FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN

CHAPTER 1 ​FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN ​"I’m not signing this, Zayda! This is insane!" Frederick said, throwing the folder onto the coffee table with a thud that vibrated his coffee cup. ​Zayda remained seated on the opposite end of the sofa, her back straight and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. ​She wasn't crying. Those tears had run dry years ago, consumed in silence during nights when the house smelled of solitude and reheated dinners. ​"Don't sign it if you don't want to, Frederick," Zayda replied, her voice eerily calm. "My lawyers have already filed the paperwork. I’ve already signed everything on my end. I only wanted to tell you in person because I owed you, at least, the decency of saying it to your face." ​Frederick let out a bitter laugh, running his hands through his hair. He was still wearing the gray suit he had worn to work that morning—the same suit his mother had helped him pick out last month because, according to his mother-in-law, "Zayda didn't have good taste in quality fabrics." ​"Decency? You call this decency? Waiting for me with divorce papers and destroying ten years of a happy marriage?" Frederick began pacing back and forth across the living room. "Ten years, Zayda! We built my company together, bought this house, got through my mother's illness… And you just decide to throw it all in the trash?" ​"I didn't throw anything in the trash, Frederick! You're the one who let this relationship wither away," Zayda countered, looking up at him. ​"That's not true! I gave you everything. A house in the best neighborhood, unlimited credit cards, trips… Everything you wanted!" ​"I didn't ask you for any of that! I just wanted your presence, Frederick. I wanted to be your priority," she interrupted firmly. "I wanted you to defend me when your family chose to humiliate me at the Sunday dinner table—to at least hold my hand under the tablecloth. But you always took their side, or stayed quiet… without ever apologizing for how they treated me." ​"They're my family, Zayda!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms in desperation. "My mother is an old, sick woman! Was it really that hard to have a little patience with them?" ​"Your mother isn't just physically ill; she's filled with bitterness and manipulation," Zayda said, keeping her tone steady. "And the proof is that every single time we planned a date night, a dinner alone, or an anniversary, she miraculously suffered an 'attack' that required you to run to her house and spend the night there. You left me alone on eight anniversaries, Frederick. Eight. And every year you forgot the date, forgot to buy me a gift, or forgot to even call me." ​"You're being unfair. A son can't turn his back on his own blood." ​"And a husband shouldn't turn his back on his wife," she reminded him, standing up. "She has other children who could take care of her. But none of that matters anymore." ​"…I don't want to argue about this any longer. The divorce is happening. The lawsuit is already filed, and my luggage is in the car." ​Frederick froze. He stared into her eyes, searching for the hesitation he usually found whenever they argued. But the trace of the agreeable woman who always yielded to avoid conflict was gone. He found only a wall of ice. ​"You're leaving?" His voice lost its arrogance, turning clumsy and childish. "You can't just leave like this, Zayda. Let's talk. We can go to couples therapy if that's what you want. I'll go wherever you tell me to go, but don't leave me, Zayda." ​"Did you forget all the times I begged you to go to couples therapy, Frederick? Every time I brought it up, you laughed at me and told me home problems stayed at home." ​Zayda grabbed her purse from the sofa. "The keys to the second car and your supplementary credit cards are on the kitchen counter. I don't want anything that comes from you or your money." ​"What?! You have nothing, Zayda. You need me! I'm not going to accept this!" he yelled, crossing the room to grab her arm. "I don't accept the divorce! I love you, Zayda! We love each other! You can't throw ten years in the trash over a childish tantrum." ​Zayda looked down at Frederick's hand on her arm. She felt the warmth of his skin, but felt absolutely nothing in her heart. No anger, no sadness, only a profound, endless exhaustion. ​"Let go of me, Frederick," she said slowly. ​"Not until you promise me we'll sit down and talk like adults!" ​"If you don't let go of me this second, I will call the police," she said, locking eyes with him so sharply that he instinctively opened his hands and took a step back, stunned by her demeanor. ​"You're crazy… You've completely lost your mind, Zayda," he muttered, shaking his head. "Where are you going to go? Without me, you're nothing, Zayda! You don't have a job, you don't have contacts… Your family is far away. Do you really think the outside world is going to welcome you with open arms?" ​Zayda offered a faint smile. ​"I'd rather be nothing anywhere else than keep being invisible in this house." ​She turned around and walked toward the front door. As she opened it, the cool air hit her face. She felt her lungs fill with a completely different kind of oxygen. ​"You'll come back begging for my forgiveness!" Frederick shouted from the doorway as she walked down the steps toward the waiting taxi. "You're going to realize that no one will ever love you like I do! You'll come back begging me to take you back, Zayda!" ​She didn't even turn around to look at him. She got into the car, closed the door, and gave the driver the address to the airport. ​As the vehicle drove away, leaving behind the imposing residence that had been her home for a decade, Zayda let out a long sigh. For the first time since she decided to leave her husband, a single tear escaped her eye. ​A quiet goodbye slipped from her lips: "Goodbye, Frederick." ​Meanwhile, he still couldn't bring himself to believe what had happened. For weeks, Frederick refused to talk to the lawyers or sign the divorce papers. ​He kept calling Zayda without her ever answering. He was determined not to sign, until his father found out and "suggested" that letting her go was for the best—that perhaps it would help her appreciate her life with him. ​And like an obedient child, Frederick signed. ​Once the signatures were finalized, Zayda's lawyer made the divorce decree official. A week later, Zayda boarded a plane as far away from him and his family as she could possibly get. ​She crossed borders, bought a ticket with no return date, and settled in a coastal city where winter brought no snow, but did bring a freezing wind that forced her to wear thick sweaters. ​She didn't want Frederick's money. Nor the alimony he offered her, nor the properties he placed under her name after the divorce. She sold a few pieces of jewelry inherited from her grandmother and got a modest studio apartment with a single window overlooking a cobbled street. ​Zayda simply wanted to start over and forget the years of hanging her head, swallowing her mother-in-law's hurtful remarks, and losing herself out of love for Frederick. ​Her only wish was to forget and begin again. ​However, Frederick didn't accept defeat so easily. His phone calls began arriving a month after the final separation. At first, they were just messages telling her that he loved her and missed her terribly ​Then came the begging, pleading with her to come back to him. To return to the country. To tell him where she was. To let him come see her, just to talk. ​At all hours, her phone would chime with a notification. She wished he would stop. She had asked him to, but Frederick turned a deaf ear. ​"If you had done this when we were together, Frederick, maybe things would be different. But you got used to my submission and my quiet condescension, so much so that you never really saw me," she said to herself, looking at the messages on her phone. ​Zayda remembered perfectly the last conversation they had, just days before she made the drastic decision to cut off all contact. ​The phone had rung close to midnight. Exhausted after a long day of job hunting, she made the mistake of answering without checking the caller ID. ​"Babe, come home, I swear I'll act differently," Frederick's voice sounded distorted by alcohol and desperation. "I know I messed up with you, I should have paid more attention to you and set my family aside a bit. Give me another chance, please." ​"I gave you ten years of my life, Frederick," she answered, staring at the ceiling of her small room. "I gave you thousands of opportunities that you never saw. You never cared about what I thought or how I felt." ​"Zayda, I know I acted like an i***t with you," he blurted out quickly, as if terrified she would hang up at any second, "but I love you. We still love each other. We went through so much together that this divorce can't just erase those memories." ​"You took care of erasing those memories yourself, Frederick," she told him bitterly. "Every time your mother called and asked you to go over alone, you left me home alone. And you wouldn't come back until the next day. If I called you out on it, you got angry with me, calling me selfish and inconsiderate." ​"Zayda, sweetheart…" ​"Don't call me that!" she interrupted, gripping the phone tightly. ​"Zayda, my mother is a sick woman…" ​"For years, that was your excuse, and I accepted it," she said, feeling her stomach churn with anger, "until I realized your mother was using her illness as a tool of manipulation. Every time you and I had plans, she miraculously felt sick." ​"How can you say that? That's so cruel of you…" Frederick defended himself, indignant. ​"That's precisely what tore us apart. You refused to see what everyone else saw. Your family never accepted me as your wife; they didn't want me. I was never good enough for them because I didn't come from their social circle. Now they have what they wanted…" ​"Zayda, you're wrong, my family always loved you…" ​"You know what? I don't want to talk about this anymore, Frederick," she cut him off before he could keep lying to himself. "We are separated. The papers are signed. Now you can move on with whoever you want… Don't call me again, Frederick." ​"I love you," he insisted, his voice cracking. "And I will never accept us being apart. I don't want to be with another woman either—only with you, Zayda. In the ten years we were together, I was always faithful to you. Think about it, Zayda. We can try again. Start from scratch in another city if you want." ​For a split second, the fragility in Frederick's voice hit a soft spot in Zayda's heart. It was a treacherous instinct—or perhaps just the habit of comforting him whenever he felt cornered or worried.