe a little easier. “When he wants to, he’s a little teddy bear.”
“I totally believe that,” I admit, still smiling.
Miriam looks at me again, and there’s tenderness in her smile, but also understanding and concern. Ever since what happened with Barbara, she and my father have been keeping a close eye on me. I know things haven’t been easy; I can see it in her eyes through the mirror’s reflection.
“How are you, sweetie?” she finally asks, with that sweetness that never fails.
I’ve been dodging that question for days, ever since that night at the restaurant when my world came crashing down.
I look away toward the open window. Outside, the afternoon sun generously bathes the resort’s garden.
Everything is ready for the wedding. I visited the area a few hours ago.
The chairs are lined up facing the sea, the sheer fabrics have created a beautiful space, and the cream- and pale pink-colored flowers adorn every corner with a delicacy that seems straight out of a dream.
It’s beautiful. Everything is.
My father is marrying today the woman who has brought joy back into his life in such a pure, serene way that sometimes just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. I should be happy. I am, truly. But I also feel a huge hole in my chest, a void I can’t seem to fill no matter how hard I try.
“I’m fine,” I lie with a smile I’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror more times than I care to admit. “Today, I’m not going to let anything ruin my day. There will be time to sort through all these emotions when I get home and back to my usual routine.”
Miriam raises an eyebrow skeptically yet affectionately.
“That sounded like, ‘If anyone asks you about Barbara, you’ll fall apart.’”
“Miriam…”
“No, sweetie,” she interrupts me gently. She turns on her stool to face me. “Don’t give me that ‘I’ve got everything under control’ look because I know you better than you think, and I know exactly when you’re about to break inside.”
And then, I break down a little. Just enough to make my heart ache. I sit on the edge of the bed, facing her, and look down at my hands. I clasp them together, let them go, clasp them again, searching in that repetitive gesture for a bit of calm that never quite comes.
“I’ll get better with time,” I say after a few seconds, my voice low and restrained. “I just have to accept that there are things that, no matter how much you want them, don’t work out.”
Miriam leans toward me and places a warm, firm hand on my knee.
“Last night I was with Barbara and…”
I jerk my head up. My heart lurches so violently in my chest that I even get angry at myself. Just hearing her name is enough to throw everything inside me into turmoil. And that scares me terribly.
Miriam holds my gaze with that infinite patience she’s always had with me.
She doesn’t need to add anything else. She doesn’t need to tell me exactly what they talked about, or how she was, or if she cried, or if she asked about me. Because the truth just spills from my lips on its own.
“I know,” I whisper, and my voice trembles like a leaf in the wind. “I miss her too.”
As soon as I say it, I feel the lump rise from my chest to my throat like a wave ready to drown me. I try to swallow, but I can’t. Tears fill my eyes instantly.
Miriam says nothing. She just waits, and that makes me crumble a little more, as if her silence had the power to open all the doors I’ve shut since that night.
“It’s ridiculous. After everything that’s happened, after how much she hurt me, after how she lied to me…
I still miss her. I still wake up in the middle of the night needing her company, wondering if she’s awake or not, if she’s had dinner.
I still avoid walking past her bungalow because I know that if I see her, I’ll want to run to her like an idiot. ”
Tears roll down my cheeks. I wipe one away angrily, as if that gesture could also erase the feeling that caused it.
“And it makes me angry to be this way because I’ve fought so hard to be halfway okay, only for all this love to break me again just like it did before.”
Miriam gets up slowly, kneels in front of me, and takes my hands tenderly. Her fingers are warm, firm, confident.
“You’re not breaking because of love,” she tells me calmly. “You’re facing your fear, Lidia. And that’s very different.”
I look at her, my vision blurred by tears, my eyes swollen, and my heart racing.
“And isn’t it the same thing?”
She shakes her head gently, without looking away.
“No. Breaking is stopping yourself from feeling. It’s becoming cold, closed off, untouchable. And you, Lidia, still feel so much love for Barbara that it hurts your very soul. That doesn’t make you weak. That makes you brave, even if you don’t believe it right now.”
I bite my lower lip to keep from crying even harder, but it’s no use. The tears keep flowing.
“I’m in love with her,” I finally confess, and the words come out trembling, raw, and inevitable.
“I love her so much. More than I’d like to, more than is good for me right now.
And I’m afraid to trust again and have everything fall apart again in a few months.
I’m afraid to build something with her again and have it end just as badly.
I’m afraid to go through another loss, Miriam. I don’t know if I could handle it.”
My voice breaks at the end, as if the words had drained the last of my strength.
She looks at me with those eyes that always seem to know more about life than I do. Then she cups my cheeks with both hands. It’s such a maternal gesture, so full of tenderness, that something inside me gradually loosens, as if her palms could hold my broken pieces together too.
“Love is disgusting,” she says suddenly, with a naturalness that catches me off guard.
I look at her in surprise, crying and laughing at the same time.
“Excuse me?”
“I said love is disgusting. It’s scary, it turns you upside down, it forces you to face your mistakes head-on, and it has a nasty habit of showing up when it’s least convenient, when you’ve already made plans, when you think you’re safe.”
I burst out laughing through my tears.
“That sounds like you’ve been through it too…”
“And who hasn’t?” she replies, laughing too.
“We’ve all suffered for love. We’ve all wished we’d never fall in love again.
But look at me now,” she says with a smile.
“Your father came into my life when I had already decided I would never share my days with anyone again. I was at peace, I had my routine, my quirks, my orderly world… and suddenly that clumsy, sensitive man appeared, and I couldn’t resist.”
Her face lights up when she talks about him, and there’s nothing more beautiful than seeing someone in love.
“And weren’t you afraid?” I ask, my voice still shaky.
“Very much so,” she nods without hesitation. “But I understood that fear doesn’t disappear with time. It doesn’t fade by running away from it. It only shrinks when you decide to live in spite of it, when you choose to move forward, even if your legs are shaking.”
I lower my gaze to our clasped hands. I think of Barbara.
Of her gaze that night at the restaurant after Ingrid left, of how she spoke to me and told me the whole truth despite everything.
Of the moments we’ve spent together these past weeks.
Of that guilt and sadness I saw in her eyes.
I think of myself. Of how, despite all the pain, I haven’t stopped searching for her in every corner of the island.
Of how I’ve felt her absence, as if an essential part of me had fallen asleep in some corner of her bungalow.
I don’t know why, but in that moment I remember something she once told me, years ago, on a rainy night in Valencia, when we still believed that love was invincible and that nothing could separate us: “You are my home.” At the time, it seemed like an exaggerated phrase to me.
Now I understand the real weight it carried.
Because the truth is, no matter how hard I’ve tried to build a life away from her, I’ve never felt completely at home anywhere else but in her arms.
Miriam strokes my cheek with her thumb, tenderly wiping away a tear that’s still rolling down.
“You don’t have to decide everything today,” she tells me softly.
“Today is my wedding, yes, but it’s also a day to remember that love doesn’t always arrive clean, tidy, and perfect.
Sometimes it arrives broken, late, full of mistakes and open wounds.
But it’s worth fighting for if it’s real, if you feel that person is still your refuge no matter how complicated the path may be. ”
I look at her and my lips tremble.
“What if she hurts me again?”
Miriam sighs softly, without taking her hands off my face.
“Then it will hurt. Of course it will hurt, sweetheart. But at least you won’t spend the rest of your days wondering what would have happened if you’d been brave one more time.”
That. That cuts right through me like a ray of light bursting into a dark room.
Because for years I’ve been brave about everything except this.
I’ve rebuilt my life after the divorce. I’ve dated other women.
I’ve let my relationship with Alex change.
I’ve survived the sadness, the disappointment, the nights when I thought I wouldn’t be able to get up.
I’ve held myself together when I thought I couldn’t.
But loving Barbara is still what makes me feel most vulnerable. And also the most real thing I feel.
I take a deep breath, trying to pull myself together. I wipe my tears with my hands and shake my head, half-laughing at myself.
“Thank you for all of this…”
Miriam smiles, satisfied, with that look of someone who knows she’s hit the nail on the head.
“Don’t thank me. You know I’m here for whatever you need. Even if you don’t ask.”
“That happens a lot—you should know that by now.”
Miriam looks at me in the mirror, and her expression softens even more.
“You know,” she says, “whatever happens with Barbara, there’s one thing you’ve already done right.”
“What’s that?”
“Not closing yourself off completely. Continuing to believe in love, even with fear and doubts. That’s already a huge step, sweetheart.”
I stand still for a moment, taking in her words. Maybe she’s right. Maybe loving isn’t about not being afraid, but about accepting that fear can’t decide for you, that you can walk alongside it without letting it paralyze you.
I hug her then. Tightly. With the need of someone who has found, in the midst of emotional chaos, a safe place to rest for a few minutes. She hugs me back like a mother, like a friend, like that family member who arrives late but who, once they arrive, stays.
“And now dry those tears, because your father is going to cry enough when he sees me walk in that you don’t need to cry too.”
I step back, laughing, feeling lighter now.
“I saw him this morning, and he was a bundle of nerves. I caught him practicing in front of the mirror how to say his vows without bursting into tears like a child.”
Miriam puts a hand to her chest, visibly moved.
“Oh, your father… he really is the man of my life. I don’t know what I did to deserve him.”
“I know. And he knows it too.”
She looks at me with immense tenderness, the kind that wraps around you warmly.
“And not a day goes by that I don’t remind myself how lucky I am to have him. To have you too, Lidia. You’re part of this, of our story.”
That breaks me all over again, but this time in a beautiful, sweet, hopeful way.
I hug her again. Slower this time, more consciously.
Because maybe that’s what all this is about: understanding that love isn’t always perfect, but it can be a refuge, it can be a home, even if it’s rebuilt with pieces that were once broken.
Forgiving isn’t forgetting. Or justifying.
Or pretending nothing hurt. Forgiving is deciding that pain won’t have the last word.
That fear won’t write the ending of the story.
That, even though loving can sometimes make you dizzy and take your breath away, it’s still the only place worth returning to again and again.
And I, for the first time in a long time, feel that maybe I still have time to go home. To go back to her. To go back to us once more.