Listening Without a Wrench

Mateo was known for fixing things in the coastal town of Playa Azul, where he and Lucía lived. Engines, pumps, doors that wouldn’t close properly. If it rattled, leaked or failed, Mateo believed it could be solved with enough patience and the right tool. That belief followed him home.

One humid afternoon, the power went out. The fan died. The house filled with heat and silence. Lucía sat at the table, staring at her phone.

“It’s not the breaker,” she said before Mateo even stood up.

“I didn’t say it was,” he replied, already moving.

“That’s the problem,” she said.

She started talking. About feeling invisible. About people drifting away since they moved south. About missing a life that no longer existed. Mateo listened with the part of his mind that looked for patterns and causes. He waited for the pause.

When she stopped, he offered solutions. Practical ones. Efficient ones. The kind that made sense.

Lucía smiled without warmth. “You’re not listening,” she said. “You’re ending it.”

That irritated him. “I’m trying to help.”

“No,” she said. “You’re trying to be done.”

She went outside and stood under the mango tree. Mateo followed, still explaining, until he ran out of words. They stood there in silence, the kind that doesn’t invite conversation.

“I don’t need answers,” Lucía said finally. “I need you to stay.”

Mateo felt useless. There was nothing to tighten, adjust or replace. For the first time, he realised fixing was his escape. If the problem disappeared, so did the discomfort.

He said nothing. He stayed.

That night, when the power returned, nothing felt solved. But something had shifted.

The next evening, Mateo handed Lucía a notebook. “Tell me what you don’t want fixed,” he said.

She laughed. Then cried. Mateo did neither. He listened.

He didn’t stop fixing things. He just learned which ones weren’t broken.

Moral of the story:
Fixing is often a way to avoid sitting with someone’s pain. Listening doesn’t solve anything, but it tells the other person something far more important. You’re worth my time, even when I can’t make this go away.