That afternoon, in the sweltering heat, my husband’s younger sister suddenly appeared with her suitcase. He, with a smile from ear to ear, received her as if she were a guest of honor:
“If you have come to stay, you have to sleep in the air-conditioned room. You and the child can sleep in the living room for a few days, a little heat won’t hurt.

I froze, staring at my son who had just recovered from an illness and still had a fever.
“Do you know that the child is weak?” Air conditioning helps you breathe easier, how can you…?

Before I could finish the sentence, he interrupted me abruptly:
“Do as I tell you. It will only be a few days, don’t exaggerate.

In the evening, I spread out a mat in the living room, next to an old fan that was constantly humming and only blowing hot air. My son, with a fever, perspired so much that his hair was soaked. I hugged him, fanned him and held back tears. From the next room, the laughter of my husband and his sister sounded fresh, as if the warmth and heavy breathing of the child did not exist.

On the third night, my son had a very high fever and convulsed. Frightened, I ran with him to the air-conditioned room, intending to put him there to bring the temperature down, but my husband ran out to block me:
“What are you doing?” Don’t disturb my sister’s sleep!

I froze. At that moment, I had only one thought: this man no longer deserved to be my husband or the father of my child.

The next morning, while his sister was still sleeping peacefully in the cool of the air conditioner, I quietly gathered my things and left that house with my son. The door closed behind me and I heard my husband calling out to me, but this time, I didn’t look back.

I took refuge in my mother’s house. For a week, the phone rang nonstop, but I didn’t answer. Her messages always repeated the same thing: “I’m sorry, come back”, “I only thought about my sister, I didn’t imagine that it would make you feel bad”.

Until my son recovered and his fever went down, I learned from the neighbors that my husband’s sister had suffered heat stroke and had to be admitted to the emergency room. It turned out that the air conditioning in the room had an electrical leak; Luckily, it wasn’t fatal. He, in a state of panic, blamed himself for having spoiled her so much and for having left me and my son to endure the suffocating heat.

Three days later, he showed up in front of my mother’s house. The proud man I knew now had his head bowed and his eyes reddened:
“I was wrong… I don’t deserve to be a husband or a father. But please give me a chance to amend it. These days without you or the child, the house feels cold like never before…

I looked at him, my heart heavy but frozen. The rage no longer burned as it once did, but the wound was still bleeding.
“Do you think an apology is enough?” What if something had happened to our son that day? I’m too tired to stay with someone whose attention is always on someone else.

He knelt right there in the yard, regardless of the neighbors’ looks. But I went in with my son and closed the door, this time also closing the door of my heart.

Because I understood that there are mistakes that, no matter how much regret there is, cannot turn back time.

In the days that followed, he kept coming to the door, bringing everything—baskets of fruit, milk, toys for the child. But I didn’t go out. My mother would look at me in silence and say,
“If you’ve already decided, I’ll support you.” I just hope you don’t regret it later.

I hugged my son, feeling his warmth against my chest. He was the only reason that made me strong. I didn’t want him to grow up in a home where affection was below preference and indifference.

One afternoon, when the golden light of the evening bathed the street, I heard his soft voice outside the door:
“I’ll wait for you… a month, a year… or a lifetime if necessary.

I didn’t answer. I just pulled back the curtain a little to see how his silhouette moved away. In that instant, I knew that we had both lost everything: what was once valuable and the opportunity to rebuild it, now that trust was in tatters.

Time passed, and the wound was closing. I went back to work, took my son to school, and learned to smile again. At night, I still remembered that scene: my son shivering in my arms in the scorching heat, and the man blocking the air conditioning door.

That image was my reminder: sometimes, leaving doesn’t mean that love is over… but you love yourself and your child much more.

And I decided to close that story here—not with forgiveness, but with a fresh start, where my son’s laughter would never again be drowned out by anyone’s indifference.