Even when he was swamped with work, he'd bring home my favorite snacks or share a couple of cold beers with me after the kids went to bed.
Even now, he was making dinner.
"Hey, honey, I made your favorite black pepper pasta. Come try it," he called out, waving a steaming plate of pasta in front of me.
In a daze, I barely registered the sight of him holding the dish.
The person and the food I once cherished felt utterly tasteless now, even somewhat nauseating.
I used a stomachache as an excuse to decline his pasta and his attempts at closeness.
My refusal seemed to hit him hard; he clearly sensed something was wrong.
Leones leaned into me, his voice filled with concern. "Sis, did I do something wrong?"
Leones had always called me "Sis" since we were kids. When he was bullied at age ten, I stood up for him bravely and protected him. Back then, he'd patted my head and gently told me, "You're younger than me, so you should stand behind me."
I didn't step back; instead, I stubbornly replied, "If you call me 'Sis,' I can protect you too."
That day, we were pushed to the ground by older kids, and he shielded me with his own body. Ever since, he'd called me "Sis" instead of my name.
I sighed and pushed him away gently, stepping into the bedroom and locking the door.
He banged on the door loudly.
"Rebecca, what's wrong?
"Just tell me if you're upset with me.
"If I did something wrong, you need to let me know!
"You're shutting me out without giving me a chance to explain!"
His persistent knocking made my head pound. I shot off a text message, sent a lump of our earlier conversation, and hit send.
The phone confirmed the message was sent, and the knocking stopped. After a few minutes of silence, Leones' voice drifted through the door.
"So, are you planning to divorce me?"
Even though I had entertained the thought, hearing the word "divorce" made my heart ache more than I expected.
Do I really want a divorce? The thought circled in my mind.
Leones continued to apologize from the other side of the door for the next half hour while I waited in silence.
Finally, at precisely nine o'clock, the noise ceased.
I opened the door to find Leones squatting on the floor, crying softly.
When he saw me, he looked up with tear-streaked eyes and said, "Sis, I'm sorry. Let's not get a divorce, okay? I promise I'll be better."
His eyes were red, and he looked at me with a pleading expression, like a lost puppy.