His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he seemed to drift off during our conversations, especially when we talked about the baby.
“Maybe he’s just stressed about work,” I reassured myself, pushing away the nagging doubt that had been creeping in. Yet, that night, as we sat down for dinner, I knew I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
“Ethan, are you okay?” I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil I felt inside.
He looked up, startled as if pulled from some deep thought.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, his tone unconvincing. He shifted in his seat and looked away, his hands fidgeting with the napkin in his lap.
“Are you sure? You’ve seemed… distracted lately,” I pressed gently, reaching for his hand.
He sighed, squeezing my hand briefly before pulling away.
“It’s just work. They’re being tough about the paternity leave. I talked to my boss, and he’s not very supportive. He’s hinted that if I take the leave, I could lose my job.”
The words hung in the air, and I felt like I had been doused with cold water. Lose his job? That wasn’t what we had planned for! We needed his income, especially now!
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I didn’t want to stress you out,” he replied, his gaze dropping to the table. “I thought I could figure it out.”
A knot tightened in my chest. Why did it feel like there was more he wasn’t saying? But I forced myself to smile, trying to be supportive.
“We’ll get through it, my love. We always do.”
He gave me a small, strained smile in return, but it did little to ease my worry. As I cleared the dishes, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.
The following week, I found myself at the grocery store, my mind still tangled with worry. I wandered the aisles aimlessly, unsure what to buy or even what we needed. It felt like my life was spinning out of control, and I was grasping at straws to hold it together.
“Sarah! Is that you?” a familiar voice suddenly called out, bursting my bubble of stress.
I turned to see Amanda, Ethan’s boss’s wife, pushing a cart down the aisle. Amanda had always been cheerful and outgoing, her smile lighting up any room she entered. We’d known each other since university, and though we weren’t close friends, we shared a casual camaraderie.
“Amanda, hi!” I greeted her with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “It’s good to see you!”
“How are YOU holding up girl?” Amanda asked, her gaze flickering briefly to my belly. “And how’s that precious baby bundle coming along?”
“We’re doing fine,” I replied, though the lie tasted bitter. “Just a little stressed. Ethan’s been having trouble with his paternity leave.”
Amanda frowned, genuine confusion crossing her face.
“Trouble? I thought Ethan’s leave was approved without any issues. My husband even mentioned how happy he was for him to take some time off to be with you.”
The words were like a punch to my gut.
I stared at Amanda, my mind racing. “Are you sure?” I managed to ask, my voice trembling slightly.
“Absolutely! Hubby thought it was great for Ethan to take the leave, especially now. It’s all been sorted out.”
A cold sense of dread washed over me. Why would my husband lie about something like that? What was he hiding?
“Um, thanks, Amanda,” I muttered quickly, forcing another smile. “I really need to get going.”
I hurried through the rest of my shopping, my thoughts a chaotic mess of confusion and fear. Back home, I paced the kitchen, replaying the conversation over and over in my head. If Ethan’s leave had been approved, why would he say otherwise?
Then my eyes landed on his phone, left carelessly on the kitchen counter as he took a shower. My heart pounded as I picked it up. I hesitated, guilt gnawing at me. But the need for answers overpowered my hesitation.
I immediately opened his family chat, scrolling through messages, each one like a dagger to my heart. My instincts had told me his parents, who didn’t quite approve of me, were involved in all of this and I was right.
In a recent conversation, Ethan’s mom had texted, “Ethan, you really don’t need to take time off for the baby. Sarah’s mom can help. We need you here for the renovations.”
His dad replied, “Exactly. It’s not like you’ll be far away. You can come home on weekends.”
Ethan responded “I know. I’ll take the leave and come over to help. Sarah will understand.”
My breath caught in my throat.
He was planning to take paternity leave, not to be with me and our baby, but to help his parents with house renovations? I felt the world around me shatter.
My mind spun with disbelief, anger, and heartbreak. How could he do this to me, to our unborn child? I had imagined sharing this precious time together, but he had chosen his parents over his family. Tears blurred my vision as I quickly took pictures of the messages for proof.
Later, we had dinner together, and I pretended nothing was wrong as I made my mental plan.
By the time Ethan came home the following evening, I had already made up my mind. I decided I couldn’t stay with someone who would betray my trust so easily, especially at a time when we should be united.
“I got fired,” he announced to the empty house as soon as he arrived. My mother told me later that’s what his mom told her.
He looked around the house, noticing my absence. Then, his eyes fell on the envelope I had left on the kitchen table, addressed to him in my handwriting.
With trembling hands, he opened the letter and read the words that would seal our fate.
Ethan,
I found the messages from your parents. You lied to me about the paternity leave. If you can lie about something so important, how can I trust you with our future? I need honesty, especially now. I’m leaving because I deserve better, and so does our baby.
I’ve sent the pictures of your messages to your boss, and that’s why you were fired. I cannot stay with someone who would betray me like this, especially at a time when we should be united. I’m going to file for divorce.
Goodbye,
Sarah.
Ethan stood there, stunned and broken, staring at the letter. He had lost everything: his job, his wife, and the chance to be a present father in his child’s life, all because of his lies and choices.
I, on the other hand, knew I had made the right decision. As I sat in my parents’ living room, holding my growing belly, I realized that the future I had imagined with Ethan was gone. But I also knew I had to be strong for my baby and myself. It was time to start a new chapter, one built on truth and integrity.
Sacrificing for Our Baby
Growing up, I was a troubled teenager, the kind who made people shake their heads and mutter that I’d never amount to anything. But I found solace in studying the brain, understanding how it works, and what makes us tick.
Becoming a neurologist helped redeem me. It was a way to prove to myself and everyone else that I could do something meaningful. For years, the satisfaction of helping people gave me purpose. Yet, it wasn’t just the work itself that fulfilled me; it was the life I built around it… a life with my husband.
When we first got married, I was the breadwinner, and James supported me in every way possible. My husband of four years worked in marketing, earning significantly less than I did, but we never let money define our roles or our happiness.
From the very beginning, he and I had agreed that having children wasn’t a priority for us. If we were ever to consider kids, adoption was the preferred route. Biological children? I wasn’t opposed to the idea, but I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic either. I liked my life the way it was: predictable, structured, and driven by my career.
But everything changed the day his best friend had a baby boy.
I still remember the moment James held that tiny bundle of joy for the first time. His entire demeanor softened, and his eyes filled with a tenderness I’d never seen before.
He suddenly started talking about having a child of our own, painting this picture of a life I’d never envisioned for myself. I tried to brush it off, telling myself it was just a phase, but life decided for us when I unexpectedly found out I was pregnant.
“What do we do now?” I asked him that evening, clutching the positive pregnancy test in one hand and my composure in the other.
“Let’s keep it! We’ll make it work,” he replied without hesitation, squeezing my hand reassuringly.
And so, despite my reservations, I agreed.
We came to a compromise: My husband would quit his job and become a stay-at-home dad once the baby arrived, allowing me to continue pursuing my demanding career. It seemed like a logical plan; a perfect balance between parenthood and professional aspirations. But I was so wrong…
When our daughter, Lily, was born, everything shifted.
The moment I held her, I knew I’d never regret having her. Yet, a part of me was still desperate to hold on to the life I’d carefully built before her arrival. Soon, my short maternity leave came to an end, and I found myself booked for a medical conference out of state.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I asked James before leaving. He stood in the doorway, cradling Lily with that same tender look he had the first time he held her.
“Don’t worry, Rachel. We’ll be fine. You just focus on your work, okay?”
“Call me if you need anything,” I insisted, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears.
My husband smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I will.”
But when I returned from the conference, everything felt different. James was distant, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something darker and more strained.
“Hey, how was the conference?” he asked, his gaze fixated on a spot somewhere beyond me.
“Good,” I replied cautiously. “How’s everything here?”
He shrugged, his face a mask of indifference. “Fine. Just… tired, I guess.”
Alarm bells rang in my head. “Tired?” I echoed. “What’s going on, babe?”
He hesitated, then spoke quietly, his voice tinged with something I hadn’t heard before; fear.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Rachel.”
“Do what?” I asked, though I already knew where this was heading.
“THIS… staying home with Lily. I feel trapped. Overwhelmed.”
His confession hit me like a sledgehammer!
“You said you could handle it. You agreed to this!”
“I know, but it’s harder than I thought. I’m not cut out for this,” he moaned.
“So, what are you suggesting? That I give up my career? Extend my maternity leave?”
“No, I just… maybe we could look into daycare?” he replied.
“Daycare?” I stared at him in disbelief. “We talked about this. We agreed that I’d go back to work and you’d stay home with Lily.”
“I know, but…”
“I made sacrifices, James!” My voice rose in frustration. “I pushed myself back into work mode for us. You knew how important this was for me!”
“And I made sacrifices too!” he shot back, his voice breaking. “I quit my job, Rachel. My career is gone.”
Silence fell between us, thick and suffocating. Lily’s soft cries echoed from the nursery, and my husband glanced over his shoulder like a man about to shatter.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I just need help.”
For the first time since Lily’s birth, I realized the depth of his struggle. I wasn’t the only one fighting to keep everything together. But I still couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal. James had promised, and now he wanted to back out?
The next few days were a blur of strained conversations and forced smiles. We barely spoke, each of us retreating into our separate worlds. I spent more time at work, and he spent more time avoiding eye contact.
Finally, one evening, after putting Lily to bed, I sat down beside him on the couch.
“We need to figure this out, James.”
He nodded, though he didn’t meet my gaze. “Yeah, I know.”
“This isn’t working. We’re both miserable, and our daughter deserves better.”
“What do you want me to do, Rachel?” he snapped, frustration leaking into his voice. “I’m doing my best here.”
“Maybe we need help,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Maybe we rushed into this.”
“What are you saying?” His voice cracked. “You regret having Lily?”
“No! But I regret that we’re failing her.”
He looked away, pain etched into his features. “So, what do we do?”
“I’ve hired a nanny.”
His head whipped around, disbelief flooding his eyes. “What? A nanny? We can’t afford that!”
“Yes, we can,” I said firmly. “You’ll start working from home again, and all your income will go toward paying her. We’ll find a way.”
The argument that followed was heated, but I stood my ground. My husband wanted to be there for Lily, but he needed help. And if I couldn’t be there, then I’d make sure someone else was.
Claire, our new nanny, started the following Monday. She was a godsend. She was calm, experienced, and exactly what James needed. Slowly, he began to find his footing again. The tension in our home eased, and for the first time since our daughter’s birth, there was a sense of peace.
One evening, as I watched James feed Lily with a gentle smile on his face, I knew I’d made the right decision. Maybe things would never be perfect, but we were finding a new normal.
“I’m sorry,” he said one night, his voice low and sincere. “I should’ve been more supportive.”
“I’m sorry too,” I whispered back. “I should’ve listened and communicated my plans more.”
It wasn’t a perfect resolution, but it was a start. We were learning to navigate this new life together, one day at a time. As we sat on the porch that evening, watching the stars twinkle above us, I felt a glimmer of hope.
We still had a long way to go, but as long as we faced it together, I knew we could make it work.
The Secret Behind the Sale
The golden light of the setting sun bathed the porch in a soft glow, and I swayed gently on the swing, listening to the rhythmic creak of its chains. Mark stood before me, his eyes filled with a familiar intensity.
“We need more space if we want to start a family, Layla. This place is just too small,” he said, his voice tinged with an earnestness that tugged at my heart.
Little did I know that conversation would change the trajectory of my life.
I glanced around, taking in the cozy house and its blooming garden, framed by the white picket fence that my parents had installed for us. This house was more than just a home; it was a gift from my parents when we married a year ago, a symbol of their love and support for our new life together.
“But Mark, this house is perfect,” I replied softly, feeling a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving it behind. “My parents were so generous with this gift.”
My husband sighed and sat down beside me on the swing, his presence comforting yet somehow distant. He took my hand, his fingers warm against my cool skin.
“I know, sweetheart. But think about the future. A bigger house means more room for a nursery and a backyard for our child or children to play in. It’s a step forward, a step toward the life we’ve been dreaming about.”
His words painted a beautiful picture; one filled with laughter, late-night feedings, and watching our children take their first steps in a spacious, sunlit room. But as enchanting as it sounded, something about it didn’t sit right with me.
I looked around at the roses we had planted together, the cozy living room where we spent countless evenings curled up on the couch, and the kitchen where we cooked our first meal as husband and wife.
Could I really leave all this behind?
“Are you sure this is what we need to do?” I asked, searching his face for any hint of hesitation, any sign that he, too, was struggling with this decision.
But my husband’s gaze was steady, unwavering.
“I know it’s hard, my angel. But we’ll create new memories in the new house. It’ll be our home, where we’ll raise our children and build our future together.”
I knew he was right, or at least, I wanted to believe he was. I trusted Mark and his vision for our future. If moving to a bigger house was what he thought we needed, then I would follow him, no matter how difficult it was to let go.
“Alright,” I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat. “We’ll sell the house… for our future.”
Mark’s smile was radiant, his relief palpable. He pulled me into a tight embrace, his lips brushing against my hair.
“Thank you, my love. I promise you, it’ll be worth it!”
I agreed with a heavy heart.
Within weeks, our cozy little house was on the market, and buyers were lining up. I couldn’t shake the sense of loss that lingered, but Mark’s enthusiasm and optimism kept me from voicing my doubts.
He assured me we would find the perfect home, one that I would fall in love with just as much as this one.
“It’s the right decision, Lay. You’ll see, it’s for the best,” he said, sealing another moving box with tape.
I nodded, even though my heart felt as if it were being squeezed.
The living room, now filled with boxes labeled “Kitchen,” “Books,” and “Decor,” seemed foreign, stripped of its warmth and familiarity. We were set to move out the following day, staying with Mark’s parents for a few days until he revealed the “surprise” of our new home.
Everything felt rushed, but I pushed my concerns aside. My husband knew what he was doing… or so I thought.
That’s when my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
“Hey, Layla. I heard you guys sold the house. I’m so happy Mark finally confessed to you. You deserve to know the truth,” the stranger texted.
I stared at the screen, confusion swirling in my mind. Confessed? What truth?
My fingers trembled as I typed back, “Who is this? What confession?”
A few moments later, my phone buzzed again.
“Ummm… It’s Candice, Mark’s ex. Oh, so he didn’t… YOU NEED TO CHECK THE ATTIC.”
Candice? Mark’s ex? My heart raced as a sense of dread washed over me. Why would she be reaching out now? And what could possibly be in the attic that she felt the need to warn me about?
The attic door creaked as I slowly pushed it open, revealing a dusty, dimly lit space filled with old boxes and forgotten items. I hesitated, fear and curiosity battling within me.
What could be up here?
I began searching through the boxes, my heart pounding harder with each breath.
After what felt like an eternity, I spotted a small wooden chest tucked away in the corner, partially hidden beneath a stack of old blankets. I hadn’t noticed it before.
Casei-me com a minha professora – O que aconteceu na nossa primeira noite chocou-me profundamente
Eu nunca imaginei que veria meu professor do ensino médio anos depois no meio de um mercado de produtores lotado. Mas lá estava ele, chamando meu nome como se o tempo não tivesse passado. O que começou como uma conversa educada rapidamente se transformou em algo que eu nunca poderia ter imaginado.
Quando eu estava no ensino médio, o Sr. Harper era o professor que todos adoravam. Recém-saído da universidade, ele tinha um talento especial para fazer história antiga soar como uma série da Netflix. Ele era enérgico, engraçado e talvez um pouco bonito demais para um professor.
Jovem professor em uma sala de aula | Fonte: Midjourney
Para a maioria de nós, ele era o “professor legal”, aquele que fazia você sentir que aprender era menos uma tarefa. Para mim, ele era apenas o Sr. Harper — um adulto gentil e engraçado que sempre tinha tempo para seus alunos.
“Claire, ótima análise sobre o ensaio da Declaração da Independência”, ele me disse uma vez depois da aula. “Você tem uma mente afiada. Já pensou em fazer faculdade de direito?”
Aluna entregando sua tarefa para seu professor | Fonte: Midjourney
Lembro-me de dar de ombros sem jeito, colocando meu caderno contra o peito. “Não sei… Talvez? História é só… mais fácil que matemática.”
Ele riu. “Confie em mim, matemática é mais fácil quando você não pensa demais. História, no entanto? É onde as histórias estão. Você é bom em encontrar as histórias.”
Aos 16, não significava muito para mim. Ele era apenas um professor fazendo seu trabalho. Mas eu estaria mentindo se dissesse que suas palavras não ficaram.
A vida aconteceu depois disso. Eu me formei, me mudei para a cidade e deixei aquelas memórias do ensino médio para trás. Ou assim eu pensava.
Graduado do ensino médio | Fonte: Midjourney
Avançando oito anos depois. Eu tinha 24 anos e estava de volta à minha pacata cidade natal, vagando pelo mercado de produtores quando uma voz familiar me fez parar.
“Claire? É você?”
Eu me virei, e lá estava ele. Só que agora, ele não era o “Sr. Harper”. Ele era apenas Leo.
“Sr. Har—quero dizer, Leo?” Eu tropecei nas palavras, sentindo minhas bochechas esquentarem.
Seu sorriso se alargou, o mesmo de sempre, mas com um pouco mais de facilidade, um pouco mais de charme. “Você não precisa mais me chamar de ‘Sr.’.”
Foi surreal — estar ali com o homem que costumava corrigir minhas redações, agora rindo comigo como um velho amigo. Se eu soubesse o quanto aquele momento mudaria minha vida.
Pessoas conversando em um mercado de produtores rurais | Fonte: Midjourney
“Você ainda dá aulas?”, perguntei, equilibrando uma cesta de vegetais frescos no quadril.
“É”, Leo disse, suas mãos enfiadas nos bolsos de sua jaqueta. “Mas a escola é diferente agora. Hoje em dia ensino inglês no ensino médio.”
“Inglês?” Eu provoquei. “O que aconteceu com a história?”
Ele riu, um som profundo e fácil. “Bem, acontece que sou melhor em discutir literatura.”
O que me impressionou não foi apenas o quanto ele parecia mais velho — era o quanto ele parecia mais leve. Menos o professor novato enérgico, mais o homem confiante que havia encontrado seu ritmo.
Pessoas conversando em um mercado de produtores rurais | Fonte: Midjourney
Enquanto conversávamos, a conversa não apenas fluía — ela dançava. Ele me contou sobre seus anos ensinando os alunos que o deixavam louco, mas o deixavam orgulhoso, e as histórias que ficaram com ele. Compartilhei meu tempo na cidade: os empregos caóticos, os relacionamentos fracassados e meu sonho de começar um pequeno negócio algum dia.
“Você seria incrível nisso”, ele disse enquanto tomava café duas semanas depois. “A maneira como você descreveu essa ideia? Eu praticamente conseguia ver.”
“Você só está dizendo isso”, eu ri, mas seu olhar firme me fez parar.
“Não, é isso que eu quero dizer”, ele disse, sua voz suave, mas insistente. “Você tem o ímpeto, Claire. Você só precisa da chance.”
Pessoas em um encontro para tomar café | Fonte: Midjourney
Quando chegamos ao nosso terceiro jantar — este em um bistrô aconchegante iluminado por uma suave luz de velas — percebi algo. A diferença de idade? Sete anos. A conexão? Instantânea. O sentimento? Inesperado.
“Estou começando a achar que você está me usando apenas para curiosidades históricas gratuitas”, brinquei enquanto ele pagava a conta.
“Pego”, ele disse com um sorriso, inclinando-se para mais perto. “Embora eu possa ter segundas intenções.”
O ar mudou, uma corrente de algo não dito, mas inegável, passando entre nós. Meu coração disparou, e eu quebrei o silêncio com um sussurro.
“Que tipo de motivos?”
“Acho que você vai ter que ficar por aqui e descobrir.”
Casal em um jantar | Fonte: Getty Images
Um ano depois, estávamos sob o enorme carvalho no quintal dos meus pais, cercados por luzes de fada, o riso dos amigos e o farfalhar silencioso das folhas. Foi um casamento pequeno e simples, exatamente como queríamos.
Quando coloquei a aliança de ouro no dedo de Leo, não consegui deixar de sorrir. Esse não era o tipo de história de amor que eu já havia imaginado para mim, mas parecia certo em todos os sentidos.
Noivos trocando votos no dia do casamento | Fonte: Midjourney
Naquela noite, depois que o último convidado foi embora e a casa caiu em um silêncio pacífico, Leo e eu finalmente tivemos um momento para nós mesmos. Sentamos na luz fraca da sala de estar, ainda vestidos com nossas roupas de casamento, sapatos tirados, taças de champanhe nas mãos.
“Tenho algo para você”, ele disse, quebrando o silêncio confortável.
Eu levantei uma sobrancelha, intrigada. “Um presente? Além de se casar comigo? Uma jogada ousada.”
Ele riu suavemente e puxou um pequeno caderno de couro gasto de trás das costas. “Achei que você gostaria disto.”
Peguei-o, passando os dedos pela capa rachada. “O que é isso?”
Um pequeno caderno antigo | Fonte: Midjourney
“Abra”, ele pediu, sua voz tingida com algo que eu não conseguia identificar — nervosismo? Excitação?
Abrindo a capa, imediatamente reconheci o rabisco bagunçado na primeira página. Minha caligrafia. Meu coração pulou. “Espera… esse é meu antigo diário de sonhos?”
Ele assentiu, sorrindo como uma criança confessando um segredo bem guardado. “Você escreveu na minha aula de história. Lembra? Aquela tarefa em que você tinha que imaginar seu futuro?”
“Eu esqueci completamente disso!” Eu ri, embora minhas bochechas estivessem vermelhas de vergonha. “Você guardou?”
Noiva sorrindo enquanto olha seu diário | Fonte: Midjourney
“Não de propósito”, ele admitiu, esfregando a nuca. “Quando troquei de escola, encontrei-o em uma caixa de papéis velhos. Eu queria jogá-lo fora, mas… não consegui. Era bom demais.”
“Bom?” Eu folheei as páginas, lendo fragmentos de sonhos adolescentes. Começar um negócio. Viajar para Paris. Fazer a diferença. “Isso é só o devaneio de um colegial.”
“Não”, disse Leo, sua voz firme, mas gentil. “É o mapa para a vida que você vai ter. Eu o guardei porque ele me lembrou de quanto potencial você tinha. E eu queria vê-lo se tornar realidade.”
Recém-casados tendo uma conversa íntima na sala de estar | Fonte: Midjourney
Olhei para ele, minha garganta apertando. “Você realmente acha que eu consigo fazer tudo isso?”
A mão dele cobriu a minha. “Eu não acho. Eu sei. E eu estarei aqui, a cada passo do caminho.”
Lágrimas brotaram em meus olhos enquanto eu apertava o caderno contra meu peito. “Leo… você está meio que me arruinando agora.”
Ele sorriu. “Ótimo. Esse é meu trabalho.”
Naquela noite, enquanto eu estava deitada na cama, com o caderno de couro gasto descansando no meu colo, eu não conseguia me livrar da sensação de que minha vida estava prestes a mudar de maneiras que eu ainda não conseguia compreender. O braço de Leo estava sobre mim, sua respiração constante e quente contra meu ombro.
Recém-casados tendo uma conversa íntima na sala de estar | Fonte: Midjourney
Olhei para o caderno, cujas páginas estavam cheias de sonhos que eu havia esquecido há muito tempo, e senti algo mudar dentro de mim.
“Por que você não me contou que tinha isso antes?”, sussurrei, quebrando o silêncio.
Ele se mexeu levemente, mas não levantou a cabeça. “Porque eu não queria pressionar você”, ele murmurou sonolento. “Você tinha que encontrar o caminho de volta para aqueles sonhos por conta própria.”
Passei meus dedos pelas páginas, minha caligrafia adolescente quase estranha para mim. “Mas… e se eu falhar?”
Leo se apoiou em um cotovelo, seus olhos encontrando os meus na luz fraca. “Claire, fracassar não é a pior coisa. Nunca tentar? Isso é pior.”
Suas palavras permaneceram por muito tempo depois que ele voltou a dormir. Pela manhã, eu já tinha me decidido.
Mulher tomando café sentada na cama | Fonte: Midjourney
Nas semanas seguintes, comecei a derrubar as paredes que construí ao meu redor. Larguei o emprego de escritório que nunca amei e me joguei na ideia que vivia sem pagar aluguel na minha cabeça há anos: uma livraria-café. Leo se tornou minha rocha, ficando ao meu lado durante as madrugadas, os soluços financeiros e minha incansável dúvida.
“Você acha que as pessoas realmente virão aqui?”, perguntei a ele uma noite enquanto pintávamos as paredes da loja.
Ele se inclinou na escada, sorrindo. “Você está brincando, certo? Uma livraria com café? Você terá pessoas fazendo fila só para sentir o cheiro do lugar.”
Ele não estava errado. Quando abrimos, não era apenas um negócio — era parte da comunidade. E era nossa.
Pessoas em uma livraria com cafeteria. | Fonte: Midjourney
Agora, sentada atrás do balcão do nosso próspero café-livraria, observando Leo ajudar nosso filho pequeno a pegar os lápis de cera do chão, penso naquele caderno — a centelha que reacendeu um fogo em mim que eu não sabia que havia se apagado.
Leo olhou para cima, captando meu olhar. “O que é esse olhar?”, ele perguntou, sorrindo.
“Nada”, eu disse, meu coração cheio. “Só pensando… Eu realmente me casei com o professor certo.”
“É claro que sim”, ele disse, piscando.
Casal feliz olhando nos olhos um do outro | Fonte: Midjourney
Gostou desta história? Mergulhe em outro conto cativante: A generosidade de um professor de música para com um garoto “pobre” revela um segredo transformador sobre seu pai.
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