I No Longer Reproach: Part Two The Second Message She Couldn't Delete

I didn't sleep that night.

The message remained lit in my mind more than it was on the screen:

**"A woman like you shouldn't be this sad."**

An ordinary sentence.

If anyone read it, they would say it was just a cheap compliment.

But for a woman who hadn't heard a kind word in months…

It was like giving water to a thirsty person in the desert.

Who was it?

I opened the number.

The picture was empty.

The name wasn't saved.

But I remembered.

He was an old university colleague.

There had never been anything between us.

Just a silent admiration that died before it was born.

He was the only one who used to call me:

**"The beautiful stubborn one."**

Because I used to argue with all the lecturers and wouldn't give in easily.

I hesitated for a long time…

Then I wrote:

**"Who?"**

He replied in less than a minute, as if he had been waiting with the phone in his hand:

**"I knew you'd remember me… I'm Karim."**

My heart pounded.

Not from love.

But from fear.

Fear of myself.

He wrote after that:

**"I saw your picture by chance. Same look… but the sadness in it has grown bigger."**

I wanted to write:

**"Don't message me."**

I wanted to block him.

I wanted to be the strong wife who closes the door against any wind that might enter her home.

But my hand didn't do it.

I only wrote:

**"I'm married."**

His reply came:

**"I know… and I know you're loyal more than necessary, even at your own expense."**

That was the sentence I couldn't delete.

**Loyal more than necessary… even at my own expense.**

Yes.

I was loyal to a home that no longer heard me.

To a man who sleeps beside me and leaves me alone.

To the image of the strong woman I had drawn for myself…

While inside I was silently crumbling.

In the morning, my husband woke up.

Drank his coffee.

Put on his clothes.

And passed by me while I stood in the kitchen in the same clothes I had been wearing since the previous night, with eyes swollen from staying up.

He didn't say:

**"What's wrong with you?"**

He didn't ask:

**"Did you sleep?"**

Nor even:

**"Why do your eyes look like that?"**

He looked at me and only said:

— Has the blue shirt been ironed?

I said:

— No.

He said:

— Okay.

And left.

In that moment…

I didn't cry.

I smiled.

A cold smile that frightened even me.

Because I understood something harsh:

**If I disappeared today… he would probably look for the blue shirt before he looked for me.**

I opened my phone.

There was a new message from Karim:

**"I don't want anything from you. But don't extinguish yourself to light a home that no longer sees your light. You deserve someone to ask you: How is your heart today?"**

I read it.

Once.

And twice.

Then I closed the phone.

But I didn't delete the message.

I left it there…

Like a small sin no one sees.

But I see it.

I entered the bedroom.

Opened the closet.

And at the back there was a dress I hadn't worn in two years.

I had hidden it after my husband once said:

**"Wear something more modest."**

I took it out.

Wore it.

Put on my old perfume.

Brushed my hair.

Then stood in front of the mirror.

I wasn't dressing up for Karim.

Nor was I trying to provoke my husband.

I was only trying to see the woman I had forgotten.

The woman who used to laugh.

And love herself.

And look in the mirror without asking:

**"What's wrong with me?"**

In the evening I heard the sound of the key in the door.

My husband returned.

And for the first time in years…

I didn't run to greet him.

I stayed sitting in front of the mirror.

He entered the room.

Saw me.

And stopped.

Looked at me for a long time.

As if he was seeing me for the first time after an absence.

He said with genuine surprise:

— Where are you going?

I looked at him through the mirror.

Then said calmly, in a way he wasn't used to from me:

**— Nowhere… I was going to myself, and came back.**

He remained standing.

Confused.

As if the sentence hadn't passed easily over him.

For the first time in months…

He was actually looking at me.

Not at my clothes.

Nor at the food.

Nor at the house.

At me.

But at the same moment…

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

Once.

Then a second time.

I lowered my eyes toward it.

It was a new message from Karim.

**The third message.**

I extended my hand toward the phone…

Then stopped.

My husband was still standing behind me.

Looking at me.

And Karim was waiting behind a small screen.

And I was in the middle…

Between a man who had finally started noticing me,

and a man who noticed me before I asked him to.

I didn't open the message.

But I also…

**Didn't delete it.**

**End of Part Two.**

In your opinion…

Will she open the third message and enter a spiral she may not be able to return from?

Or will her husband's confused look be the beginning of his return to her?

Write your opinion 👇

**Part Three:**
**"When He Finally Noticed."**