One way only.
The destination was a small coastal town in another country.
A place where nobody knew my name.
Where no one would look at me as if my age were a problem.
The day before I left, I returned to the house for the last time.
Lily wasn’t there.
He had probably gone out to look for work.
My grandchildren were at school.
I entered silently.
The house was almost empty.
The new owners would arrive in a week.
The letter was still on the kitchen table.
Intact.
I looked at her for a few seconds.
Then I added another sheet.
This time I wrote something longer.
Not for Lily.
For my grandchildren.
“Dear Mateo and Clara.
If you ever read this, I want you to know that your grandmother never left because she stopped loving you.
I left because sometimes people need to step away to remember who they are.”
I folded the letter.
I left it next to the first one.
