I sat in a cafe, playing with a coffee spoon. < img src = "https://zycie.news/crrops/c8a75/620x0/1/0/2025/03/19/nkbhzvbfhlrvl2n1vef4ptlojisczertdmavbmtwnp.jpg" alt = "woman @pexels" styles = "background-color: rgba (51.51,45.1)" > < p > It's been two years since we divorced. Summer since I had to accept that I would never become a mother. Two years since he said:
< p > — I'm not ready. I don't know if I will ever.
< p > then I believed. < p > but now I knew it was a lie.< p > I met him by accident. I walked down the street, thoughtful when I suddenly heard his voice. He was different than it used to be & ndash; calmer, more mature.
< P >And then I saw her. < p > held her hand. She was pregnant. I stopped as paralyzed. It was like a blow to the heart. < p > He didn't notice me. But I could not look at the eye.< p > I looked at his hands gently stroking her stomach. For a flash of pride in his eyes. For the joy that he never had for me.
< p > I don't know how much I stood.
< p > but finally my legs moved forward. < p > I passed them. < p > He didn't look at me. He didn't know I was there. And maybe it's better. < p > because I couldn't let him see tears in my eyes. < p > in the evening I looked at the ceiling< p > I remembered all conversations in which & oacute; m & oacute; I had a child.
< p > about how much I wanted to be a mother.
< p > How much I felt that I was missing something.
< p > A on ?< p > he always had the same answers.
< p > — This is not a good time.
< p > — I'm not ready. < p > — I don't know if I will ever. < p > but it was not true. Was ready. < p > Only not with me. < p > and suddenly something else came to me.< p > It was not about the child. It was not about time, responsibility.
< p > Simply & hellip;< p > I was not the one from which & oacute; dum wanted to have them.
< p > tears ran down my cheeks.
< p > not because I loved him. Not because I envied him.
< p > but because I finally understood the truth from which I was running away for years.< p > I was only a stage. Stop before his real life.
< p > and now it really started.
< p > Only without me.