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Confessions Beneath the Barcelona Night
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“What? How? When?”The sommelier approaches with our waters, pouring them into our glasses while pretending not to notice my tear-streaked face and the tense atmosphere. How did my husband know everything? How? I couldn't comprehend...“Africa,” Carlos reveals, withdrawing his hand from mine and then sliding his fingers through the cutlery without looking at me. “You always had the terrible habit of leaving your things open. When you traveled, I decided to use the home computer for work... I saw it all. Your conversations, your emails, you're asking him to call you...”“Why didn't you...?”“Why didn't I tell you? Or why didn't I leave you when I found out?” Carlos questions, thoughtful. “Simple, I loved you, Dália. When I read everything, I felt guilty. I threw you into his arms, but I wasn't ready to lose you... Give up on you. I was sincere when I showed up in Africa. I really wanted to be the husband you deserved, because if I could manage that, I knew I'd forget that man once and
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Carlos wipes away his tears as he looks at the paternity test. His hands smooth the paper before he places it back on the table, taking a deep breath. His brown eyes lock onto mine, and then he says:“I don't want to know.”“Carlos, please,” I whisper.“Juan will always be my son, and no piece of paper will say otherwise,” Carlos says, pressing his index finger against the paper repeatedly. He hands me back the envelope, wiping his face. “He has been my son for four years, and he always will be. Juan Carlos is my son, he is a Salazar, and he always will be.”“Whatever you say,” I agree, putting the envelope away once again.“Does he know?” Carlos asks, looking at me seriously. His gaze is a sea of disappointment that I can't bear to meet.“No,” I reply, wiping my face. “He has no idea.”“If I were in his shoes, I'd want to know if I have a child out there,” Carlos claims.“Carlos, please...”“He has the right to know, Dália,” Carlos argues. “Tell him.”“Alright, I'll do that,” I affir
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My eyes search X's face for any trace of falsehood. His jaw is relaxed, and his eyes are serene... He turns towards the table where he tossed the envelope and retrieves it. Then he turns towards me, holding it up in my direction.“Open it, so you can confirm what I'm telling you,” he says.I take the envelope while taking a deep breath. My trembling hands struggle to tear the paper... or some greater force didn't want me to discover the truth. I press harder, and finally, it gives way, allowing me to see the report that I unfold calmly. There it is: according to the examination conducted using Carlos's blood, Juan was his son. I breathe a sigh of relief, but then the feeling of regret hits me. I could have avoided the dinner with Carlos if I had opened that damned envelope.“So? Am I right or not?” X asks.“You are,” I whisper as I let my body slide into one of the chairs. I stare at X and then ask what came to my mind. “How is that possible?”“I was born with a lack of reproductive d
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"Passengers of flight 357 to Lisbon, boarding will take place at gate C... Attention, passengers of flight 357, bound for Lisbon, boarding will take place at gate C..."This was what the announcement was saying when I arrived at the airport just a few minutes before my husband's flight was due to depart. Unlike what you see in movies, buying a ticket to enter the departure area isn't as difficult as it seems, because there wasn't a huge line in front of me, to begin with for buying a ticket."Good morning, ma'am, how can I assist you?""I need a ticket for any international flight departing right now.""Right now? Ah, well..." the young man starts, opening his screen.However, the clerk who attended to me wasn't very fast."Young man, I need to enter the departure area in thirty minutes," I say, looking at the departure and arrival display screen.Knowing my husband, it was unlikely he bought a first-class ticket or even a VIP one. As he always used to argue: at the moment of death, t
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Barcelona, 31 December 2005.Of all the beginnings I thought, this is my favorite: my first new year in Barcelona after two years in England. Two years of cold people, cold climate and much study. Until I convinced my parents that it was in Barcelona that I should finish my high school, my home. So that year-end was the embodiment of my happiness. The only thing I needed was Edward, my English boyfriend.To all who have not yet spent the new year in Barcelona, take some time and come, do not know what they are missing. The streets are all decorated, besides the human warmth that I did not find anywhere. But returning to that wonderful night...I remember being in my room playing entertained that I do not even notice my younger sister, Valeria, entering the room. I get a fright when she touches my arm ,drawing my attention. She says something, but I’m on the phone and I don’t understand what she’s talking about, so I take off my headphones and stare at her. I bet she wanted to use the
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