Page 105 of My Spanish Love Affair

“I didn’t tell Santi I was leaving,” I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just... I couldn’t face him. He’s so good at handling all of this, and he’s been so good to me, but I’m not good at this at all. I just - I feel like I’m failing him.”

My mother tilts her head, looking at me with that no-nonsense expression I’ve always associated with her moments of wisdom.

“You’re not failing anyone,” she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Santi cares about you, doesn’t he?”

I nod, the thought of him making my heart ache.

“He does. He’s been so patient, so supportive, but... I don’t think he really understands how hard this has been for me. He’s used to it: the cameras, the gossip, the spotlight. It doesn’t faze him. But I feel like I’m being ripped apart from every angle, judged, criticised, and it’s too much. It’s suffocating.”

“And have you told him that?” she asks gently.

I shake my head, ashamed. “No. Well, I mean, I’ve tried, but I don’t think I’ve been clear. I didn’t want him to think that I was weak, or being overdramatic. It’s not like I’m an A-List celebrity or something. But now... now I’ve just run away.”

Mum lets out a soft sigh, her thumb brushing over the back of my hand.

“You’re not running away, love. You’re taking a step back to breathe, and that’s okay. Sometimes you need space to figure things out, to see things clearly. And if Santi cares about you the way I think he does, he’ll understand that.”

Her words chip away at the guilt, but it’s still there, a dull ache in the back of my mind.

“What if he doesn’t understand? What if... what if this ruins everything?”

Her gaze softens, and she reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“Olivia, the right person will never hold it against you for needing time to take care of yourself. And if he’s not the right person, well... you’re better off knowing now, aren’t you?”

The thought terrifies me, but there’s a truth in her words that I can’t ignore.

I nod slowly, her reassurance settling in, and for the first time in days, the tightness in my chest eases just a little.

I glance at my phone, still turned off and buried in my bag. I sip my tea, the warmth spreading through me, and part of me wants to turn it on to see if Santi has replied to my vague message.

But the thought of facing the world - or him - feels like too much right now.

“I’m not ready,” I admit softly, almost to myself.

“That’s alright,” Mum says, her voice steady. “You don’t have to be ready yet. You just got here. Take your time - the rest of the world can, and will, wait.”

I nod again, her words a balm to my frayed nerves. As I sit there, wrapped in the safety of my mother’s presence, I realise she’s right.

The rest of the world can wait.

For now, I just need to find myself again.

∞∞∞

The familiar scent of soy sauce, garlic, and crispy spring rolls fills the air as I step into Laura’s apartment, balancing a bag of Chinese takeout in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

It’s almost like déjà vu, and the memory of that January night when everything first unraveled rushes back to me.

Laura grins as she opens the door, her hair tied up in a messy bun and her face free of makeup. She’s wearing an oversized sweater, some dark bicycle shorts and a pair of fluffy socks.

“Liv!” she exclaims, pulling me into a hug that’s so tight I nearly drop the food. “Look at you, you beautiful girl. I can’t believe you’ve spared some time from your glamorous life as a Spanish rugby WAG to come and see me.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. I smile despite the heavy cloud that’s settled over me. “I’m not a WAG.”

“Sure, sure,” she teases, stepping back and giving me a mock-serious once-over. “You don’t look like one, at least. No fake tan, no hair extensions... You didn’t even bring a designer handbag to carry the Chinese. I’m half disappointed, half impressed.”

I can’t help but laugh, some of the tension in my shoulders easing.

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