Page 127 of Please, Forgive Me
“Maria Gabriela, before we start tonight, there’s something I need to say.” My voice came out steady, though it carried a sincerity I rarely allowed anyone to hear. She looked at me with that focused gaze of hers, and for a moment, I saw the same quiet curiosity she used to have back when we worked together. “I won’t take much of our time with this, and I promise it’s the last time I’ll bring it up.”
She nodded, giving me permission to continue. I took a deep breath, organizing my thoughts.
“I know I made a lot of mistakes,” I began carefully. “When you were pregnant, I doubted you. I humiliated you in ways no one should ever experience, and I was cruel. There’s no excuse for that. But I want you to know—it haunts me every day. Everything that happened was my fault.”
For a few seconds, the only sounds were the quiet clinking of silverware and the soft music playing in the background. I watched her as she processed my words—her expression calm, but attentive.
“I spent a long time thinking about how I acted, how I treated you and everyone around me. I hid behind work, used success as armor so I wouldn’t have to face my own demons. And you…” My voice faltered, but I pushed through. “You were the one who suffered the most because of that.”
Maria Gabriela kept her eyes locked on mine but stayed silent. I could tell she was really listening, and that gave me the courage to keep going.
“That’s why I got help. I started therapy. I took that time off to figure out what was going on with me. I needed to understand who I was without all the pressure, without the mistakes and the guilt weighing me down. It wasn’t easy,” I admitted, feeling the tightness rise in my throat. “But it was necessary. I had to change—not just for myself, but for our kids… and for you.”
She took a deep breath, her lips trembling slightly before she spoke.
“I’ve seen the change in you, Diego. And that…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “That’s made me start looking at us differently too.”
“But I want you to know,” I continued quickly, not wanting her to feel any pressure, “I’m not saying all this to make you forgive me or to push you into anything. I just needed to be honest. I want you to know how deeply sorry I am—and that I’ll do whatever it takes to rebuild something between us, if that’s what you want.”
“You’re on the right path,” she said finally, her smile soft but genuine—and somehow, that was enough to steady me.
The rest of the evening flowed surprisingly easily. After so many heavy talks and painful moments, it felt like we’d finally found a middle ground—a quiet understanding that let both of us breathe again.
We laughed over small things, reminisced about the teasing and banter from when she worked for me, even joked about how none of the assistants who came after her could ever measure up.
“You know, Diego,” she said after a pause, absentmindedly twirling her napkin, “I never thought we’d end up here like this—after everything.”
“Neither did I,” I admitted, watching her with a mix of admiration and gratitude. “But I’m glad you agreed to come out with me. It means more than you think.”
She smiled then—a real, bright smile that lit up the warm, dimly lit space around us.
I wanted to stretch the night out forever, but eventually, I had to drive her home.
The ride back was quiet, comfortable. I could still feel the warmth of our laughter lingering in the air. When we reached her building, I turned off the car and looked at her, wishing the moment didn’t have to end.
“Tonight was incredible, Maria Gabriela,” I said, the sincerity in my voice unmistakable.
“It really was, Diego,” she replied, her gaze soft but steady. “I don’t remember the last time I laughed like that.”
Her words warmed something inside me in a way I hadn’t expected. It was small, but it was enough—a sign that maybe I was starting to mend what I’d broken.
As she reached for the door handle, I leaned closer, an instinct I couldn’t fight. I touched her arm gently, and she stopped, turning to meet my eyes. For a long moment, we just stayed there in silence, letting the unspoken things hang between us.
Then, before I could second-guess myself, I leaned in and kissed her.
The kiss started soft—a hesitant brush of lips that deepened slowly, naturally. She tasted like something sweet and familiar, like nostalgia and hope all at once. My hands, once uncertain, found her waist, pulling her closer as our bodies moved together in perfect sync, guided by memory and something that had never really gone away.
She kissed me back with the same intensity, her hands sliding up to my shoulders, drawing me even closer. The world outside disappeared, leaving only us—and that undeniable connection that still lived between us.
There was passion in that kiss, yes, but there was tenderness too. It felt like it was stitching together parts of me that had been broken for far too long.
When we finally pulled apart, breathless, our faces still inches apart, she opened her eyes and looked at me with a playful sparkle.
“It’s not going past the kiss, Diego,” she whispered, a teasing smile curving her lips as she leaned back slightly.
“I know,” I said, still dazed, my voice rough with emotion. “And that’s more than enough for me.”
She laughed—a soft, melodic sound that sent my heart racing all over again.
