PART 3
“Answer me,” I told him.
Veronica looked at the cell phone as if it were a bomb.
—Ricardo, let’s not do it like this.
—Answer. Put it on speakerphone.
With a trembling hand, she accepted the call.
Laura’s voice filled the dining room.
—Did you tell him yet? Because they’re coming to pick up the furniture tomorrow and I don’t want things to get complicated.
The silence was brutal.
Veronica closed her eyes.
—Laura, I’m with him.
On the other side they didn’t say anything for a few seconds.
Then Laura blurted out:
—Well, it’s about time. You can’t keep carrying that man around.
I felt my blood boil, but I didn’t scream. I didn’t break anything. I just stared at the woman who had shared my bed for more than two decades.
—Is that what I am to you? A burden?
Veronica started to cry.
—I didn’t mean to hurt you.
—You deceived me for over a year. You stole money from me. You planned to take furniture, accounts, and half my life while I was bringing you sweet bread to the hospital.
—I was confused.
—No. Being confused means not knowing what to do. You knew perfectly well. You just hoped I’d be the last to find out.
I told her I had already hired a lawyer. That the account was frozen. That the divorce proceedings had begun. That she would receive what she was legally entitled to, and nothing more.
Then she stopped crying.
He looked at me angrily.
—Did you investigate me?
—I defended myself.
That was the first time in years that I didn’t look down in front of her.
I asked her to leave that same night. She packed her clothes into two suitcases, called Laura, and left without saying goodbye. Before closing the door, she said:
—Someday you’ll understand that all I wanted was to live.
I replied:
—You could live without destroying me.
When the door closed, the house fell silent. I sat in the kitchen until dawn. Then I called Don Julián.
“She’s already gone,” I told him.
—And how does it feel?
—Broken… but free.
—Then you’re on the right track, kid.
The following months were tough. We sold the house. Samuel discovered that Veronica had still tried to withdraw money from a retirement fund I’d almost forgotten about. Luckily, it was already protected. That last attempt killed any lingering nostalgia.
Sometimes I would find old photos: our wedding in Xochimilco, family gatherings, vacations in Veracruz, birthdays with tres leches cake. It hurt to see real smiles on people who were no longer there.
Don Julián became like family to me. He would come to my small apartment with chicken broth, scold me if I didn’t eat, and repeatedly tell me that it wasn’t my fault I had trusted him.
But one day he started looking more tired. I took him to the doctor. He walked slowly and had difficulty breathing. He confessed that he had felt useless for years.
“At my age, it’s scary to start over again,” he told me.
—You taught me that staying where one fades away is also scary—I replied.
Serious.
—Just look at that. The student came out talking back.
Two weeks later, Samuel called me.
—Ricardo, it’s official. He’s divorced.
I felt no joy. Nor anger. I felt calm. A small calm, like when you stop trembling after a fright.
I called Don Julián to tell him.
“We’ll celebrate tomorrow,” she told me in a weak voice. “Rest today. You’ve got your life back.”
The next day he didn’t call me. His son, Andrés, called me.
—My dad had a heart attack. He’s in intensive care. He asked me to pick him up.
I arrived at the hospital with a heavy heart. Don Julián was connected to monitors, smaller than ever. I approached him and took his hand.
—Don Julián, it’s Ricardo.
He barely opened his eyes.
“Don’t ever settle for crumbs again,” she whispered.
—I won’t. I promise.
He squeezed my fingers.
—I’m proud of you.
Then he closed his eyes.
The monitor’s sound changed. The nurses came in. I stepped aside, praying like I hadn’t prayed since I was a child.
They couldn’t save him.
The funeral was small: his son, two neighbors, and me. When it was over, Andrés handed me an envelope.
“Ricardo:
If you’re reading this, I’m already gone. Don’t be sad. My last few months had meaning because I was able to help you. The watch I gave you wasn’t to remind you of something dead, but to remind you that even what’s stopped can regain value if someone chooses to see it differently.
What Veronica did doesn’t define who you are. Your worth doesn’t depend on someone who didn’t know how to take care of you.
Long live Ricardo. Long live me too.
With love,
Julian.”
I put the letter next to the clock stopped at 3:15.
Months later, I began to rebuild myself. I took photography classes at the cultural center, started walking down Reforma Avenue again on Sundays, and accepted invitations I had previously rejected. One day I met Elena in a café in the Roma neighborhood. She was a teacher, divorced, with a quiet laugh. I don’t know what will happen to her. And for the first time, I don’t need to know.
Because I understood something that took me twenty-three years to learn: staying with something broken isn’t always love. Sometimes it’s fear disguised as loyalty.
Today, when I open that old clock, I no longer see a lifeless object. I see a warning.
Time stops when one stops living in order not to inconvenience others.
But you can also start walking again the day you have the courage to leave.
