3. Writing a New Story Michelle The flight went smoothly, and in a few hours, the plane landed. As soon as I set foot on the ground, it was time to start organizing my departure. I looked up and said goodbye to Dylan. “It was great bumping into you. I’ll call you.” I say, addressing him informally and showing him the card in my hand. He just gives me a smile and nods. I took my suitcase from the overhead compartment and walked to the exit. I feel Dylan’s presence behind me, and I can’t quite understand why it unsettles me and makes me nervous. As I leave the boarding area and head down the hall towards the airport exit, a hand gently stops me by the arm before I reach the street. “Michez… My driver came to pick me up. Let me give you a lift.” I froze for a second. Did he really just call me by that silly nickname Abdiel used to use? That nickname, for some reason, always irritated and made me laugh at the same time. I hesitated for a moment. I don’t want to trouble you, and after all, my interaction with Dylan had been limited during my friendship with his brother. “Mmm… I don’t want to trouble you.” For the first time, a genuine smile lights up his face as he shakes his head. “You’re not bothering me at all. I want to do it.” I lowered my gaze, realizing that it made no sense to keep refusing. He had already made the decision. A stern-looking man approaches and silently takes our suitcases. I just have to follow them. Dylan opens the car’s back door with a polite gesture and invites me to get in. Once inside, the vehicle starts moving, and I try to relax. Considering that Dylan is Abdiel’s brother, my friend, there should be no reason to feel uncomfortable. The silence stretches between us until, unable to contain my curiosity, I decide to break it. “You called me Michez.” Dylan lets out a light, carefree laugh. “Yes, sorry. But I remembered how my brother used to call you and found it funny.” It was, actually. Abdiel always had the habit of shortening names. At first, he tried to call me “Michi,” but I flatly refused. It sounded too much like a cat. So, in his infinite stubbornness, he decided to adapt it to “Michez,” and I ended up sticking with that nickname. “Hahaha. Yes, it was funny. Especially with the tone he used, you know…” Dylan sighs and nods. He knows exactly what I’m talking about. Abdiel has always been peculiar, with tastes that some might find unconventional. Despite being physically attractive and sparking the interest of many women, his true aim was to attract male attention. “I know. Well, if you saw him, you must have noticed that his accent got worse over the years.” We looked at each other for a second and burst into laughter. Abdiel was a lost cause, but it was impossible not to love him. “So, is he seeing anyone?” I ask, trying to continue the conversation and find out what has happened during this time. Dylan shakes his head slightly. “No, he doesn’t. He hasn’t had any luck in love. It seems the Morrisons weren’t exactly born under a lucky star.” I remain silent. Apparently, neither was I. ***** During the ride, I gave him my address, and before long, we pulled pulling into my neighborhood. I can’t complain about our financial situation. Both Ryan and I come from good families, but he has taken his company to another level, to the point of being listed on the stock exchange. Despite everything, I always liked to take care of them personally, to be present, to be part of their lives. I fooled myself into thinking that if Ryan and my daughter noticed how much I cared for them, if they saw my absolute dedication, they would understand that I did everything out of love. But I see that it was all for nothing. Over time, I went from being invisible to just another part of the household staff. No one told me openly, but I felt it in every gesture, in every distracted look, in every conversation that ended without my voice mattering. I give a light, ironic laugh. I set these standards for myself without considering whether, in my eagerness to give everything, I was making them happy. I believed that unconditional love was enough, but now I understand that perhaps it only suffocated them. “We’re here.” Dylan’s rough voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I blinked a couple of times and turned to him. I tried to smile, but I’m not sure if it came out as a crooked grimace. “Thank you for bringing me. It wasn’t necessary. Besides, you said you had something urgent to do.” He shakes his head slowly, with that calmness that seems so much his own. “Sometimes there are more important things. This time, I couldn’t let you come by yourself.” His words caught me off guard. His expression is serene, but there’s something in his gaze that seems to pierce me with a certainty that disarms me. “I imagine that now that there’s no one with you, you’ll begin your emotional mourning,” he continues, and it’s better that you’re at home, safe. I wouldn’t have felt at ease. But you know what? You’re going to be okay. He says it with such conviction that, for a moment, I want to believe him. I want to cling to that certainty like a lifeline in the middle of a shipwreck. I don’t know why, but I dare to ask him something that I know has no answer. “Are you sure?” Dylan looks at me intently. His gaze doesn’t waver. And, unexpectedly, he takes my hand in his and squeezes it tightly, conveying a comforting warmth. “Yes, I’m sure. Good people always get their reward. And even though everything seems dark and hopeless now, remember that the sun always rises the next day. His voice is an anchor in my stormy sea. I don’t know if he’s right. I don’t know if things will get better. But, at this moment, I decided to cling to his words. Because maybe, just maybe… there’s still a light waiting for me at the end of the road. ***** I take out my keys and open the door. I’m met with a sepulchral silence. I had never realized how lonely the house felt. So cold, so empty. As if, suddenly, all the warmth and life that once inhabited it had vanished without a trace. I walk towards my bedroom, but before I can climb the stairs, Ruth, my housekeeper, stops me. “Ma’am, you’re back.” Her tone is kind, but I can see surprise in her eyes. I had only told her I was going on a trip, without specifying when I would return. I try to smile at her, but I’m not sure if I succeed, as she looks at me with concern. “Yes, Ruth, I’m back. Could you get me some boxes? I’m going to clear out my closet.” She nods without question. My request doesn’t seem strange to her; I’ve often set aside things we no longer used to donate to charity. “Yes, I’ll bring them to your room in a little while. Would you like me to prepare something to eat? I shake my head, trying to seem normal. “No, I ate something on the way. I’m going to lie down for a while.” Ruth leaves, and for a moment, I’m left alone, looking around my house as if I’m seeing it for the first time. It’s beautiful, immaculate, filled with details I once chose with care. Now I see it clearly: almost everything here was chosen by me. Ryan rarely showed any interest in these things. He always said his only role was to pay the bills. I sigh deeply. I’m sure that over time, all these seemingly insignificant details will start to take on new meaning in my memories. Finally, I decided to head upstairs. I don’t have much time and a lot to do. I quickened my pace and walked into the room where I had slept for so many years. I drop the suitcase on the floor and head straight to the closet. It’s not just a space filled with clothes, shoes, and bags—it’s a place full of memories. I started taking everything out. Clothes that no longer fit me but that I kept in the hope of losing a couple of sizes; garments that have gone out of style and that I will never wear again. I reach the back and there it is: my wedding dress, carefully stored in its cover. Next to it, some boxes I brought with me when I was still single. And then I see them. My last pair of skates. I stood still for a moment. It’s strange how an object can have the power to bring with it a flood of emotions. I crouched down and take out the box. I’m about to toss it with the things I’m going to discard, but something inside me urges me to open it. There they are. My beautiful sky-blue skates. They were a present from my dad. When the injury took me away from skating, he himself cleaned them carefully and stored them in this box, as if he could protect a part of my past that way. I take them in my hands and, suddenly, something falls gently to the floor. A note. I stared at the paper for a few seconds, my heart pounding in my chest, before bending down to pick it up. I don’t remember leaving anything there. With trembling hands, I unfolded the sheet and read. “To my dear skating champion: Falls hurt, injuries frustrate, and pauses seem endless, but remember: a skater is not defined only by their triumphs, but by their ability to get up again and again. Your determination, discipline, and passion for skating remain intact. This is not the end, it’s just a curve in the road, an opportunity to strengthen yourself, to return with more strength and more hunger for success. Trust the process. Recovery will take time, but when you step onto that rink again, you’ll do it with a new story to tell: that of someone who didn’t give up. Keep shining. Your moment will return, and it will be even greater. From your number one fan, Dad” This note ends up breaking me. I hold it between my trembling fingers, reading the words over and over as they pierce me like a knife. Somewhere along the way, I lost myself without even realizing it. I lost my direction, my dreams, my essence… and the most painful thing is that I didn’t notice there were people following my steps, waiting for me to keep going. Apparently, I gave up a long time ago. And I didn’t know it until now. I angrily wipe away the tears streaming down my cheeks, as if with that gesture I could erase the weight of the years I’ve let pass without fighting. At that moment, a knock on the door snaps me out of my reverie. Ruth enters carrying two large boxes. “Are you getting rid of all this?” she asked cautiously. I nod silently. She doesn’t ask any more questions and, with her usual efficiency, begins to help me pack everything. Clothes, shoes, memories. Ten years of my life compressed into just a couple of boxes. When she picks up the box with the skates, holding it with both hands, I stop her instinctively. “Not those.” My voice sounds firmer than I expected. “They will be my keepsake and my reminder. Ruth frowns, not understanding, but doesn’t press the issue. She simply shrugs and continues with the task. With her help, we finished faster than I imagined. “Please tell Simón to come for the boxes. She nods and goes to find the butler. I’m left alone in the room. I look at the empty spaces in the closet, the absence of everything that, just minutes ago, felt like part of my life. And then, the harsh truth hit me: I didn’t think that a decade of my existence could fit into just two boxes. It seems that, indeed, I’ve only been a ghost in this family. A silent specter that gave, served, loved… without being seen. But not anymore. Following my father’s advice, now that I’ve fallen, it’s time to rise. It’s time to stop being an echo of the past and begin writing a new chapter. And this time, it will be mine and mine alone.