"Mom! Hey, Mom!"
"What is it, Victor?" I ask as I walk toward his room.
Victor is sitting on his bed, his laptop and books scattered around him.
"Sit down, Mom. I need to tell you something," he says, patting the mattress beside him.
I sit down, uneasy.
What could it be?
"I'm moving out. I'm exhausted, and I need to live closer to my internship. The only reason I haven't left yet is because I've been helping with Luigi. You'll need to figure things out with him before I go."
"Why are you leaving? You have everything you ever asked for! We get along. We never fight!" I say, distressed.
"I have to go. I'm worn out. I'm working hard to earn a permanent position. I leave late every night, and sometimes I sleep only two or three hours in the university parking lot so I won't be late the next day."
"Why didn't you tell me? We could have found a way to pay for a small hotel nearby," I say, fighting back tears.
"I don't want to create more expenses for you."
"Will you be living with friends?"
"Yes. They all intern at banks too. We're renting an apartment right across the street. I'll only have to cross the road."
"When are you leaving?"
"In two months," he replies firmly.
"All right. Let me know if you need any help."
He thanks me, lowers his eyes, and returns to his studies.
I go to my room so I won't cry in front of him.
I wanted him to change his mind.
I always knew he would leave one day. I just never expected it to be so soon.
Tears come.
We had so little time together.
It feels like yesterday he was a little boy running through the house, and now he is leaving...
The weeks pass.
We buy a bed, sheets, and towels for his new apartment.
Meanwhile, Lívia undergoes four more chemotherapy sessions. After each treatment, she comes to stay at my house.
The symptoms repeat themselves.
I feel as though I am crossing a desert of sorrow: a sick sister and a son preparing to leave.
"Victor, when are you going?" I ask one day, swallowing my tears.
"Next week."
"On the day you leave, let me know so I can leave the house. I don't want to watch you packing your bags and walking away."
"All right. Saturday."
"Already? Are you sure this is what you want?" I ask, wanting to make certain he feels confident about such a big step.
"I am."
On Saturday, I kiss him goodbye and go to the mall.
When I return home that evening, I walk inside slowly.
How strange.
Everything is dark.
Silent.
I go to his room and switch on the light.
The furniture is still there, along with a few unused clothes and forgotten belongings.
His scent lingers in the air, creating the illusion that he might walk back in at any moment.
But I know he won't.
I sit on the bed.
An emptiness settles in my chest.
A deep sadness.
I suppose this is what people call the empty nest.
I try to hold back my tears, but I can't.
To comfort myself, I think about how happy he must be.
Then I ask God to bless him on this new journey.
On Monday morning, Lívia undergoes surgery.
Everything goes well.
The doctors remove her entire breast and begin the reconstruction process.
She will need three more surgeries before the reconstruction is complete.
Pedro, Helena's father, arrives from Germany to visit her.
He is tall, lean, dark-haired, with a neatly groomed beard and an effortless elegance about him.
"What a surprise! I never expected you to come from so far away. What an honor!" Lívia says.
"I told you I would come. When we separated, I promised I would take care of you," he says quietly, studying her face.
"Thank you."
"How are you feeling? Are you in pain?"
"I'm fine. I'm not in pain. Just sleepy. I think I'm going to rest."
"I'll take Helena and Bela out for dinner tonight, and tomorrow I'll take them to lunch. Don't worry about them."
"Thank you. I don't even know how to thank you."
Then Klaus arrives.
The two men stand on opposite sides of the bed, talking.
A doctor walks into the room and glances from one man to the other, uncertain.
"Doctor, this is my husband and my ex-husband," Lívia explains.
Unsure of who should receive the instructions, he gives them to both.
Lívia smiles at the absurdity of the situation and soon drifts off to sleep.
As soon as she is discharged, she comes to stay at my house.
The care routine is demanding.
I wake up at two in the morning to prepare a snack so she can eat before taking her stronger medications.
We talk while she eats.
Then I empty and replace the drainage reservoir.
I sleep a little longer before getting up again at four-thirty for work.
During the day, Déia, who helps care for my home, looks after her.
A week later, the doctor removes her bandages.
That evening, I come home from work and ask:
"Lívia, would you like me to help you shower?"
"I can't bear to look at myself without my breast. Your bathroom has a mirror..." she says sadly.
"I'll cover it."
"There's no need. I'll gather my courage, and around five o'clock you can help me shower, okay?" she asks hesitantly.
"Whenever you're ready."
We go into the bathroom.
Standing with her back to the mirror, she begins to cry.
Carefully, I remove her clothes.
Last of all, I remove the surgical bra.
She lowers her head to look.
Then she covers her eyes with her hands and steps into the shower.
Rivers of tears mingle with the water flowing over her body and disappear down the drain, carrying bitterness away with them.
"I can't stand seeing myself like this," she sobs.
"What matters is that you're still here with us. Let's thank God for that," I reply as I gently wash her.
"I know many people never survive long enough to go through this. I'm not ungrateful. It's just so hard..."
"God knows."
"I don't know what I would do without you. I didn't want Klaus to see me like this."
"He will, when you're strong enough to shower on your own. And he's not going to stop loving you."
"I'm afraid... A breast is tied to femininity," she interrupts.
She turns off the water.
I dry her carefully and help her get dressed.
"I want to lie down. I'm tired."
She falls silent.
I settle her into bed.
"I'm sorry for being so much trouble."
"Don't think that way."
She turns onto her side and cries.
I leave her alone.
I want to cry too, but not in front of her.
I don't want her worrying about me.
As the days pass, Lívia gradually recovers.
Within a week, she is already eating ice cream at the mall again.
Easter arrives.
Klaus, Helena, and Bela come to my house.
Klaus takes charge of lunch while Helena scrolls through her phone.
Luigi, who has just returned from visiting his father, watches television with Bela.
Tired, Lívia retreats to the bedroom.
We continue talking while sitting on the bed.
"I used to have hair. Now I don't. I used to have breasts. Now I have a breast. I had two. Now I only have one. I'm a one-breasted woman," she says, staring at the ceiling.
Then she laughs at herself.
I try to comfort her.
"Lívia, what matters is that you got rid of the disease. Breasts can be reconstructed. Don't think like that."
Helena comes into the room and lies down between us.
Moments later, Luigi and Bela come running in and throw themselves onto the bed.
"Mom, you're bald now, but your hair will grow back! I'll always love you because you're my mom!" Bela says.
Lívia's eyes fill with tears.
Bela continues.
"You're beautiful. More beautiful every day. I love you so much, Mom!"
"What a beautiful declaration! I'm so glad we're here to hear it. Helena's jealous!" I tease.
"I'm not jealous," Helena replies flatly, still looking at photos on her phone.
"Lunch is ready!" Klaus calls out.
Wow.
It is beautiful.
The balcony table is perfectly set with plates, silverware, glasses, and napkins arranged carefully over a shimmering beige tablecloth.
In the center sits baked cod with potatoes and mashed potatoes.
"I've never had cod on Easter," I confess emotionally.
"Never?" Klaus asks, surprised.
"Never. Thank you, brother."
Dessert is ice cream.
Everything is delicious.
"Ana, before I leave, I need to pray for you. The Lord asked me to anoint your feet."
I go to my room and sit on the bed with my legs stretched out.
She rubs lotion into her hands and gently takes hold of my feet.
She begins by praying for forgiveness and protection.
Then God speaks:
"My servant, you cared for one of My little ones, and it pleased Me. You have never asked Me for anything. You only say, 'Here I am.' Yet I give to you because you have pleased Me. I know what is in your heart..."
As she massages my feet, the Lord continues:
"I anoint your feet so that wherever you go, that place shall be blessed. You will walk paths you have never walked before. Go with My blessing."
"Amen," I say through tears.
"I saw the Lord putting boots on your feet, Ana. They looked like winter boots."
"Perhaps they are for protection. When the time comes, we'll understand."
We embrace tightly, say our goodbyes, and they leave for home happy.
The following week, Luigi and I meet Victor for lunch.
I don't want Luigi to lose touch with his older brother.
Distance, over time, cools even the strongest relationships.
"So, what are we eating?" Victor asks.
"Hamburgers!" Luigi shouts, jumping into the air with his arms raised.
Victor tells us about his new life.
He is radiant.
More excited than I have ever seen him.
The smile never leaves his face.
"Once you get your permanent position, will you come back home, Victor?"
"Don't wish that on me! Living with you again? Never!"
"It wasn't that terrible. I always did my best to make sure you had everything you needed."
"It's not ingratitude."
I don't answer.
The hurt is too deep.
Sometimes it feels as though my greatest efforts amounted to so little in his eyes.
Raising him alone was so difficult.
Then I remember Klaus's words:
God said you did not fail. You did everything right.
I take a deep breath and feel at peace.
Luigi listens carefully to every word.
Then he says:
"Mom, Victor got tired of feeling trapped. He wants to be free and see the world. He wants to live his life!"
Laughter fills the table.
That's it.
In just a few words, Luigi has perfectly captured his brother's feelings.
We finish lunch on good terms.
I am happy because Victor is happy.
I feel victorious.
Thank You, God.