As we walked away from the terminal, we saw it through the rear window. He was sitting on the pavement, near Vanessa, who gestured nervously. Ryan seemed to explain something to him, but she suddenly turned around and walked away pulling his trolley after her.
I turned my head.
I didn’t want to look.
After a few minutes of silence, my father asked me:
How long have you been saying something?
I watched the two children’s chairs.
I didn’t suspect anything. Absolutely nothing.
And that’s when I started crying.
I didn’t cry beautifully or discreetly. I cried as someone who spent months mourns trying to be strong and suddenly discovers that all his efforts were made for a man who did not value them.
For the past three months, I’ve had slept two hours a night. I had learned to feed them both almost simultaneously, to reassure them when they cried and function even when I was so tired that I forgot if I had eaten.
