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Around 2 a.m.
In the early morning, around 2 a.m., Amalia was sleeping peacefully, when an unexpected knock on the door broke her rest.
- Who is it? - she asked.
- It's me... - Instantly, Amalia recognized the voice. It was Andrés, her ex-husband. She had heard that voice so much in her life that it was unmistakable, even though she had not had any contact with him for about a year.
Amalia had not expected this visit, much less after learning through a friend that Andres had changed jobs and now spent his days and nights on the road driving a large cargo truck.
She opened the door for him more out of an involuntary act than her explicit desire. And she was completely frozen from head to toe as she saw him standing there, unchanging, identical to the last time her eyes had seen him.
- What do you want? - said Amalia. - It's been a long time since I heard from you, you disappeared, I thought I wouldn't see you again. What did you come looking for?
- I didn't come to look for anything, I don't need anything, I just... - said Andres in a rare calmness that, for Amalia, was a new attitude. I just came to talk to you, I need to talk to you.
The minutes ran slowly in silence, both standing facing each other at the door and leaving the air to the isolated sound of insects in the early morning.
Amalia, pale and cold, reacted, and with a nod of her head invited him in.
- Let's go to the kitchen - she said.
On the way to the kitchen, Amalia remembered, and unlike what she expected, she did not remember the bad moments they lived on the eve of their separation. She remembered the wedding night, the purchase of the longed-for house, their first dinnerware bought together, and the garden that survived, contrary to the adversities of the winters. The walk from the door to the kitchen took forever, endless and heavy. The only sad memory that could have gone through Amalia's head was the desire for the son that never came, of the failed attempts and of seeing her dream of youth fail.
They sat at the kitchen table, facing each other, as they had not done for more than a year, and both hands clasped at the same time. There was no rejection, no caresses, only the complicity of those who have known and loved each other for a long time.
- What happened, what happened to us? - Amalia said with her eyes wistful, melancholic and full of tears.
- Life... - answered Andres. I came to tell you something, something that took me a whole year to understand, to understand by myself. We loved each other and never stopped loving each other, but we were too proud to give up our dreams. And today I am here, in front of you, with the sole purpose of showing you that time does not make me forget you.
Amalia could only cry; tears ran down her cheeks quickly and fell on the table. After the first ones, her whole face became a sea of tears.
- It's all right, don't worry? - said Andrés, who couldn't stop his eyes from watering either. - I love you, and I will love you. You can make whatever decision you want after listening to me. All this year I haven't stopped thinking about you, feeling you. Thousands of times I was half-hearted while writing you messages that I never sent. I have always wanted to fix things, I just never had the courage.
At that very moment, a deafening alarm sounded: Amalia's phone.
- I'll go answer it - she told Andres -. There are many things I want to tell you too.
As she walked down the hallway to her room in search of the phone, Amalia noticed something that caught her attention: 2:05 a.m. So little time had passed since she opened the door to Andres. Amalia arrived at her room and, next to her book next to the bed, there was the insistent phone that had not stopped ringing. It was Alicia, Andres' sister. Her face went pale again and sweats enveloped her. She touched the green button and heard Alicia's tearful, trembling voice on the other end:
- Andres has had an accident on the road. He didn't make it.
Translated with DeepL.com (free version)
Alrededor de las 2
En la madrugada, alrededor de las 2 a. m., Amalia se encontraba durmiendo plácidamente, cuando unos inesperados golpes en la puerta rompieron su descanso.
- ¿Quién es? - preguntó.
- Soy yo... - Al instante, Amalia reconoció la voz. Era Andrés, su exesposo. Había escuchado tanto esa voz en su vida que le era inconfundible, a pesar de tener alrededor de un año sin ningún contacto con él.
Amalia no esperaba esta visita, mucho menos después de conocer, a través de una amiga, que Andrés había cambiado de trabajo y ahora pasaba sus días y noches en la carretera manejando un gran camión de carga.
Le abrió la puerta más por un acto involuntario que por su deseo explícito. Y se quedó completamente helada de los pies a la cabeza al verlo ahí, inmutable, idéntico a la última vez que sus ojos lo vieron.
- ¿Qué quieres? - dijo Amalia. - Hace mucho que no sabía de ti, desapareciste, creía que no te vería más. ¿Qué vienes a buscar?
- No vine a buscar nada, no necesito nada, solo... - dijo Andrés en una rara calma que, para Amalia, era una nueva actitud -. Solo vine a hablar contigo, necesito hablar contigo.
Los minutos corrieron lentamente en silencio, ambos parados uno frente al otro en la puerta y dejando el aire al aislado sonido de los insectos en la madrugada.
Amalia, pálida y fría, reaccionó, y en un gesto con la cabeza lo invitó a pasar.
- Vamos a la cocina - le dijo.
En el camino a la cocina, Amalia recordó, y a diferencia de lo que esperaba, no recordó los malos momentos que vivieron en vísperas a la separación. Recordó la noche de bodas, la compra de la añorada casa, su primera vajilla comprada juntos, y el jardín que sobrevivió, contrario a las adversidades de los inviernos. El camino de la puerta a la cocina se hacía eterno, infinito y pesado. El único recuerdo triste que pudo haber pasado por la cabeza de Amalia fue el deseo del hijo que nunca llegó, de los intentos fallidos y de ver su sueño de juventud fracasado.
Se sentaron en la mesa de la cocina, uno frente al otro, como hacía más de un año que no lo hacían, y ambas manos se tomaron a la vez. No hubo rechazo, no hubo caricias, solo la complicidad de quienes se conocen y se aman por mucho tiempo.
- ¿Qué ha pasado? ¿Qué nos ha pasado? - dijo Amalia con los ojos mustios, melancólicos y llenos de lágrimas.
- La vida... - respondió Andrés -. Vine a decirte algo, algo que me tomó todo un año entender, comprender por mí mismo. Nos amamos y nunca dejamos de hacerlo, pero éramos demasiado orgullosos para ceder nuestros sueños. Y hoy estoy aquí, frente a ti, con el único objetivo de demostrarte que el tiempo no hace que te olvide.
Amalia solo pudo llorar; las lágrimas recorrieron sus mejillas rápidamente y cayeron sobre la mesa. Seguido de las primeras, toda su cara se convirtió en un mar de llantos.
- No pasa nada, ¿tranquila? - dijo Andrés, que tampoco pudo evitar que sus ojos se humedecieran. - Yo te amo, y te amaré. Puedes tomar la decisión que desees después de escucharme. En todo este año no he dejado de pensarte, de sentirte. Miles de veces me quedé a medias mientras te escribía mensajes que nunca envié. Siempre he querido arreglar las cosas, solo que nunca tuve el valor.
En ese mismo momento, sonó una alarma ensordecedora: el teléfono de Amalia.
- Iré a contestar - le dijo a Andrés -. Hay muchas cosas que yo también quiero decirte.
Al pasar por el pasillo rumbo a su habitación en busca del teléfono, Amalia observó algo que le llamó la atención: 2:05 a. m. Tan poco tiempo había pasado desde que le abrió a Andrés. Amalia llegó a su habitación y, junto a su libro al lado de la cama, estaba el insistente teléfono que no había parado de sonar. Era Alicia, la hermana de Andrés. Su rostro volvió a quedar pálido y los sudores la envolvieron. Tocó el botón verde y escuchó del otro lado la voz llorosa y temblorosa de Alicia:
- Andrés ha tenido un accidente en la carretera. No ha sobrevivido.
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