Page 80 of Please, Forgive Me
“I know, Carol…” I murmured, staring down at my hands. “But sometimes it’s hard to let go of everything we’ve been through. Even if it was messy, painful… there were good moments too.”
She gave me that look—the one that said she was tired of hearing me talk about Diego.
“Listen, Gabi… just don’t let him drag you down. You’re strong. You know what you want. And it’s definitely not him, right?”
I smiled faintly, trying to take in her words.
“No. It’s not him.”
“That’s right! Focus on what really matters now,” Carol said, her tone lightening as she changed the subject like she could wave all the problems away with a magic wand. “So, have you figured out what you’re doing this weekend—besides that torture workshop your boss booked for you?”
“I think I’ll spend Saturday afternoon sleeping, ‘cause that marathon’s gonna be brutal,” I joked, keeping my tone playful.
Carol gave my shoulder a friendly pat and laughed.
“That’s the spirit! And then you can call me and tell me everything in detail. You know I live for a good behind-the-scenes story from the upper crust.”
“You got it!” I said with a grin.
I finished a few chores after my friend left, trying not to think too much about what was waiting for me at work over the next few days.
Everything seemed calm until my phone buzzed on the coffee table. A message from my mom lit up the screen:
“Be there in 10 minutes. Need to talk.”
I sighed, a small knot tightening in my chest.
Ever since I told her about the pregnancy last month, she’d started visiting more often.
It hadn’t been easy to tell her. Not because she was strict or unkind—but because I felt ashamed. Afraid she wouldn’t believe that even with protection, the unexpected had happened.
And, just as I’d feared, at first she was confused—maybe even skeptical. But deep down, she was my mom. After a long talk, her doubts faded, replaced by understanding and unconditional support.
Now here we were, in this new routine of frequent visits—as if she wanted to remind me that I wasn’t alone, even though a part of me still felt vulnerable.
I walked to the mirror in the hallway, quickly fixing my hair and making sure I didn’t look stressed. I didn’t want her to see any sign of it.
After all, Diego was already doing a great job of complicating my life every single day at work.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, there she was—my mom—with that warm smile that, even in the middle of my emotional chaos, still had the power to calm me down.
“Hi, sweetheart!” She pulled me into a tight hug, like she always did.
Her arms wrapped around me in that protective way only a mother’s could, and for a brief moment, I wished I could stay there forever—safe from the mess of adulthood.
“Hey, Mom,” I greeted, forcing a small smile. “You got here fast.”
She walked in and made herself comfortable on the couch like she always did—this had always been her home as much as mine.
I followed her, sitting down beside her while she gave me that motherly look that saw everything, knew everything, yet still waited for me to say the right words.
“How are you, honey?” she asked gently, touching my hand. “Are you taking good care of yourself? How’s the baby?”
I shrugged, taking a slow breath.
“We’re fine. I did all the routine tests, and the baby’s developing well. But, you know… work.” My voice trailed off.
I didn’t want to burden her with my worries about Diego. She already had enough to deal with—her daughter’s unexpected pregnancy was probably more than enough.
