We both smiled.
I took the picture.
At that very moment, my phone vibrated.
A message.
I looked at the screen.
Daniel.
I felt my heart stop.
I opened it.
There were only three words.
“I’m in Paris.”
Leo noticed my expression.
“Mom, what happened?”
I didn't have time to respond.
Suddenly, he looked over my shoulder.
His eyes wide opened.
“Dad?”
I turned around.
Daniel was walking toward us in the crowd.
I was crying.
Leo didn't hesitate.
He ran straight to him.
Daniel fell to his knees and surrounded our son with his arms.
I stayed several steps away.
I hadn't forgiven him yet.
I hadn't forgotten that he had left when we needed him most.
But at the time, my anger seemed smaller than what I was seeing in front of me.
Leo had his arms around his father and repeated:
“I knew you would come.”
Daniel could only repeat:
“I’m sorry, son. I'm so sorry."
That day, the three of us walked together in Paris.
No one talked about the disease.
No one talked about the weather.
That night, back at the hotel, Leo was already in bed when he called me.
“Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Do you know what I’m going to ask Santa next year?”
My whole body was still.
“What?”
He smiled.
“Let the three of us come back here again.”
For a moment, I turned to the window so I wouldn't see my eyes.
Because my son was talking about next year.
And I didn't know how long we had been granted.
Then I came back to him, kissed his forehead and said,
“Then, starting tomorrow, we’ll have to gather as many memories as we can.”
That photograph was taken that day.
For most people, it is simply a beautiful photo of a mother and her son in front of the Eiffel Tower.
For me, it's something completely different.
It's the day I finally understood something.
We spent our whole lives saying:
“Someday we will do it.”
“We will go later.”
“There will be time.”
But no one has ever promised us that “later.”
Sometimes the most important day is today.
