NdA - Hey y'all, this is my gift to all of us! We won! We are still the best ship ever... I'm so proud of you. Congratulations 3

Special thanks to the girl who made me listen to this damn song: Princesa, I love you, but now I cry every time I hear it!

You remember when you saw her for the first time after five years.

You remember how you panicked and threw yourself in the first shop on your way.

You remember having a panic attack shortly after, nothing like the ones you had in the past.

But you remember having a similar one... the day she left you.

Hiding in that toilet, you thought about when you both were happy, in love... fearless against the cruel life.

You remember her bright eyes, the big smile she gave you anytime you were being silly.

And you remember the distraught look on her face, when the doctor said there was no heartbeat. No sign of life in her belly. Nothing.

There wasn't anything they could do to save your baby... Your baby... Gone.

Her break down, in that very room, is something you can't forget. It is what has haunted you at night for years.

You still can't forgive yourself for what has happened. Even though you know it was not your fault. It wasn't anybody's, really.

But neither of you thought so at the time.

You remember how, that night, she got up from your couch, with the blankest of expressions, as if she wasn't really there. She looked at you, a single tear running down her left eye, and went out.

You hadn't seen her for three days. Worried sick, you almost starved yourself, spending your time looking for her. Trying, not really succeeding, not to think about what you lost in one day. Who you lost.

Because, right then, all that mattered was finding her.

You tried not to think about the room you both had prepared for your child. Not to think about how they would have looked... How would they be.

Would they have had your eyes or hers?

Hard to tell, for you will never see them.

When you found her, she was staring at the roaring river, rushing right below the bridge she was sat on. Perched enough that a little breeze could make her fall down to her death.

You told her to come off, that she could hurt herself.

When she spoke, your heart sank. Her voice was full of sorrow and hatred. She told you she was already hurt, what was just a bit more pain and then nothing?

You shivered when you heard those words, that woman once happy, was now on the verge of killing herself. But you had to be strong. For her. For yourself.

Slowly, you approached her, as if she was some kind of ferocious and scared animal... You hugged her, burying your face in the crook of her neck, smelling that fragrance so familiar and yet so wild now.

"I leave... tomorrow."

That was what she whispered to you, not even sounding as broken as you thought she was. Broken as much as you were.

You accepted it - because, really, what else could you have done? - tears coming out of your already burning eyes, drawing wet trails until they fell on your clothes. Sobs erupted from your chest, but you understood.

You understood why she couldn't live with you anymore.

Anything in there would have reminded her of your lost baby.

So you let her go.

That's what they say, is it not? When you truly love someone, you let them go. You put their happiness before yours. Their life before yours.

And that you did.

The first night without her was the worst night you had ever had. Your house had been the object of your hate. In your fury, you grabbed anything that reminded you of her, throwing it at the wall.

You stopped when, with shards of glass pressing under your bare feet, you found your pocket box.

The very same box containing the ring you were going to propose to her with. You collapsed on your knees, screaming. Asking yourself why the world had to lose such beautiful rays of light. You don't remember much else about that night. She was your world and you lost her.

You cried yourself to sleep almost every night, after that. When you didn't, it was because you were exhausted.

But then not a single day went by that you didn't think of her. Of them.

And you regretted letting her go.

Three years later, you regretted it.

So you jumped in your car, already looking for her. You were desperate.

You still loved her like the first day.

And you willingly put yourself in three years of torture.

Your baby would have been two by now. But that couldn't stop you from loving their mother enough to be ready to try again. She hadn't been hard to find and you parked your car in front of her yard, but still hidden from view. You spotted a few toys, randomly placed on the fresh cut grass. Strange enough, but you were sure it was her house. Her car was right there as well.

As soon as you were ready to finally step out on the street, the main door of the house suddenly opened.

What you saw, took your breath away: it was her, in all of her glory. She was holding a baby boy in her arms.

Dread fell upon you.

How could she have had another baby, if they only reason she left was because YOUR baby had died?

You realized she had seen you, when you saw her approaching you, with a shy smile on her face. You were almost tempted to go and kiss her like you didn't have the chance your last day together. But your gaze met the boy's and in the blink of an eye, you turned the other way and got the hell away from that place.

You missed her sad frown, or the guarded pose her body had tensed in when you left.

Alcohol was never your first call, but that night, oh that night...

It was the second time you had forgot most of the previous night by the next day. You barely remember being brought to the E.R., for alcohol poisoning probably... but you clearly remember wanting more and more. Not wanting to stop. You wanted to die.

Since that day, you have been forbidden to touch alcohol. Someone, you still don't know who, had thrown away all of your wine, liquor, and any of the like, by the time you came back home.

You kept up with your job after that event. You didn't want to get fired.

You asked your doctor for sleeping pills to avoid nightmares. Nightmares, that would have brought panic attacks, as you well knew.

You survived.

But today, here, closed in this toilet, you are trembling. Scared. Because after five years, you still don't know how to react around her.

A knock on the door startles you, and without thinking you shout out that it's busy. But you hear her voice. Her soft, calming voice. It had always had this effect on you. Today it's a bit raspy, low, and it's saying your name. It sounds like she hasn't said it, in a long, long time.

Sucking in a breath, with your best resemblence of a firm tone, you tell her to get lost, because you neither want nor need to see her.

Your heart, beating oh so fast against your chest, begs to differ. Of course you want her. Of course you need her. But you are stubborn and she hurt you so much you can't forgive her. So you ignore it, a lesson you learnt in five, painful, years.

She says she needs to explain to you what is that you don't understand, and you realize she's crying, her low sobs loud against the door's surface. You don't want to face her. So you yell at her. You're upset and you don't want to show it. That's clearly not the best way to do just that.

You tell her to go back to her perfect life, with her son and her husband. Or wife. Or whatever.

You hear a thump, and you know she's slumped against the hard wood.

"It's not like you think it is."

It's what she whispers, and haven't you been near the door as well, you would have lost it. You scoff. How stupid does she think you are?

"You don't have to pretend... I saw you, with your son. You don't have to explain."

It kills you to say so, but you sigh. You notice, though, she's got up on her feet when the door opens and you fall with your back on the floor. Of course. You just had to forget to lock it.

You stare at her from your spot on the floor, while she stares back at you. You can't believe it: she's still as beautiful as the last time you saw her.

You close your eyes and you feel a hand slip in one of yours. She did so to help you stand up, but you refuse it and do so yourself.

She shakes her head, through the tears still wetting her delicate lineaments, and sits down beside you, the door locked this time. With a hand, you see her trying to wipe her nose, as if she was the baby. But you see her eyes, dark with sadness and, perhaps, remorse.

She takes in a breath and you think she might actually talk, but she just sighs. It's painful to be this near to her and not being able to do anything about it.

"Just talk. You had to 'explain', didn't you?"

Your words come out bitter, harsh and you didn't mean them to, but it's too late as you see her shaking and holding in a sob. You really are an asshole sometimes.

Carefully, you put your hand on hers, both resting on her thigh. She calms down a little bit and breathes easier. She whispers something to you, but you are admiring every inch of her you missed so much. You realize your mistake, and ask for her to repeat what she already said.

"I was raped."

This time is your breath that stops. You freeze and while hot tears are filling your eyes, you tense up. You're literally ready to take down who did this to her. She feels it, because starts to caress your hand, silently letting you process what you have just heard, as if it doesn't affect her at all.

Now you're the crying one, while she rests her head against your shaking shoulders, offering support, even though it doesn't really look like it. When you calm down, after minutes or hours - you're not really sure - she talks again. She tells you, with her soft voice, how that same night she left you, a man, rude and smelling of alcohol, grabbed her by her wrists and slammed her to a wall.

You're almost begging her to stop, but she keeps going, and you somewhat know she has to - needs to - let it out. All of it. Once and for all.

So you listen to that terrific story. You understand what she's been through and her dread, discovering that not only she'd been violated and extremely beaten up as well, but she was carrying the child of that beast.

You get to know her struggle, her decision to give birth to the baby boy, because it wasn't his fault. And mostly because you both know she couldn't let another child die after yours had.

Now you feel so stupid. Leaving her two years ago when you could have helped her. Tears well up in your eyes and you really want to bang your head against the wall. Your voice is croaky when you try to talk. But you talk, nonetheless.

"I'm sorry..."

"I am too. I forgive you."

"I love you."

Fin.