He comes back 12 years later after leaving me for another woman: the past comes back to life as if it were yesterday.

I met Daniel at a mutual friend’s party—cheerful, charming, with a smile that seemed to light up everything around him. It was the first time I truly fell in love. Before him, I hadn’t had any romances—I grew up in a small town, with a strict upbringing, where the only thing that mattered was my studies. My parents didn’t even let me think about boys. I envied my friends who did have partners, but I followed my own path: a career first, and then, perhaps, a family.

But Daniel changed everything. We grew closer quickly—it was as if I’d been waiting for him all my life. I blossomed around him, and so did he. Even my stern parents approved of our relationship, and soon after, we celebrated a simple wedding. A year later, the twins arrived—Lucas and Mateo. It was happiness, but also a test. I wasn’t ready for so much responsibility, but Daniel was there—he helped me, he learned how to be a father. Together, we bathed them, fed them, woke up in the middle of the night. He was a good listener, he made an effort. I thought we’d gotten lucky.

But everything changed when the children grew up. He became distant. He came home late, tired, irritable. I began to suspect—was he cheating on me? The answer came naturally: one day, while he was showering, a woman called his phone. She introduced herself as Sofía. And she told me she’d been dating my husband for over a year. My world fell apart. Then Carla came. Then—Lucía. Later—Elena and Adriana. I forgave. For the children. For the family.

I was afraid that if we separated, they would grow up without an example of what a family was. And I endured. I closed my eyes. I wiped the pain from my soul. But when the children grew up and left home, everything became clear: there was nothing left between Daniel and me. We were like neighbors. No love, no respect. We divorced. He left. And I stayed. I learned to live with silence. With loneliness. I tried to fill the void—with friends, hobbies, books. I lived. Without complaining. Without reproaches.

Twelve years passed. One autumn afternoon, there was a knock at the door. It was him. Daniel. Gray-haired, bent over, unrecognizable. He asked me to come in. He said he wanted to talk. Between sips of coffee, he confessed: he’d never found happiness. Women came and went, he didn’t last long in any job, his health failed him. He was left with nothing. Alone. Unhappy. And now he was asking for forgiveness. He was asking to start over.

And I sat, not knowing what to say. Twelve years—not a call, not a letter, not a message on my birthday. And now, sorry? Another chance? A new life? Inside, everything hurts. But my heart beats too—because I still have feelings for him. I never loved anyone else. I didn’t let anyone into my life. He’s the father of my children. He’s not a stranger. But he’s not the same man he was before, either.

I didn’t respond. I stayed here, thinking. Searching for the strength to forgive. Or to let him go, once and for all.