I Want a Divorce

3. New Message

"A coffee?" was the only thing I could think of; she seemed affected, just as much as, or perhaps even more than, I was; I didn't want to leave her like that, it felt like I was abandoning myself. However, I had to go back home for my phone since Ivo said he would return so we could have lunch together, and I held onto a slight hope for that, even though I had told myself to lower my expectations to avoid getting hurt once again, it was common for my husband not to keep his promises.

—Forgive me —Deniska remarked before I could say anything—, I'm sure you have many more things to do, don't worry.

—Honestly, I needed to walk home with the groceries and have a coffee or take a shower —I replied.

—You don't have to walk —she pointed out, getting a little closer to me—, I'll take you, you can trust me —That sounded more like a plea from her. The beautiful woman averted her gaze until she found the diaper bag, rummaged inside, then took out a small pacifier and put it in her child's mouth—. His name is Nikola. His father says he's not his because he doesn't look like him —she sniffled and tucked her hair behind her ear—. I know you think I'm pathetic, and I don't blame you, it's the same thing I think of myself, but the truth is, I think I need to tell someone, I have no friends, no family, and I don't want to do something stupid.

Her words were so full of emotion that I nodded, I would go with that woman for a coffee, not just for her, but also for me. I only asked her to let me finish the list. There really wasn't much left, one or two bottles of wine, feminine towels, and pasta were the items that would complete my list. She did the same, taking what she needed from the shelves, and we went to the checkout to pay.

I really never did things like that, and I wondered if it was okay, if I could really trust her or if she just gave me that impression. I mean, she would take me home, I would get in her car, and I only knew her name was Deniska, and to be honest, I was regretting saying yes.

I lined up at the checkout, waiting for the man in front of me not to take long to pay. Deniska was in the adjacent line and was spreading her purchases on the conveyor belt to be charged. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye and then smiled with immense tenderness, an infinite tenderness on her face, as if resigned to this scenario, carrying her child, alone, without really caring, because she loved Nikola.

She paid first and waited for me to do the same, only to approach me with a certain uncertainty in her eyes. Her little one was practically asleep now, and she had to juggle her purchases and the baby. I knew what she was thinking, even before she told me, she looked somewhat overwhelmed.

—Don't worry, if you want, we can leave that coffee for later —I pointed out seeing her troubled—. It's okay, don't worry, I know what's going on, but come on, I'll help you load the things, I'll take a taxi.

—Sorry —she apologized once more—, the truth is, I don't usually do this kind of thing, it's just that —She bit her lip a little to keep the words she had stuck from coming out, shook her head to finish—… I'm sorry for everything.

She turned around after I nodded. She left the supermarket pushing her shopping cart, with her son in her arms wrapped in a large blanket, walking quickly to avoid getting too wet from the pouring rain. I left moments later to wait for a taxi to stop at the entrance to take me back home. From a distance, I watched Deniska struggle to find her car keys and then put her son in the back seat. She loaded her grocery bags and then got into her luxurious car.

The taxi parked in front of me, and the driver got out to help me load the things I had bought. In less than three minutes, we were ready to leave. I looked around for Deniska's car, but it was no longer in the parking spot where I had seen it earlier.

—Regina! —Deniska's voice cut through the sound of raindrops and the taxi's engine. I saw her running towards me, getting out of her car parked behind the taxi—, I'll give you my number, after all, we owe each other a coffee. Do you have something to write on?

—No, I forgot my cell phone. But… —I turned my head to find the driver inside the car— Do you have a pen I could borrow, sir, please? —The driver shook his head, so I started searching my pockets for something to write with.

—Give me your hand, —she said, pulling out a lipstick from her bag and writing her phone number—, here it is. Call me, please.

Deniska didn't wait for a response; she just turned around to quickly get into her vehicle, and I got into the taxi. I watched her through the window as she drove in the opposite direction from where I was headed. I felt a bit strange, but at least I wasn't as engulfed in my misery as before; this had been a welcome distraction.

I got out of the car after paying, carrying the bags into my house without caring that I got wet. I would soon take a hot bath to rid myself of the cold, but first, I would organize the things in the pantry and take off my wet coat to avoid dripping all over the house. I left the coat in the laundry room along with the boots, then started filling the washing machine, doing ten more tasks than I had planned, just like I had seen my mother do throughout my childhood.

She, my mom, poured her heart into each of her four children, including me. She would get up before the sun rose, even if she hadn't slept well, even if she hadn't slept at all; she cooked, washed, ironed, and raised her children alone, even though my dad was still married to her at that time, but his responsibility simply ended with handing over the money each week to my mom, or maybe scolding us when my mom thought it was necessary. I remember perfectly the countless times my mom asked him to talk to me or any of us, and his usual response was: “Listen to your mom.”

I remember my mother when she was just starting her 20s. I remember her beauty, and how over time, she withered away. Her skin wrinkled, her hair turned white, and her demeanor became arrogant, rigid, and defensive. I remember hearing her cry while loading the washing machine, after going out shopping in the rain, just like I did today.

I sighed and walked naked around my house until I reached my room to grab my bathrobe. The red lipstick Deniska had written on my forearm stood out, as if asking me not to forget to write down the number somewhere else. I grabbed my cell phone to save it and sent her a w******p message so she would have mine too while I put on a bathrobe.

I took the opportunity to ask Ivo how things were going, so I would know how much time I had to get ready and do a few other things. Of course, he didn't reply, he just left me on 'read', but that was normal. In recent years, he only sent me work-related things, just to keep tabs on them, or asked about the kids, and occasionally asked if there was food at home or if I could bring him some clothes or a forgotten document to work.

I asked the smart assistant to play “No pide tanto, idiota” by Maldita Nerea, and I set the hot water running to fill the bathtub while I did some other household chores and waited for my husband's response. I returned to the kitchen to organize the groceries, making the most of my time.

The device's robotic voice notified me of an incoming message, and I asked it to read it.

—Opening message from Ivo —the voice said emotionlessly, then paused for a few seconds—… I'll leave in about an hour and a half. I'll take you to your favorite spot.

—Alexa, reply to the message —I ordered—, write: Sure, I'll be waiting. Send it and then add a smiley face emoji —I requested while placing things on the pantry shelves and setting aside those that would go to my room.

—The message has been sent and received successfully, but you haven't received a reply —"Great, now a robot is making me feel miserable," I thought, suppressing a sigh—, Do you want me to keep playing this song? Because I can suggest a playlist of songs related to complicated relationships.

—Yes, play the suggested songs, thank you, Alexa. Please also set a reminder for a 10 pm call with my mom —I wanted to talk to my kids, but in the morning when I tried, they were having breakfast at a buffet, so I didn't bother them, I just made sure they were okay and ended the video call.

—Understood. Do you need anything else? —The smart assistant inquired about my requests.

—Not at the moment —I finished.

I went back to the bathroom to shower in peace, added some bubbles, touched the water, got ready to enjoy a few minutes to myself with a book and a glass of wine. I took off the bathrobe and left it nearby for when I got out, I approached the mirror, just to reach my exfoliant, but the reflection demanded my attention.

My body had changed. I was almost two years away from turning 40. My stomach sagged a bit, despite the effort of maintaining a diet of practically only vegetables for several years; the stretch marks on my breasts and belly, where I carried my children, were visible; my skin was aging, despite my efforts to keep it smooth, time was leaving its mark, speaking to me loud and clear; some small spots were starting to appear and just like the wrinkles, the gray hairs were starting to take over my hair.

Life was slipping away from me. I don't know when I became so overshadowed; in my head, I still saw myself... differently, and at that moment, my image in the mirror reminded me of my mistake. My stomach and heart suddenly felt struck by desperation and anguish, the air felt heavy, making it hard to breathe, causing me to avert my gaze, only to focus on the skin of my legs, with some cellulite and flabbiness.

The water in the tub beckoned me. Unconsciously, I couldn't stay lost in my thoughts, I was hyper-aware of my surroundings, because, after all, it was my responsibility to ensure everything went smoothly, as my mother had taught me by example and my father had mentioned on more than one occasion; it was my duty to make the house a home, to make my marriage beautiful, and to ensure my children were successful.

As I got into the tub, I was left with the feeling that maybe it was time to think about saving up for botox or that I needed to do something else to not look so worn out, so bland and sad. Maybe that's why my husband no longer looked at me. And it's that, unlike me, he had become much more handsome over time, the gray hair that appeared made him look much more mature; for me, on the other hand, it made me look old.

What was supposed to be a relaxing bath turned into a meticulous inspection of every part of me, as I searched to see the possible improvements my body could have. I had never dyed my hair, but maybe it was time to start, or perhaps I needed to go to a spa or change beauty treatments.

I rested my head on the edge of the bathtub, weighing the idea that I might be to blame for everything that was happening. Maybe I was the one who had stopped being attractive, interesting, valuable. My heart clenched again inside, and in a grotesque impulse, I submerged myself in the hot water, hoping it would wash away all this unease. Deep down, I felt so empty that I didn't know how to fill the void.

"When did I lose myself?" I wondered as I remembered how different I was in college and during that whole period, the best years of my life, as people said—I felt alive. Now they had passed me by. I hadn't built a career, nor did I know how to do anything other than teach and care for my children. "How did I become this? What am I doing wrong?"

—You've got a new message —The robotic voice alerted me, making me emerge from my watery hideout.

I inhaled as deeply as I could and then ran my hands over my face to push all my hair back, letting my breath even out.