Dear Don, We Can Never Go Back to 18 Chapter 01
Eighteen-year-old Enzo De Luca woke up trapped inside the body of his twenty-eight-year-old self.
The boyish, burning adoration lingered clearly in his eyes.
Looking at him, I couldn’t help but bitter memories. My life had been nothing but a living hell these past few years.
He kept another woman on the side all this time.
Yet I clung tightly to my place as the matriarch of the family.
I chose to endure the pain rather than hand him over to that homewrecker.
The eighteen-year-old Enzo knew every bit of it, and he cried even harder than I did.
His eyes were red and swollen as he repeated apologies over and over.
“Ada Conti, file for divorce.”
“The man who stopped loving you isn’t really me anymore.”
“Move on. I just want you to be happy, truly happy forever.”
Later, I picked up a pen and drafted the divorce papers myself.
But outside the door, I heard his mocking voice ring out loud and clear.
“She’s so gullible. I was just putting on an act, and she actually believes I traveled back to when I was eighteen.”
“I only had to tell her to leave me, and she jumped right on board.”
Elena let out a soft laugh.
“Either way, she’s finally agreeing to the divorce. That’s all that matters.”
“Enzo, I’ll finally get to be your lawful wife at last.”
I stood silently in the hallway, my face devoid of any emotion.
Of course I knew he was not the eighteen-year-old Enzo I once loved.
How could anyone fail to recognize the boy who had owned their entire youth?
I chose not to expose his lie, because I was dying.
Before my time ran out, I just wanted to catch a glimpse of the teenage him one last time.
I had just returned from visiting Dr. Vincent Russo, our private physician.
“Ada,” he had said, “your stomach cancer has progressed drastically. You only have roughly two months left.”
“Are you certain you want to turn down all treatment?”
“I’m certain,” I replied without hesitation.
The stomach is an organ deeply tied to one’s emotions.
My stomach troubles started getting worse four years after Enzo began his affair.
A heavy, bloated ache, constant heartburn and sharp stabs of pain haunted me every single day.
Alongside my overwhelming sorrow, cancer cells had begun to spread inside me.
By the time I finally went for a checkup, the disease was already in its late stages.
When I got the diagnosis, I felt a strange sense of relief.
Maybe the Lord saw how I could no longer bear my suffering, and decided to put an end to this miserable life for me.
It was for the best.
I pulled my thoughts back to the present and knocked on the bedroom door.
The chatter inside cut off instantly.
A flurry of noise followed next.
Fabric rustled as they scrambled to get dressed, leather shoes scraped across the floor, and hurried footsteps headed straight for the door.
The lock clicked, and the door swung open.
Enzo wore the reckless, fiery look of a teenage boy.
The moment his gaze landed on me, his features softened into a hurt expression, and he rushed to explain.
“Ada, this woman showed up out of nowhere. I don’t even know her, and I never paid her any mind!”
I glanced toward Elena, who stood in the bedroom doorway with teary eyes.
My gaze drifted down to his shirt, where the buttons were fastened crookedly from his hasty dressing.
A faint, cold smile tugged at my lips.
“I believe you, Enzo.”
“The eighteen-year-old you would never betray me.”
He let out a quiet sigh of relief, clearly proud of his quick performance.
“Still,” I said, my tone turning icy, “everyone knows exactly who she is. This is Elena, the mistress your twenty-eight-year-old self keeps hidden away.”
“You claimed you loved me more than anything, Enzo.”
I stared straight at him, my smile fading completely.
“Then slap this shameless woman right now.”
The air turned thick and rigid.
Enzo’s face darkened at once.
“Ada, don’t start this.”
“You know I never lay a hand on a woman.”
Don’t start this.
The eighteen-year-old Enzo had never spoken those words to me.
Back then, when he teased me into irritation, he would pester me endlessly.
“Ada, why aren’t you mad? Why won’t you fight back? Hey, talk to me!”
I kept my tone calm and steady.
“Back in the fall of ninth grade, a group of older girls cornered me to steal my pocket money. You charged forward without a second thought and kicked one of them hard enough to put her in the hospital.”
“Enzo,” I breathed out a weary sigh. “Your eighteen-year-old self never cared about being reasonable.”
