Their laughter returned in small bursts at first, then in full-force waves that made my heart ache with gratitude. I watched them grow stronger, more resilient, and it gave me a sense of purpose I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.
Then I saw her.
It was an ordinary afternoon, and I had decided to stop at a local café after putting the twins down for a quiet nap at home.
There, in a corner near the window, sat Anna. She looked nothing like the polished, confident woman I had once known.
Her hair was tangled and unkempt, her eyes red and puffy from crying, her hands trembling as she fumbled with her coffee cup. For a moment, I almost walked out, afraid that anger or old pain might rise uncontrollably.
But something — curiosity, or perhaps the desire for closure — stopped me. I approached her cautiously. She looked up, her eyes wide, and whispered, “I made a mistake.”
Her voice cracked as she explained herself. She had left, she said, chasing a life she thought would be better, only to find that she had lost everything she truly valued.Continue reading…
