My Foreign Husband

Rapunzel was my favorite fairy tale in childhood.Part of my stupid innocence believed that there was nothing more beautiful than waiting for years until true love was able to find me.On the long-awaited day, I would certainly be combing my hair in front of a mirror adorned with ivory, and when my prince reached me in the highest tower of a forgotten castle, his golden hair would shine with the purest gold color. He would save me from that incessant wait and, taking me in his arms with all the care with which a flower is harvested, he would gallop us on his white horse among the endless lawns and plains.The script was perfect, I just needed to find someone who could follow him my way.One fact is that Rapunzel was not ceased to be my favorite tale for having understood that there was nothing more sexist than demanding that a helpless girl wait for her savior, spending her time on female futilities. Much less for having waited for a stereotype that would never inhabit the real world.

Stopped obediently behind the red line, I face the yellow stripe a little in front of my feet, and I breathe slowly, ignoring the dangerous and shiny tracks below where I am. Even without knowing where to go, I remain standing on the empty platform of the subway station, knowing that coming home alone will yield me nothing but more tears and inconformation. I need time, and I need to forget tonight, relieve the tension with a passage to any other place.The big screen marks midnight and a half. It's only five minutes until the last subway appears, and there is no one but me, just under ten people squeezing themselves in their heavy coats, a police officer, a cleaner, and the attendant at the user call center.All this quietness leaves me on alert, as if none of this was right. I squeeze my overcoat around me, snuggling in the delicate and warm fabric. My tears still do me the favor of moistening the bar of my clothing, bothering the dots they touch on my skin. The inopportune by my ow

My eyes threaten to jump out of orbits, so growing is my astonishment.“How can you still be alive?” I question, strange how my voice sounds higher than usual. “And why the hell can this infernal night only get even worse?”A frantic activity begins on my back. Desperate passengers who unite to evaluate the dead policeman, security guards of the station itself who appear from the side doors as if all that time they were waiting for a triumphal entrance, and those who ignore the floor decorated with a generous trail of blood and untie in a blind race, in order to escape from any future confusion and encountering more bodies. I don't blame them, running away is exactly what I should have done.My survival policy has always been very clear: If something terrible is happening, and it's not my problem, I shouldn't get involved. My mistake was to hesitate for fear that this could further harm my sudden state of shock. The man wounded at my feet is partly to blame for this fact.Speaking of

"That wasn't quite what I expected for a Friday night," Penelope grumbles, snorting with the effort to sustain the weight of the unknown man among us."It serves as a consolation" I gave a grunt in response to the strong snap on my shoulders, where the man's arm rests itself "I would have preferred to suffer from a sad episode of the House of the Dragon in the company of a generous jar of ice cream than to try to save the life of a stranger.”Pulling the mild air into my lungs with a difficult swallow, I face the illuminated facade of the hospital, reminding me that there was no longer a cold breeze involving us when Penelope parked the car close to the curb of the Lingerie store to save us, ten minutes ago.The man passed out with his head hanging softly to the side, however, remained cold and inert. My friend helped me put it in her car, and I couldn't be more grateful for not hearing any complaints from her about all the blood that soaked the man and his clothes. During the trip, I

I sigh, studying the surroundings of the empty waiting room. There is no possibility that my bad night may arouse interest in my mother, and talking about the end of the marriage will only give you the chance for your curses and offenses to be released.So I play my role.“He... Hm... He's in the shower now, mom... Is it something urgent?”“Oh, no...” Her tone is still so hard that I doubt very much that she has been convinced. "I just wanted to talk to him without you having to pass on the conversation. Something between mother-in-law and son-in-law, do you understand, baby? He didn't answer me all day and seems to have turned off his cell phone now... Sometimes I find it so strange that you never allow us to talk directly to him, his cousins were here earlier and agreed with me. If I didn't know my own daughter, I would swear that this whole story is a farce. "She sighs with false discouragement. "You look so downcast, especially tonight, it worries me so much, dear.”Lie... What she