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I slid down to the floor, tears flooding my eyes. My fury dissolved, replaced by deep sorrow mingled with sympathy: it wasn’t betrayal at all, but rather the truth that I had been sharing a life with a heart that had never been mine.
Sitting on the chilly ground, my hands still grasping the hole’s edge, I felt my soul ripped apart by the sight of my husband kneeling in front of his late wife’s portrait. I had feared another flesh and blood lady, another affair, but in actuality, my competitor was a relic from the past.
I had once hoped that with sincere love and consistent commitment, he would finally turn to me. But I ultimately learned that some hurts and emotions cannot be replaced. I was just a visitor at a home where the heart had already been sealed by yesterday.
That night I returned to my own room, buried my face in the pillow, and cried until no tears remained. I wasn’t angry at him anymore; I only pitied myself — a woman who had offered her youth to a heart that had no space left for her.
In the days that followed, I continued with my duties: cooking, washing, and cleaning. But I stopped waiting for embraces or heartfelt remarks. I simply lived in silence, watching, waiting, and shaping my decision.
— I understand now, darling. I shouldn’t cling to a heart that wasn’t mine. I’m leaving so you can live your life freely.
He remained motionless for a long time, his hands quivering and his eyes inflamed. But eventually, he said nothing to stop me.
When I eventually left that house, my bag was light, but my chest was uncomfortably heavy. Filled with love, pain, and longing… I felt lighter, too, since I knew I’d made the correct decision: I was freeing us both.
On the road ahead, I determined to live a different life, one in which my heart could no longer hide behind any shadows. I’d learn to value myself, and when the time came, I’d look for a pure love meant exclusively for me, one that wasn’t shared with memories or spirits.
This time, I vowed to never lose myself again.
