When it was all over I opened my eyes to him looking at me, somehow surprised, like seeing me for the first time.
Then all of a sudden reality broke down on us. His phone vibrated in the bedroom, Elsa woke up and screamed. He was up in a second and I jumped out of bed, glad about having left my shirt on, and met my sobbing daughter at the end of the hallway. We hugged until she calmed down and I carried her to the living room. The Witcher was already in the kitchen preparing breakfast. It was a perfectly normal day again.
I had not planned any of this. All I had done was become aware that I would not stop it from happening. And most curiously, I did not feel regret or shame. I was in peace with myself and how things were.
The Witcher, however, was not. We spent day outside in the park, admiring the bright autumn colors, acting as if nothing had happened. In the presence of my daughter, we were nothing more than good friends.
When it was almost time for me to leave I approached him and asked if he wanted to talk about it. Usually he had always been the one wanting to talk about our relationship, about my feelings and expectations and worries, and I had been the one having problems opening up about this issue.
“There is nothing to talk about anymore.”
He sat down and I could see how unsettled he was, how he was fighting back tears, and realized he could not be talked to reasonably at the moment. So I kneeled down beside him on the couch and hugged him, pressing his head to my chest and stroking his hair.
“Have we made a mistake?”, he said.
“I am sorry if I got you into anything you did not want to do. You seemed to want it, however.”
“Sometimes even I am not acting rational.”
This was it. Finally I had broken him. I am the one irrational thing he has. Was I disappointed? Hell, no!
I gently turned his head, put him face to face with me and told him: “Look at me. I love you. This is not a mistake.”