Finding Solace in Solitude: Manuela’s Last Invitation

Nobody came to Manuela's party, but she was still smiling—it wasn’t the first time this had happened. She decided to eat the cake by herself and go to sleep.

While trying to sleep, she recalled the first time this had happened—her 22nd birthday. She had invited her close friends and colleagues, making all the arrangements, from the cake to the balloons. The only thing missing were the people who never actually showed up. She remembered how she had cried herself to sleep that night. She never bothered to ask why they didn’t come; she already knew the typical excuses people made in such situations.

Today was her 29th birthday. She decided never to invite anyone again and to find solace in solitude. She didn’t cry, but for some reason, this time she felt even lonelier than when she was 22.

As a single mother, she was doing her best at her job, but her personal life was crumbling. Memories of her husband flooded her mind, despite the fact that he had left years ago when she was diagnosed. She loved him anyway. She had hoped that at the very least, he would call her on her birthday, but he didn’t even bother to send a text. Deep down, she knew her job was the only way to escape her mundane life.

She hated Sunday mornings. She had tried to make friends at work, but that hadn’t worked out either. None of her interests matched theirs—except for their shared love of coffee. She took two cups of coffee every day, one in the morning and one during her evening break. She liked Indian food more than anything else. She worked an eight-hour shift, and by the end of it, she was usually exhausted.

Her only motivation in life was her children. The way their faces lit up when she reached home and they rushed to hug her was adorable, to say the least. She always tried to pick them both up at the same time but was never actually able to do so. She loved them equally.

They didn’t have many memories of their father, as he had left when they were only four. Manuela understood the importance of a father figure in a child's life and had tried to date again. She dated two men—one was a professor, and the other was a writer—but they both disappointed her when she told them about her kids. After that, she stopped dating altogether.

Tomorrow was a big day for her. After years of hard and honest work, she was finally getting promoted, and the same people who ghosted her on her birthday now expected a party invitation.

Every day, she took the stairs to the eighth floor because of her claustrophobia, yet she was never late. She was good at what she did and had won Employee of the Year five consecutive times.

After getting home and putting her kids to sleep, she would usually read books while listening to music. She admired the works of great writers like Dostoevsky and Sartre. She still remembered how passionate she had been about becoming a writer in her youth. But responsibilities had killed her dreams, and now here she was, working in corporate.

Sometimes she thought of leaving her job and trying her luck as a writer, but the mere thought of resigning terrified her. It wasn’t that she doubted her writing skills; rather, it was because of her kids.

She had taken up smoking to cope with the separation but never smoked around her children or on office premises. Instead, she did it on the roof, gazing at the stars. On cloudy nights, she missed those stars more than the moon.

She had to find a way to tell her children about their father. They still didn’t know why he had left and were also unaware of her diagnosis. She still couldn’t imagine the look on their faces when she broke the news.

Her husband was the only person who knew she was battling cancer. She could never forget how easy it had been for him to abandon his family in a moment that demanded his presence the most. She could never forget the disappointed look he gave her when she told him. Instead of embracing her, he simply left the room.

The next day, he left the house, changed his phone number, and blocked her emails. He hadn’t contacted her even once since then. But she missed him. She still loved him. She was still waiting for him to come back.

Even for a strong woman like her, raising two kids alone was a daunting task.

The caretaker she had hired was unhappy with her salary but still did her job because she loved the kids just as much. Manuela left the house at 9:30 and came back at 7:30. She was usually late in the rainy season when the roads flooded, but apart from that, she always managed to get home on time.

Her own childhood hadn’t been great either. Her parents used to fight over the smallest things almost every day. They both loved her, but they were so consumed with their own lives that she often felt ignored and alone. Even at school, she barely had any friends. But she was sharp and hardworking, and her teachers really liked her.

She had a huge crush on a boy in a higher class but was too shy to confess. She still imagined how her life might have turned out if she had had the courage to tell him. He, too, had felt the same way. But they had both left it to destiny.

She didn’t even know that he was still single, waiting for her, waiting for destiny to unfold. But who was going to tell her? They had no contact, and only one mutual friend. As much as they missed each other, neither of them asked about the other. Perhaps, for her, it had just been a crush. But for him, it had been love.

She knew he would accept her and her kids without question. But to her, it wouldn’t be fair.

She thought she didn’t need anyone’s support, but deep down, she knew she wouldn’t be there for her kids for much longer. Someone had to take responsibility for them, and he was just the right man for it.

Maybe on one of her worst days, she would do what was needed. She would tell him. She would tell him she needed him and would finally be happy for the rest of her life.

But for now, she had other responsibilities.

She needed to buy a car—desperately. Although she was never late to the office, she had to make sure she got home to her kids on time, especially with the rainy season approaching.

She had two umbrellas in her house, both damaged. The first thing she would do today was buy an umbrella—one that could stand by her in the storms of life, unlike her husband.

She wasn’t quite a perfectionist but was sometimes obsessed with having things exactly as she wanted them.

She liked her clothes black and her boots white. She loved rock music and hated jazz. She loved coffee and couldn’t stand the smell of tea. She was an atheist but had a deep love for her religion.

One could say she was a walking paradox—one no philosopher would dare to tackle.

She loved reading fiction but now wanted to read poetry. She was thinking of buying a book by Robert Frost. Frost, she believed, would be the perfect start. She had had enough of Sartre and Dostoevsky. Their writing was compelling, but their content was depressing. From now on, she had decided to read things that gave her mind positive energy.

Her cooking skills were improving, and for her, that was a great achievement—perhaps her greatest.

She had always struggled with cooking and had burned her hands several times, but she never gave up.

Her mother had been her inspiration—an excellent cook. Unfortunately, her mother had faced similar treatment from her husband as Manuela had.

At last, she realized she had married the wrong person and had loved someone who couldn’t even spell the word.

Tonight, she had to sleep early. She wanted to look perfect at her promotion celebration.

Tomorrow, she would become the team leader of the same team she had joined as a consultant.

As gloomy as her personal life was, her professional future was brighter than the noon sun.

Her sleeping pills were about to run out.

She also had to buy diapers.

Sometimes, she looked at her situation from a distance, imagining herself as someone else. She would ask, Where did it all go wrong?

And all she got in return was a confused, dismayed look—and a faint smile.

She woke up at 8:00, brushed her teeth with her favorite pink toothbrush, took a shower, and left for work.