UNFORGIVEN (Mistake Sequel) ENGLISH

EPISODE 2

ALESSANDRA

Philippe had just got home from somewhere, but I did not confront him. If I had done that, it could have led to an argument. I want to avoid conflicts between my husband and me as much as possible. I am not accustomed to us behaving this way. Throughout our fourteen years together, we have not encountered any significant issues. Therefore, Philippe leaving every night without my knowledge is somewhat concerning.

“Good morning, Mommy!” my youngest, Alessan Philippe, greeted me as I entered the dining room. He approached me, and I lifted him, kissing his cheeks.

“Good morning, baby. How was your sleep?” I asked.

“Good, Mommy!” he said with a smile.

“He is good, but I am not, Mommy! I no longer want him near my bed; he’s too mischievous. He kicked me.” Sandro complained loudly.

They sleep next to each other in bed, while my other children are in a different room. We only have six rooms, with two people in each. Unfortunately, we couldn’t arrange a separate room for each of my eight children. I thought Philippe and I had a small family. We couldn’t add another room because the house only had six rooms when it was built.

“You are the one who invaded my space!” The youngest retorted. Sandro snorted.

“Okay, let’s just get another bed so you can have some privacy,” I said, hoping to prevent any further arguments.

“Mommy, where’s Daddy?” my third son, Samuel, one of the twins, asked. His brow furrowed as he gazed at his father’s empty chair.

“He was still asleep, sweetheart,” I replied. He tilted his head.

“Why? He usually wakes up at the same time we do.” I glanced at my son, reflecting on his words. I swallowed hard.

“Daddy worked late last night, so he stayed up.” I lied. I wanted to sink into my seat, overwhelmed by the guilt of deceiving my son.

“Work? Mom, I heard his car last night. Did he go to work late?” my son Alejandro asked, expressing his surprise. I massaged my neck, unable to answer their questions because I could no longer lie.

“He forgot to take something from the office,” I reasoned. I wiped my forehead, as tiny droplets of sweat had formed there. My children act like little detectives with the questions they ask, and I find it difficult to lie to them.

“Strange,” Phille said.

“Good morning, brother!” Samuel greeted the twins upon their arrival. Their older brothers kissed their younger brothers’ cheeks. They are kind to their younger siblings, which fills me with joy regarding my firstborns.

The twins kissed my cheeks. After they sat down, I noticed that Leandro’s fist was bandaged and stained with blood.

“Son, what happened to your fist?” He lowered his hand, concealing it beneath the table.

“I practiced boxing last night. I didn't hit the punching bag because my fist struck the wood,” he said. I stared at his hands; they appeared to be swollen.

“He has a competition at school, so he practices daily,” Lessandro interjects. I know that my son participates in these sports; he once brought home a medal, claiming he won the boxing competition.

“Take care, son. Later, I will check your wound, as it may be infected. You can’t simply bandage it without applying medicine,” I said.

My son smiled and said, “Mom, I am fine. Don’t worry, okay? I should be the one worried about you.” Leandro’s words carry significant meaning.

“I am fine. Eat now, or you might be late for school,” I said.

While eating, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Leandro had said. I feel ashamed of my children for what their father is doing to us.

PHILIPPE

I massaged my forehead, feeling as though a hammer was pounding into my skull with pain. How could it not hurt? I had indulged heavily the night before, and it was early morning when my colleagues and I finally finished our drinks. I had informed my secretary that I would be arriving late to the office. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I realized it was already 10:00 AM. I walked into the bathroom to take a shower.

When I entered the kitchen, I saw Alessandra preparing lunch. She turned around as soon as she sensed my presence behind her.

“Hon, do you want some coffee?” my wife asked, smiling. I nodded; I needed the coffee to soothe my headache.

“Where did you come from last night? You came home in the early morning,” she asked, which annoyed me.

“It’s none of your business where I want to go. Please refrain from pestering me about my life choices. Focus on your responsibilities as my wife and the mother of our children; do not interfere with my personal life outside the home.” Alessandra appeared taken aback by my words.

I wish I could take back what I said, but it’s already been said. I just want to have fun. Is that so wrong? I'm growing weary of visiting the same places—home and work. I need a nightlife. She isn’t the only person I usually spend time with; I need someone else to enjoy myself with.

“I am very sorry,” she apologized and never spoke again.

After entering my office, I encountered Calixta, the girl I met last week at a bar where my friends and I often go.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” I asked her.

“My dad works in this building,” she said with a smile. I like her smile.

“Oh? What’s your dad’s name?” I asked her.

“Froilan Garcia. He’s expecting me now. I will just give him something.” She raised the bag she was carrying.

I smiled. “You are such a sweet daughter. I know your father personally; he worked as the Vice President of my company.” Calixta’s eyes widened at my revelation, as I hadn’t shared anything about my life with her. I was there to have fun, not to discuss my personal life.

“You’re his boss? I wasn’t expecting that!” She expressed her disbelief that I was her father’s boss. I chuckled at her reaction. After all, she is still quite young—only 23 years old.