“I know. That’s why it took me so long to tell you. Because every time I saw him smile, I saw a little bit of you too.”
The rain outside beat heavily on the windows, as if the sky was crying too.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I asked, trying to control my trembling voice.
“Because I thought I didn’t have the right to hurt you again,” she replied. “I knew you wanted to be a father, but not with me. And when I finally managed to adopt, I thought you’d already moved on.”
She ran a hand through her hair wearily.
“I lived with guilt for years. I thought I freed you from the burden of an ‘imperfect’ woman, but in the end… I was the one who carried the pain.”
I was speechless. Everything I felt—anger, compassion, sadness—was jumbled together in an impossible knot to undo.
“I never wanted to be free of you,” she finally said. “I just wanted to see you happy. But I don’t think I ever understood how much you suffered inside.”
She looked at me, surprised, and then, for the first time in many years, our eyes met without rancor.
“He’s sleeping,” she said softly. “Do you want to see him?”
I nodded.
We continued to the small room at the end of the hallway. The walls were covered in colorful drawings: houses, trees, and a figure of a woman and a man holding hands with a boy in the middle.
“He said it’s us,” Althea whispered. “Me and my mommy and the angel she dreams of.”
I felt a shiver run through my body. The boy slept peacefully, hugging a teddy bear. I approached slowly, and without thinking, I lightly touched his hair.
“He’s beautiful,” I murmured.
Althea nodded, her eyes welling up.
“He’s the best gift life has ever given me.”
We stood there for a while, in silence, watching that little miracle breathe peacefully. And in that moment, I realized something I’d never understood: true love isn’t about what fate takes from us, but about what we’re still capable of giving, even after losing everything.
That night, before I left, Althea walked me to the door. The rain had stopped, and the air smelled fresh of wet earth.
“Thank you for letting me in,” she said.
She smiled.
“Maybe it was fate that brought you here today. I thought about you a lot, you know? Sometimes Daniel would ask me why he didn’t have a father. I said his father lived in heaven… but the truth is, heaven always had your face.”
My heart sank.
“If you want, I can visit him from time to time.”
She hesitated for a moment, but then nodded.
“I think he’ll appreciate that.”
We said goodbye with a long, silent hug. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like the past was no longer an open wound, but a scar I could now touch without pain.
Les mois suivants ont apporté une nouvelle routine. Je rendais visite à Daniel le week-end. Nous jouions au ballon, construisions des maquettes avec des boîtes en carton, et il m’appelait « Oncle Andrés ».
Althéa regardait de loin, toujours avec ce tendre sourire. Parfois, nous restions éveillés tard à parler, à nous remémorer des souvenirs, à rire de la bêtise de la jeunesse. L’amitié, qui avait été autrefois l’amour, renaissait d’une manière nouvelle, sereine, mûre, belle.
Un jour, alors que j’aidais Daniel à construire un château en blocs, il m’a demandé :
« Oncle, pourquoi ne vivez-vous pas ensemble avec maman ? »
J’étais sans voix. Althéa, qui était dans la cuisine, resta également immobile.
« Parce que… » J’ai commencé lentement : « Parfois, les gens qui s’aiment ont besoin de vivre dans des maisons différentes pour réapprendre à se comprendre. »
Il a froncé les sourcils d’un air pensif, puis a dit quelque chose qui m’a désarmé :
« Alors, apprends vite, pour que vous puissiez être ensemble. »
J’ai regardé Althéa. Elle sourit, les larmes aux yeux.
