All The Ways You Taught Me to Love

CHAPTER 6 – REBIRTH OF MARA

For the first time in days, Mara woke up before Gabriel.

Not because she slept well — she barely did — but because pain sharpens the senses in ways sleep cannot touch. Her body was awake before her mind, aware of every ache, very breath, every memory she was trying so desperately to shove into the dark.

The sun filtered through the curtains gently, casting soft, golden lines across the bed — lines that stopped awkwardly before reaching her side, as if even the light knew there was distance between them now. The room felt too quiet. Too still. The kind of stillness that follows a storm rather than peace. It felt wrong. The world shouldn’t be this soft after everything she saw.

She lay there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling as if she were afraid to move. Her pillow was damp from tears she didn’t remember shedding. Her throat felt raw, like she had swallowed the whole night without rest.

She turned her head slightly. Gabriel slept soundly beside her, turned away – his back curved comfortably beneath the blanket, breathing slow and even, completely untouched by the destruction he had caused. The same way he turned away in the hotel room — only then, he was turning toward someone else.

His hair was slightly messy, his shoulder rising and falling quietly, his hand resting on the mattress as if reaching for someone he had already betrayed with that same hand.

A familiar sight. A familiar shape. But everything in her chest tightened at the thought that he had slept peacefully while she spent the night breaking into smaller and smaller pieces.

Mara sat up slowly, careful not to wake him. Her chest still hurt, but something inside her had shifted. Not healed. Not yet. But awakened. She wrapped her arms around herself, not from the cold but from the instinct to keep her insides from spilling out.

Then, she walked to the bathroom. Stared at herself in the mirror. The grief in her eyes had not disappeared, but beneath the grief… something glowed faintly. Resolve. For the first time, she whispered: “I don’t deserve this version of life.” Her reflection didn’t argue.

A new routine for a new woman instead of breaking down again, Mara showered, dressed, and left the house early. She couldn’t stay within those walls. Not while the air still smelled like betrayal. She walked to a nearby bookstore — the kind with wooden shelves, soft lighting, and a quiet interior that felt almost sacred. She wandered without direction until her fingers brushed a book about learning French.

She paused.

Months ago, she had mentioned to Gabriel that she wanted to learn another language. He kissed her forehead and said, “What do you need it for? We’re just here anyway.”

The comment never bothered her then.

Now? It felt like a cage disguised as affection.

She picked up the French book.

Then a Korean phrasebook.

Then “Spanish for Travelers.”

A saleswoman approached with a polite smile. “Ma’am, do you like learning languages?”

Mara exhaled softly. “Starting today,” she said, “Yes.” The words trembled at the edges, not from fear but from the weight of finally choosing herself. It felt like releasing a breath she’d been holding for years — small, shaky… but real. Her shoulders eased, just a little, like her body was learning what freedom felt like.

After the bookstore, she entered a salon she had never visited before — classy, quiet, expensive. The receptionist looked up. “Good morning, ma’am. Haircut?”

Mara rested her hand on her chest, steadying herself. “No,” she said. “Transformation.” Her fingers pressed lightly against her heartbeat, as if reminding herself it was still hers — steady, growing, choosing a new rhythm that no one else could control. Her eyes lifted, clear and certain, like someone finally stepping into her own skin.

The stylist smiled knowingly. Women don’t use that word unless something inside them is shifting. She cut her hair shoulder-length, with soft waves framing her face. Then applied light makeup — subtle but striking.

When Mara looked at her reflection, she didn’t gasp dramatically. She didn’t cry. She simply stared. For the first time in a long time, she saw a woman who looked like she could survive anything.

The stylist touched her shoulder gently. “Ma’am… you look powerful.”

Mara smiled faintly. “I want to be.”

Back at the office, Sofia nearly dropped her water bottle. “Mara! Whoa! Whoa! What’s that? New aura?!”

Mara chuckled softly. “Needed a change.”

“You look amazing. Like… high-budget K-drama bida amazing.” , Sofia commented in awe, her eyes widening as she took a small step back to fully admire the transformation.

Mara smirked. “Then I hope life gives me K-drama-level blessings soon.” She straightened the files on her desk with a playful little flourish, as if sealing her declaration with a gesture.

Sofia narrowed her eyes playfully. “Is Gabriel behaving? Or do I need to… talk to him myself?”

Mara’s heart tightened… but she breathed through it. “He’s… Gabriel,” she answered simply. She tried to fake a smile, but it came out thin, the kind that disappears before it even reaches the eyes.

Sofia stared at her a moment too long, then said quietly, “If you need anything… even just someone to sit in silence, call me, ‘kay?” She reached out and lightly tapped Mara’s arm, a small touch meant to steady her.

Mara felt warmth spread through her chest. “Thank you.” And she meant it.

That night, while Gabriel pretended to be busy on his phone, Mara sat at the dining table with her new books. She opened the French one first.

“Bonjour. (Good morning.) Je suis forte. (I am strong.)” She whispered the phrase under her breath. The more she repeated it, the more she believed it.

Next came Korean. “괜찮아요.”(Gwaenchanayo — I’m okay.) Her voice trembled slightly at first. Then steadied. Then grew firm. Finally, Spanish. “Yo merezco algo mejor.” (I deserve something better.)

She didn’t look at Gabriel as she whispered it. But her heart felt something shift. Healing wasn’t instant. Healing was learning new words to describe the version of herself she wanted to become.

Later that night, she stood at the balcony, watching lights glimmer from nearby buildings. She didn’t hear Gabriel approach until he was beside her. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, leaning on the rail.

“I’ve been thinking,” she replied.

“About what?” Gabriel asked, brows pulling together as he paused mid-step.

She turned to him — not with anger, not with accusation, but with a calm he couldn’t interpret. “My life,” she said softly. “What I want. Who I want to be.”

Gabriel blinked. “What’s this? Midlife crisis? You’re not even thirty.” He gave a half-laugh as he circled her once, hands slipping into his pockets.

“Maybe heartbreak doesn’t check birth certificates,” she murmured under her breath.

He frowned. “What?” His brows drew together, confusion flickering across his face before he could hide it.

“Nothing.” She smiled — a small, elegant smile that made Gabriel’s chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t explain.

Something about Mara felt different. Stronger. Quieter. Less reachable. There was a calm around her now, the kind that didn’t ask for permission or approval. Like she had pulled some part of herself back — some part she no longer planned to hand out so easily.

Gabriel placed a hand on her shoulder. “You know you can talk to me, right?” His face softened, worry tugging gently at the corners of his eyes as he searched her expression.

Mara looked at his hand. Looked at his face. And said nothing. Because talking is for people who still believe listening exists. She simply let the silence stretch between them, a quiet wall he couldn’t read and she no longer cared to explain.

Then she walked back inside with a grace that unsettled him. Gabriel stared after her. And for the first time… he felt afraid. He didn’t know of what, exactly. But something told him Mara was slipping away from him. And he didn’t understand that what she was becoming was someone he could no longer hurt.

That night, Mara opened a journal. A blank one. She wrote a single line at the top of the first page:

“This is the version of me you cannot break.”

Below it, she wrote:

• Learn French

• Learn Korean

• Learn Spanish

• Rebuild myself

• Keep my dignity

• Save my heart

• Do not let pain define me

Then she closed the journal gently, as if sealing the first chapter of a new life. She let her palm rest on the cover for a moment, feeling her heartbeat steady under it. A slow breath left her chest, the kind that carries months of hurt with it. And she whispered to herself: “I won’t stay small to make anyone comfortable anymore.” Not even her husband. Maybe especially not her husband.