As I stood there lost in thought, I caught sight of her struggling to drag her suitcase out of the bedroom, the streaks of white in her hair at her temples more pronounced under the light.
My chest tightened and I felt a sudden sting in my eyes.
No matter what had happened, she was the woman who had shared my bed and my life for decades. She had given so much to this family and her sacrifices were not small.
I could not help but say, "Let me take you to the airport."
"Just so I can say goodbye."
She was ready to refuse, but after a moment, she nodded silently.
On the drive to the airport, she sat in the back seat, silently gazing out the window. I stayed quiet, feeling more like a taxi driver than her husband.
Every so often, I glanced at her profile through the rearview mirror and mixed feelings surged in my heart.
Questions burned in my chest. What did our years of marriage mean to her? What about the family we built together?
And what about the love I had poured into her?
However, I swallowed the words, holding them back.
Because there was a smile on her face that I had never seen before. It was a smile that radiated pure joy like a young girl’s.
Even in the best moments when I thought she was happiest, she had never smiled like this.
When the car pulled up to the airport, Wanda stepped out quickly, dragging her suitcase behind her and not even saying goodbye.
Her steps were brisk and determined.
She was running toward her happiness, finally free of the cage she believed had restrained her for decades.
Watching her retreating figure, I felt a deep, unshakable sadness.
Decades of my devotion, my unreserved love...
All of it… meant nothing.
When she left, she did not hesitate or show even the slightest trace of nostalgia.
It was as if every moment with me had been a burden.
Returning home, I felt hollow as I sat in the wicker chair by the window, gazing out at the golden autumn leaves for the entire afternoon.
I tried reasoning with myself, telling myself to let go.
But it was harder than I imagined.
Each minute after her departure felt like an eternity of quiet suffering.
I tried not to think of her, but questions circled endlessly in my head.
Had she arrived safely in Estoria?
She always feared the cold. Had she dressed warmly enough?
The food there was so different from what she was used to. Could she adapt?
Would she miss our son, grandsons and... me?