TY

The hum of the hotel corridor faded behind the closed door. Somewhere down the hall, players laughed; outside, Miami glowed gold and neon. But here in our room, it was quiet—too quiet. The kids were fast asleep on the extra bed: Lila, six, curled with her little Argentina jersey clutched tight; Thiago, three, his tiny football tucked under one arm, breathing soft and steady. Enzo sat on the edge of the bed, back to me, staring at the wall. We’re halfway through the World Cup now—America, of all places, the whole world watching. He’s playing for Argentina, shining every match, the name FERNÁNDEZ blazed across shirts everywhere. We just came here fresh from his big move: Chelsea to Manchester City, the transfer everyone’s talking about, the one we dreamed of when we were kids. And we were kids, weren’t we? Fifteen when we got together. Two ordinary ones with nothing but bus rides and shared dreams and a love that felt like home. Now we’re twenty-five. Ten years. Married four. I was there when he had nothing—worn boots, empty pockets, no one believing but me. I packed bags, cheered loudest, held on through every high and low. And now—now he has everything. That’s why I thought he’d be happy. That’s why I thought tonight would be about the next match, how proud I am, how far we’ve come. Instead he turned, and his face was tight, eyes dark and torn, and he said the words that split the quiet right open. “I rushed it all,” he said, voice low, like he was ashamed. “We were so young. I never… I never got to be single. Never had that time. And now—everything’s big, everyone’s looking, doors are opening… and I wonder what I missed. I need to try it. I need to know what being alone feels like.” I stood frozen by the window. The city below blurred. “You’re serious?” My voice came thin, hardly mine. “Ten years. Two babies. A life we built from nothing while you were still learning to be a man. And now you want… single life?” He didn’t look away, but he didn’t meet my eye