Matilde hurried to the deserted square of her adolescence, where she used to meet her friend.
The few street lamps still standing barely illuminated the almost imperceptible paths. It was 8:30 pm, the same time as before.
So many memories came to his mind of those times: the endless chats, the warmth of their youthful bodies that managed to shake even the fallen leaves with a light touch.
But their paths parted, each went their own way, and they never met again. Until a small advertisement in the newspaper changed everything.
At first, Matilde thought nothing of it. But something inside her compelled her to reread it again and again. That's why she was there that night, in the little village square where she had spent so many evenings with him. Waiting for him?
She had left her family without explanation and travelled without rest to that place. Her children would understand her, but perhaps not her husband. Would he come after so many years? Probably not. So why had she returned to the place where they had grown up together?
