I woke up and was back in a hospital. The last thing I remembered was drinking in the apartment. As I tried to recall what had happened, I saw my adoptive mother sitting in a chair, asleep next to me. I tried to sit up, but my chest hurt. However, the movement woke her up.
"Sweetheart, you're awake," she said, happy.
"Mother," I said with a dry voice. "What happened?"
"How do you feel? Where does it hurt?"
"My chest hurts a little," I indicated.
"Oh my God! I thought I was going to lose you, sweetheart," she said, crying, leaving me stunned.
My mother kept crying, and I didn't know how to comfort her, since I didn't know what had happened. After a few minutes, she told me I had broken heart syndrome and that when she found me, my heart rate was very weak. At that moment, I didn't feel anything because I still had a lot of alcohol in my veins.
After several very boring days in the hospital, where I basically only talked with my mother and the nurses, who surprisingly spoke to me normally again, I was finally discharged. I could go home. My mother-in-law, who had been very attentive, didn't want to tell me anything about Paulina, and even though I tried to persuade her to say something, she never did. She said she wanted me to recover completely. A month passed, and although the chest pain returned from time to time, I was feeling better.
One Tuesday, my father-in-law visited me and returned all my businesses. He also apologized. However, to forgive him, I asked him to tell me how Paulina was, and, hesitant and reluctant, he said she was fine, that she was going to therapy because she wanted to heal from those obsessive jealousies and didn't want to repeat the same mistake. Before he finished telling me everything, my mother-in-law arrived, interrupting the conversation.
I was glad to know that Paulina was healing and moving forward. If she continued like this, she could reclaim her life and leave behind all the bad things we had lived through in the past. Maybe one day she could find someone and be happy, as she deserved. Whenever I thought about this, my heart hurt, though this time the pain was more intense.
I didn't know what was really happening; I only knew that my heart hurt as if someone were ripping it out.
"Sweetheart, are you okay?" asked my adoptive mother.
"It hurts so much," I replied, touching my heart.
"We need to—"
That was the last thing I remembered before passing out in the living room of the apartment. And here we were again, waking up in the hospital once more. This time, my mother was awake and crying. When she saw me wake up, she stroked my hair.
"I have heart failure, don't I?" I asked with a pained voice.
"Yes," she replied, haltingly.
"How long?" I asked, looking at her.
"You can live many years with treatment," she answered.
"That's not true. Mother always talked to Paulina about illnesses, even about her surgeries. I promise I'll be strong. Just tell me… how long?" I asked again.
"We'll get you a heart, and with treatment, you'll live many years," she replied.
My mother was in denial, and it was impossible for her to give me a real answer about my diagnosis. After several attempts, I managed to ask a doctor how serious my situation was. He said it was serious, but not enough to put me on the transplant list immediately. I thanked him, and now I had to take care of everything. First, I had to arrange the inheritance of my businesses, and since I had no children, I would leave them to my nephews. Even though I wasn't close to them, I knew they were good kids.
So, there wasn't much to think about regarding who I would leave my businesses and other assets to.
The first thing I did when I got out of the hospital was meet with a lawyer to put my inheritance in order. My mother and father-in-law completely opposed it. They were still in denial. It was even worse when I asked them to donate my organs and cremate me because I had always been afraid of being buried alive.
The day I asked them, my mother cried inconsolably. Not only because of my request, but because, for some reason, the donors they had found were not compatible with me. I had already resigned myself, so I was just putting everything in order. My last request was that they didn't tell Paulina, so she could continue with her life.
It would be selfish of me to tell her the day I died since she was working hard to heal. I didn't want to be an obstacle or delay her progress.
They could tell her I had moved to another country, and they even had my permission to tell her I got married and had a family, so she wouldn't look for me or find out the truth.
Deep down, I knew that if Paulina found out about my death, she would search for the reasons. And if she saw the truth behind my departure, she would blame herself her whole life. That guilt wouldn't allow her to live fully happy, as she deserved.
Three months had passed, and this week I had been feeling very well. Today, I decided to take a walk around the city. I put on my white tracksuit and went out for a walk. I could hear the city noises, the sound of birds in the parks, the laughter of children, couples on their first date, couples arguing. The breeze was refreshing. I heard my phone ring. It was my mother, scolding me for going out alone, so I had to return immediately.
Even so, I enjoyed my surroundings as I made my way back to the apartment. For some reason, taking in everything around me filled me with nostalgia. But that feeling vanished when I crossed the street where everything had begun. The same street where Paulina ran me over. I couldn't help letting out a small laugh when I saw it. And as I crossed, I quickened my pace—just in case someone felt like running me over again.
When I returned to the apartment, my mother was there. I received the scolding of the year. After she finished lecturing me, I thanked her for everything she had done for me: for taking care of me, scolding me, and practically treating me like a daughter. Now, I had nothing to envy in any son or daughter, because I had remembered what a mother's love and concern felt like.
My mother was quite worried by my words, but I just told her she was exaggerating. I reminded her—couldn't a daughter be grateful? That night, I practically had to beg her to go back to her house, because she didn't want to leave me alone. She had a bad feeling, and she wasn't wrong. At eleven at night, I woke up with the worst pain in my chest. And before it got any worse, I called my mother.
"It hurts so much, Mom," I said, crying. "I can't take it anymore," I said, before losing consciousness.
...................................
That damn hallway that seemed endless. I walked every inch of it, begging for everything to be a nightmare. But it wasn't. When I saw my mother standing outside the door where Shanti—the love of my life—was being operated on, and I saw her tears, something she never does, I knew everything was terribly wrong. I tried to go in, but the guard, whom I had just managed to identify, stopped me.
"Let me in," I demanded, my voice breaking.
"I'm sorry, doctor, you can't go in," he replied, trying to calm me down.
"She's my wife, the one inside, and I own this damn hospital!" I screamed, trying to force the door open.
I struggled with the guard for more than ten minutes, cursing and screaming, until I dropped to my knees on the floor, crying uncontrollably. My mother just stood there, motionless, beside the door, in shock, watching as tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Paulina, calm down, come here," Mady said, kneeling beside me to comfort me.
"No, Maddison, you don't understand. The love of my life is in there, the reason I get up every morning, the one who taught me how to love, the one responsible for me wanting more love," I said between sobs, inconsolable.
That was when I heard the operating room doors open and saw a nurse come out, pale and visibly in shock. She seemed disoriented, her tears fogging up her mask.
"What happened in there?" my mother asked, gripping the nurse's shoulders with both hands.
"Is she okay?" she asked, hope trembling in her voice.
The nurse stuttered, unable to answer.
"I… I'm sorry. I couldn't stand watching her go… she's my friend," she said, crying.
"What?" my mother asked, stunned.
I couldn't take it anymore. I ran toward the operating room, slipping past the guard, who failed to stop me in time.
The moment I crossed the door, I heard those damn words I have always hated saying throughout my career. Those damn words I will never get used to pronouncing.
"Time of death?" the doctor asked, his voice filled with unmistakable sadness.
"11:47 p.m.," an intern replied.
I stood frozen, my mind repeating those words over and over. It couldn't be true. It had to be a mistake. She would never leave me. I refused to accept that she was dead.
"Dr. Scott, you need to leave," a nurse said, her eyes fixed on me.
"No! No, no, no!" I stammered, desperate.
I ran toward the stretcher and could see her, so pale, her heart exposed. The sound of the monitor, which usually marked her heartbeat, only emitted the damned beep of death. The monitor no longer connected her to life, only to its absence.
"Dr. Scott, you must leave," Dr. Lombardi insisted, his voice filled with sadness.
"No! She's not gone yet! Shock her again!" I ordered, desperate.
"I'm sorry, Dr., she's gone," the doctor said, while the guard approached to remove me.
"Do it again!" I shouted hysterically. "Do it again, damn it! Or I swear to everyone in this operating room that I will destroy your careers, and you will never set foot in a hospital again, not even for a checkup!"
Everyone was frozen, paralyzed with fear. No one dared move a finger, so I did it myself. I quickly put on gloves and began giving her direct cardiac compressions.
In the middle of my desperation, Nurse Leah overcame her fear and helped me. I kept massaging her heart, not knowing how much time had passed. My only goal was to make it beat again, and I wouldn't stop until I succeeded.
"Enough, my daughter," my mother said, touching my shoulder.
"No! I can still do it!" I said, not stopping the compressions. "Come on, darling, I haven't even asked for your forgiveness yet. Come on, love, you can't leave me. I'm not, and I will never be, ready to let you go. Remember what you promised me. You haven't fulfilled my pregnancy cravings yet! We don't even have our seven children! We haven't lived an entire life together yet!"
With tears in my eyes, everyone in the room, except Leah, was petrified with fear. Leah, clumsily, was helping. At least she was trying.
On my sixth attempt to revive her, and as if her heart had heard my pleas, it started beating again.
I had never been so happy just to hear the monitor. The heartbeat returned, and my entire being filled with indescribable joy. In my whole career, nothing had ever made me happier than hearing that sound. After a few seconds, everyone reacted and approached the stretcher.
"Dr. Scott, she's too weak for the transplant. She might not survive it… I need a family member's consent now," Dr. Lombardi said, waiting for a quick response.
"You have my permission, Lombardi. Proceed with the transplant. Without it, she wouldn't make it to tomorrow," my mother replied, without hesitation.
I froze at the diagnosis. How could she not make it to tomorrow without the transplant? How had it come to this? And now, performing it was a huge risk.
"Dr. Scott, leave," my mother ordered.
"I won't," I stood my ground. "Less than three minutes ago, they were going to let my…"
"Dr. Scott, I am in charge now, and we both have the same goal: to keep the patient alive. Leave it in my hands," my mother said, very serious.
I saw the determination in her eyes to save her life. Still, with doubts and against my will, I left the operating room.
After several hours, Shanti was moved to intensive care, and I went in with her. I looked at her and held her hand for several minutes. However, I had to leave because I needed to know the reason for her transplant and when this complication had occurred.
"I need my wife's medical file," I requested from the nurse.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Scott, I cannot give you what you're asking for," she replied, nervous.
"I'm your boss. Give me the file," I demanded.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Scott, I cannot give you what you're asking for," she continued, refusing.
"Who gave the order? I'll be more specific. Was it my father or my mother? Who doesn't want you to give me the file?" I pressed.
"Paulina…" my mother called.
I ran to her, seeking answers.
"Why was she being operated on? What are you hiding from me?" I asked, confronting her with determination.
My mother looked at me for a moment, sighed deeply, and began to explain.
"She needed a heart transplant, and yesterday at 10:50 p.m., I was informed that there was a compatible one. I was happy about the news, but at 11 p.m., Shanti called me crying. Her heart hurt so badly that she fainted. I sent the ambulance immediately, and that was the first time they revived her. She went into surgery, and then you know what happened…"
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, horrified.
My mother fell silent, and I understood perfectly what had happened.
"She didn't want me to find out, did she?" I asked, tears filling my eyes.
"That's right, my daughter, she didn't," she replied, distressed.
"So everything you told me was a lie? That I should recover to see her? If something happened to her, you were never going to tell me?" I asked, my voice breaking.
"No, my daughter, I wouldn't have told you, because both Shanti and I agreed that we want you to be happy," my mother replied, anguished.
"You were going to hide it from me for the rest of my life if she died. Did you really think I wouldn't go looking for her?" I laughed bitterly. "If Dad hadn't told me she was here, she would be dead right now." I shouted angrily as I walked away from her.
I didn't speak to my mother again after that argument. All I wanted was for Shanti to recover.
All day and all night, I never left Shanti's side. I wanted to be there when she woke up. My father kept asking me to go eat, but I had no appetite and no desire to leave. He insisted constantly, so eventually I went to eat a sandwich.
"Paulina, daughter, you need to go eat," my father insisted late that night.
"I'm not hungry," I replied, holding Shanti's hand. "I know she's about to wake up," I said hopefully.
"Love, you need to wake up," I whispered, kissing her hand.
Now that I looked at her, she was so thin and pale. If only I had known sooner, I would have held your hand earlier; I would have found a heart from anywhere so you wouldn't have had to go through all this. You were dying, and even then you kept worrying about me.
"I'm sorry for doubting your love," I murmured as bitter, desperate tears rolled down my cheeks.
............................
Wow, I don't feel pain anymore, I thought as I looked around. I knew I had been in this garden before.
Yes, this place—I remember it now. It was when I almost drowned in the sea. So, apparently, I have just died.
I had forgotten what this place felt like. It's so peaceful; it's the only thing I can feel now.
At least where I'll be, it's very beautiful, I thought happily. Now I'll stay here forever. I kept walking and, in the distance, I could see a cabin. I had been there before. Unlike the last time, when it was empty, now I knew what was inside, waiting for me.
My feet began to run; I was so excited to arrive and meet the person I had longed to see most in my life.
I reached the cabin and, without hesitation, went inside. When I got to the living room, I saw her: my mother, after so long. She was sitting on the couch, and when she turned toward me, I couldn't help forming a huge smile. I ran to her, and my mother welcomed me with open arms.
"Mom!" I exclaimed happily.
"My girl!" she hugged me tighter.
I pulled away from her embrace and curled up on her lap, just like when I was a child.
"Sweetheart," she said softly, stroking my hair.
"I've missed you so much, Mommy," I replied happily, snuggling closer to her.
"I know, and I've missed you too. I've missed all three of my girls," she confessed.
"And we've missed you too. There hasn't been a single day when we didn't think of you. Every day since you left, we've missed you so much," I told her.
"I know, sweetheart," she said, caressing my hair. "But you know you can't stay with me, right?"
I lifted my head from her lap, confused by her words.
"Why not?" I asked.
"It's not your time yet. Besides, you still have unfinished business," she replied seriously.
"But Mommy, I don't have anything left to do there," I said, throwing a childish tantrum.
"Are you sure?" she asked, looking at me doubtfully.
"Yes, I'm sure," I replied firmly.
"I don't think so," she said challengingly. "Sweetheart, I've watched all three of you since I've been here. I've never stopped taking care of you. You've all made mistakes, just like your father, but even so, I love you."
Every word she spoke was filled with so much love, with a tenderness that filled my chest with happiness.
"Paulina is a very sweet and beautiful girl," she said, nearly making my jaw drop in surprise. "I know she made mistakes, just like you did," she looked at me angrily, making me avert my gaze in shame. "But I also know that she loves you, and you love her. Sweetheart, she's waiting for you," she said, lifting my chin so I would look at her.
"How do you know about Paulina?" I asked, frightened.
"I already told you, I've been taking care of you. Therefore, I know what you do," she replied.
"You know everything?" I asked, panicked.
"That's right," she confirmed.
"And you're not angry with me for what I've done?" I asked, my throat tight.
"Of course I was angry," she looked at me threateningly, "but you're my daughter, and I can't stay angry with you for more than five minutes," she smiled.
"And you're not angry or disappointed that I fell in love with a girl?" I asked anxiously.
"Of course not, sweetheart," she reassured me. "If she makes you happy, then I'm happy," she said, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.
I smiled at her, because I knew she would have never abandoned or judged me the way others had. She was always my safe place, my friend, my confidant, and my favorite person.
"I'm sorry for thinking you had abandoned me," I said ashamed.
"I have nothing to forgive you for. I understand why you thought that—you were very young—but you aren't anymore, and you made a promise, which you must keep," she reminded me.
"A promise?" I asked, confused.
"You promised a certain girl children, and I assume that with those children will also come a life with her, to raise my grandchildren. And marriage—I shouldn't have to remind you of that, should I?" she said threateningly.
"Mom, I think she'll be happy without me," I replied sadly.
"What are you talking about, sweetheart?" she looked at me annoyed. "Tell me something. Since when is being happy crying every day, sinking into depression, and seeing how nothing in your life will ever make sense again because you're not with the person you love?" she said sarcastically.
"Oh… well, that sounds really bad," I replied, frightened.
"That's what that girl will do if you don't go back to her," she warned me. "I know you'll do the right thing, because I didn't raise three daughters who don't keep their word," she smiled.
"No, of course not," I replied proudly. "But I've missed you so much."
"I know, my girl. I've heard you, and it's very painful not being able to go comfort you, not being able to laugh with you, not being able to defend you. Not being present has hurt me more than you can imagine," she confessed. "But staying with me is not the solution. I'll keep waiting for you, and we'll be together again for eternity," she hugged me tighter.
"Could Paulina come with me?" I whispered softly.
"Of course, my girl. You must introduce me to my daughter-in-law. But don't rush it," she laughed gently.
I pulled away from her with some difficulty to see a huge smile of happiness on her face.
I stopped hugging her to leave the house. Before closing the door, I heard my nickname, the one I had longed to hear again.
"Naty, don't forget that I love you!" she shouted.
"I love you more," I finally managed to say something I had never told her when she was alive.
I walked away from my mother and saw my grandmother arrive at her side. With a smile, they both said goodbye to me.
"I love you, Grandma!" I shouted so she could hear me.
"Me too, sweetie," she shouted back, using the nickname she had given me.
"I'll come back, I promise!" I shouted, fading away.
"We'll be waiting for you here," they assured me, as my voice grew fainter.
I slowly opened my eyes. When had it hurt so much to breathe, and why did my eyes feel so heavy that it was hard to open them fully?
With great effort, I managed to open my eyes almost completely. The blinding rays of the morning light pierced my irises, bothering me so much that I had to turn my face slightly. Everything was so blurry that I couldn't make out anything.
"Sweetheart," I heard a familiar voice.
I tried to focus on the silhouette in front of me, but it was still hard to recognize.
"Can you hear me, sweetheart?" it insisted. "Are you awake?"
I opened my eyes completely and finally saw Paulina. Her eyes were filled with tears, and there were deep bags under her eyes. I couldn't speak, my throat hurt, and the memories from a few seconds ago were fading.
"We finished examining her, and she responded favorably. She showed no signs of injury, although follow-up is necessary as a precaution, since she was without brain activity for more than two minutes. We need to rule out any potential brain damage. Even though she hasn't shown symptoms, we cannot be complacent. There is a small chance that complications could appear once she fully recovers. That is the diagnosis regarding her brain. As for the heart transplant, for now, there are no signs of rejection, and the heart is beating strongly. We will continue monitoring her for three more days, but so far she shows positive compatibility. That is the diagnosis concerning her heart. Finally, regarding her knee, we managed to restore it. We will need to evaluate its progress over time to determine if rehabilitation is necessary or if light exercises alone will suffice to regain mobility. I estimate she will need to wear the immobilizer for approximately a month and a half," Dr. Lombardi finished reporting.
"How did you restore her knee? How is it possible that she'll only need light exercises?" I asked, confused.
"I think I expressed myself poorly. What we did was decompress the knee. It's unusual that her two bones were almost rubbing against each other. At her age, that's very rare. I can understand it happening in elderly people or even in people in their thirties due to physical strain. But she can't be older than twenty, and she already has this complication," Lombardi said, surprised.
I laughed softly at his comment, since it seemed they still hadn't informed him of my girlfriend's age. Lombardi looked at me, puzzled by my reaction, but said nothing else.
"Shanti is twenty-eight," I informed him.
Lombardi was completely shocked. He didn't know what to say; I had left him speechless.
"Oh… well, that explains a lot," he said nervously.
"Thank you, Lombardi," I replied, giving him a tired smile.
I returned to the room, and there was my mother, holding Shanti's hand, while my father stood on the other side.
"Mom…" I called, and she stood up, letting go of Shanti's hand.
"Sweetheart, come closer," my father asked me.
I hesitated. I didn't have the courage to face those brown eyes that had always looked at me with love. I wouldn't be able to bear a cold stare or one filled with contempt. Even though that would be the least I deserved for having hurt her so deeply. Still, I wasn't ready—and I think I never would be. How could I look into the eyes of someone who had almost died because of me?
Guilt and remorse were slowly consuming me for how blind and foolish I had been.
I knew you wanted to hide everything so I wouldn't suffer, but you couldn't have foreseen that day.
When I returned from eating a sandwich, I detoured toward my mother's office in the hospital. I needed to know how all of this had happened from the beginning. Deep down, I knew she was hiding something from me—and I was right. I reached her office, and since her secretary wasn't there, I was about to go in. However, before doing so, I heard my mother and Mady talking.
Flashback
"We should tell her the truth," Mady said.
"That is a definite no. You know how Paulina would feel if she found out right now. Imagine how she would feel if she discovered the real reason," my mother replied angrily.
"I'm aware of that, but Paulina won't forgive us if we keep hiding the truth from her. You more than anyone know that if your husband hadn't told Paulina about Shanti's condition, she would be dead right now. Paulina saved her life," Mady emphasized.
"Do you think I don't know that, Maddison? But if I tell my daughter that the reason Shanti needed a heart transplant was because she suffered from broken heart syndrome, because she couldn't bear being left… and that it worsened until she developed heart disease… and that it kept getting worse because she found no meaning in her life without Paulina… and that all I could do was watch her die…" my mother shouted, visibly frustrated. "No, I can't tell her that."
"She has to know the truth, no matter how painful it is," Mady continued pressing.
"I won't tell her, and I'm sure Shanti won't either, Madison. So I forbid you to tell her," my mother ordered.
"Paulina deserves to know. Just like when Shanti saved her at the bar from that beast. You have no idea how much I regret not telling her that day. Shanti was brutally beaten by a professional boxer. You know none of this would have happened if I hadn't kept quiet," Mady concluded, visibly shaken.
"That's something you'll have to live with, Madison. Because it was your decision not to tell Paulina anything," my mother reminded her.
End of Flashback
"Could you leave us alone? Please," Shanti asked, almost in a whisper.
"Alright," my parents agreed.
As they left, my mother squeezed my hand, comforting me. I approached her bed, but not as close as I wanted.
"Paulina…" she called softly.
"How do you feel?" I asked, worried.
"This is the third time you've asked me, but I'm fine," she replied.
"I'm sorry… this is because of me," I said, avoiding her gaze.
"What exactly do you know, Paulina?" she asked uncertainly.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, hurt.
"You hated me, and I didn't want you to stay with me just because you felt responsible for me again… or out of guilt."
"I would never do that," I replied firmly.
"Are you sure? A few months ago you hated me, but now you're here with me. I know you blame yourself for all of this—tell me if I'm wrong."
"That's not true," I contradicted her, my heart shrinking.
"Paulina, I'll be direct with you. I'm grateful you saved my life—I can never repay you. At least tell me how I can. I'm also more than grateful to your parents, especially your mother, for helping me. Paulina, it's time we resume our paths, the ones that truly belong to us…"
"I understand," I said, a lump forming in my throat.
"I'm sorry… I have to go," she said, leaving with tears in her eyes.
I didn't want to hear any more. I couldn't take it. I didn't want to hear her rejections, I didn't want her to ask me to stay away, I didn't want her to hate me.
I left that room because I felt suffocated. I didn't know what to do, so I decided to go to my apartment. There, I collapsed, crying inconsolably in my room.
I don't know why I thought she could forget what I had done to her. Deep down, I had a small hope that everything would be fixed. I don't know what I was thinking. Of course, she was going to ask me to stay away from her. Who in their right mind would want to be with the person who caused them so much pain?
I couldn't bear being there any longer. I wanted to leave, and that's what I was going to do. I grabbed a suitcase and pulled out as much clothing from my closet as I could, throwing it onto the bed and then into the suitcase. It was a terrible idea because I didn't just take my clothes—I also grabbed Shanti's, which was alongside mine.
Among the clothes, I found the one she wore the day everything went wrong: that hoodie she always loved, which I ended up taking from her. Also that worn-looking jacket that fit her so well. I ran my hands over her clothes, remembering the happiest moments we had shared, which were many. It was hard to think of a bad moment we'd had, except when we argued over my jealousy.
I snapped out of my thoughts when I felt something hard in the pocket of her jacket. I was puzzled by the object and wondered why she had left it there. I carefully searched for it.
I knew the universe hadn't finished punishing me, and as a reminder of everything I had done, it showed me a small red box. In the same pocket, I found a crumpled, folded piece of paper.
With my heart in my hands, I opened the box. I smiled nostalgically at the engagement ring, made to my size. Tears began to flow bitterly, intensifying when I saw our initials engraved on the ring. Fearing what I already knew, I unfolded the letter and read it.
Ideas to propose marriage:
• First, jump from a plane, land, and have her waiting to give her the ring—or jump together and land in a heart made of rose petals.• Second, take her out to dinner and propose there, though it's a fairly simple idea.• Third, I don't know what else; I'm terrible at this.• Fourth, ask her mother for help.• Fifth, how about proposing in the bathtub after making love?• Sixth, take her on a trip, make love throughout the journey until she says yes.• Seventh, think of something better.
I bitterly remembered the day she clumsily touched my hands as if trying to solve a puzzle. I watched her carefully.
I didn't realize at the time that she was trying to figure out my size, because of my damn heat.
My tears continued falling on the crumpled paper, and it made sense that all those ideas were there, because she usually writes everything on her phone so she won't forget, and even though she does, she always forgets something. I used to check her notes to remind her, which is why I thought I could open the note and ruin her proposal. Holding the paper, I kept crying in frustration until I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I turned, and it was my mother.
"She was going to propose to me," I said, throwing myself into my mother's arms, seeking comfort.
"Calm down, sweetheart," she said, stroking my hair. "Paulina, you need to learn to wait until people finish speaking. You need to learn to listen," she told me, gently pulling away from me.
"I ruined everything. I understand why she wouldn't want to see me again, Mom, but I don't want to let her go," I cried, still holding the letter in my hand.
"Then you need to go back to the hospital and let her finish speaking," my mother said with a comforting smile. "Come on," she added, motioning for me to follow her.
Still doubtful and afraid to go, I followed my mother back to the hospital. I hesitated before going in, but I gathered my courage. When I entered, Shanti was there, sitting slightly upright since she had been eating, and a nurse was finishing clearing everything away.
"Excuse me," the nurse said as she left the room.
"Thank you," Shanti replied.
Once again, I didn't know what to say, but before I could find the words, Shanti spoke.
"Paulina, can you come closer? I swear I don't bite," she said with a smile.
I moved to her side and looked at her, still unsure of what to say.
"I love you," she finally said, and without meaning to, my tears began to fall.
"Don't cry, my love," she asked softly, smiling. "When I told you we needed to take the paths that belonged to us, I meant that if you allowed me to, I would take my path—and that path is being by your side. You didn't understand my hint. When I asked you to tell me how you could repay me for saving my life…" she smiled, and I threw myself into her arms.
"Ouch," she whispered. I quickly pulled back, completely forgetting about her wound.
"I'm sorry, I hurt you," I said, scared.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Just hug me a little more gently… or instead of hugging me, you can kiss me," she said with a silly smile.
I swear I was about to kiss her, but first I pinched myself because it felt unreal. When I felt the pain, I knew it was real. I pressed my lips to hers and kissed her with all my love—soft and sweet. I pulled away for a moment and felt the exact instant when everything regained its color.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"Why are you thanking me?" she asked, confused.
"For forgiving me, for coming back to me, for staying with me despite everything I did to you," I said, my throat tightening.
"Paulina, for us to be together again, I only have one condition—and I want you to make me a promise," she said seriously.
"A condition?" I asked, intrigued.
"And a promise," she emphasized. "I want you to stop blaming yourself and leave all of this behind. I want you to trust me. My love, I would never cheat on you. I would never leave you unless you asked me to. Please, let's forget this episode. The writer of our lives really went too far," she joked. "I want you to promise me you'll leave all of this behind," she said, looking straight at me.
I couldn't help but hesitate. My gaze drifted to her chest. It was hard to forget—there was a huge scar there, one she would carry for the rest of her life. And that scar would always remind me that I almost killed her.
"I know what you're thinking, sweetheart. And I know the scar disturbs you. But we can say I got it on the battlefield," she said, trying to make me smile.
I smiled a little, surprised when she took my hand and gently placed it over her wound.
"What are you doing?" I asked, confused.
"We can never cover the sun with one finger, my love. But what if we use two? We can try and make it work," she said with a pleading smile. "I want to marry you. I want to have children with you. I want to raise those children. I want a life with you," she said, kissing my hand. "When you feel uncomfortable or bad about seeing my scar, just remember it's a small price I paid to have an entire lifetime with you," she said proudly.
"But only you paid the price. I didn't," I said as my tears began to fall again.
"You already did, my love. Seeing me almost die was the worst price you paid," she reassured me. "Maybe I, in your place, would have just stood there watching you leave."
"Why? Why do you always have the right words to make me feel less guilty?" I asked, trying to wipe my tears.
"Because it's the truth, my love. Please, accept me," she asked as she nodded and wiped away my tears.
"I'm the one who should be asking you to come back to me," I reminded her.
"You already did once. This time, I wanted to be the one to do it," she said with a smile.
I nodded clumsily at her request.
"How could I say no to that baby face?" I smiled and kissed her.
"You'll have to deal with seven more," she murmured against my lips.
"It'll be a pleasure, sweetheart," I accepted the challenge.
In the middle of the kiss, I heard the door burst open. Madison, my mother, and my father came in, their eyes full of tears.
"Oh my God, now I see why she fell in love with you. You sweet-talk at a level of sweetness I didn't even think existed. I think I fell in love with you too," Madison said dramatically.
"I'm going to be a grandfather to seven," my dad celebrated.
"First, we need to organize the wedding," my mother commented.
"I still have to propose," Shanti whispered, worried.
"First, you need to recover," I said angrily.
"Yes, of course," everyone agreed.
"They're just small details, my love," she said, squeezing my hand affectionately.