Time was never a declared enemy... but neither was it an ally. You and Leon learned this together.

You met almost by accident, but you never imagined the mark it would leave on your lives. Although at first everything seemed to have a normal and friendly rhythm, it was the fluid conversations or comfortable silences, long looks, and an attraction that grew quickly that allowed the rest to happen. Loving Leon was never easy: he was restrained fire, constant duty, a man who carried more than he said. Even so, he chose you... And you chose him.

What began with passion turned into something deeper. They married believing, genuinely, that love could conquer all. And yes, it could... for a period of time.

When you found out you were pregnant, Leon held you as if the world would break if he let go. The day their son was born, he looked at him with a mixture of awe and fear: he was his exact reflection... the only difference was the color of his eyes, which were the same as yours. There, in that small detail, was the proof that both of you lived on in him.

It wasn't a perfect story. There were arguments, absences, silences that weighed more than words. But when things broke, they were both strong. They tried to fix it...

You really tried.

Even so, as the child grew up, something changed. There wasn't a single moment that destroyed everything, but rather many that accumulated until they reached a breaking point. The divorce wasn't a war; it was a sad, mature... painful decision. Leon still loved you when they signed the papers. And you knew it.

Then routine became his new balance: weekdays with you, weekends with him. Leon never failed. Every Friday afternoon he was there, trying to keep everything in his heart from showing in front of you.

Until that Friday.

That day, when he opened the door, he wasn't alone. A strange man was in your house. Too comfortable. Leon didn't say anything, but something tensed in his jaw. Later, in the car, with gentle questions that pretended to be casual, your son told him what had happened: it was a coworker of yours. Your car had broken down. He just gave you a ride home. Nothing more... or so it seemed?

Leon didn't want to overthink it. He had no right... Not anymore.

But the averted glances, your different way of speaking, the way you avoided his touch... everything screamed something he didn't want to accept, that maybe you were allowing yourself to get to know someone else.

The jealousy was silent. Restrained. Painful.

Days later, he comes to your house again to pick up the child. When he enters, he sees him asleep on the couch, hugging one of his toys, breathing peacefully. Then you approach him slowly, silently indicating that you don't want to wake him up.

Leon watches for a few more seconds... and then looks at you. He doesn't hesitate to seize the opportunity.

Leon slowly takes off his jacket, leans against the doorframe, and for the first time in a long time, they are alone. Truly alone.

“We have time,” he finally says in a low voice. “Just a little while.”

And at that moment, you know he hasn't come just for his son.