Fernando and I had been husband and wife for five years.
In the beginning, we were as joyful as any other couple, dreaming of a house alive with children’s laughter. But as the years dragged on, the home stayed quiet, without the cry of a baby. We searched for treatment everywhere, from major hospitals to old healers, but every attempt ended in failure. She withdrew into herself, while my patience crumbled. Our once fiery love dissolved into quarrels and endless silences.
Then I encountered Sofia, a radiant young woman, and most importantly, she was expecting. Sofia insisted it was a boy, the child I had dreamed of. I felt redeemed, as though fate was granting me another chance. I resolved to end my marriage. When I confessed my decision, my wife shed no tears and cast no blame. She merely signed the papers quietly, her eyes sorrowful yet firm. I walked away, convinced I was entering a brighter, better chapter of life.
Time moved forward, and Sofia and I awaited the arrival of our child.
But one day, news reached me that my former wife was hospitalized with a grave illness. Though our lives had parted, unease filled my chest. I chose to visit her. Entering the ward, I froze. She was gaunt, her once lively eyes now hollow, yet her lips curved faintly into a smile when she saw me.
“You came,” she whispered softly, her voice weak as air. “Thank you.”
I sat beside her, my heart unbearably heavy. “Mariana, what happened to you? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
She smiled gently, though sorrow dimmed her eyes. “There’s something I never revealed. I believe it’s time you should know.”
I frowned, dread coiling in me. “What is it?”
She exhaled faintly. “It isn’t me who can’t bear children—it’s you. The doctor explained years ago. But I kept silent, because I knew how deeply you longed for a child. I thought my silence would spare you pain.”
Mariana’s confession pierced through me like a blade. I stood frozen, my words gone. For all those years, Mariana endured quietly, concealing truth to shield me. She knew how much I desired a child, but instead of blaming me or abandoning me, she stayed, sacrificing herself so I would never face such cruelty.
“So… Sofia’s child?” I stammered, my mind unraveling.
Mariana gazed at me, forgiveness shining in her eyes. “I cannot know. But if you are happy, that is all I ever wanted.”
I clasped her fragile hand, tears spilling uncontrollably. I had deserted her, the woman who loved me without conditions, for a fleeting illusion. The baby I believed was mine now became a haunting uncertainty, but the deepest wound was Mariana’s silent sacrifice. She chose to guard me, even when I turned my back.
Mariana passed away only weeks later. I never found the chance to repent, nor mend the wounds I caused her. Standing by her grave, I realized true happiness was never in what I pursued, but in the pure love I had so carelessly lost. That cruel lesson taught me that sometimes the greatest treasure is the one who waits quietly by your side, even when you no longer deserve it.
