⠀
The evening before the procedure, Daniel came with a bag of old photos.
⠀
— I found them in my father’s box.
⠀
Among them was a photo from our wedding.
⠀
Robert was twenty-four years old and I was twenty-two. We were standing in front of the church, holding hands.
⠀
Daniel put the photo on the bedside table.
⠀
— Mom, can I ask you something?
⠀
— Sure.
⠀
— Did you really want another child?
⠀
I looked at the photo for a long time.
⠀
— No, Daniel. I loved your father, but I didn’t want to be a mother anymore. I went to the consultation because he insisted. If he hadn’t died, I should have told him more firmly what I wanted.
⠀
Daniel remained silent.
⠀
— I think I sometimes confused love with the obligation not to disappoint him, ⠀ I added.
⠀
The next day I had surgery.
⠀
The operation lasted several hours. The surgeons removed the formation, which had reached an impressive size.
⠀
When I woke up in the intensive care unit, the first face I saw was Daniel’s.
