Five years after losing my wife, my daughter and I went to my best friend’s wedding. But my world collapsed when he lifted the bride’s veil. As my daughter whispered, “Papa, why are you crying?”, the bride met my gaze… and, in an instant, everything fell apart.
I had never planned on going to that party. My colleague, Marcos, dragged me out, swearing he would help me “get out of this funk.” I had been working double shifts on construction sites for weeks, and my body felt like concrete. “Just one hour,” Marcos insisted, practically pushing me out of the central Madrid apartment. “Afterward, you go home and play the hermit again.” Funny how the most important moments always arrive when you least expect them. The party was full of people who probably had never lifted anything heavier than a glass of wine. In my worn jeans and old T-shirt, I felt out of place. But that’s when I saw her. Lucía. She wasn’t supposed to be there either. I learned later that she had just come to drop something off for a friend. Our eyes met across the room, and something clicked. Sparks, a connection, call it what you will; I knew I wanted her to be part of my life. “Who is that?” I asked Marcos, nodding in her direction. He followed my gaze and whistled softly. “Lucía. Don’t even try, man. Her family owns half of Madrid.” Family holiday packages. But I was already walking toward her. She smiled when she saw me approaching, and that smile hit me like a sledgehammer.
“Javier,” I said, extending my hand. “Lucía,” she replied in a soft yet confident voice. Her hand was small in mine, but her grip was firm. “You look as uncomfortable as I feel here.” We talked for hours that night. Nothing like what I had imagined (no “daddy’s girl” attitude, just warmth and genuine curiosity), and when I walked her to her car, I realized I was lost. “My parents would hate you,” she said, the moon lighting up her dark hair. “Is that a problem?” I asked. She looked at me with eyes that seemed to see right through me. “Probably. But I don’t think I care.” Six months later, we were married. Her parents didn’t come to the wedding. They completely disowned her: no inheritance, no more family gatherings, nothing. Family holiday packages But Lucía squeezed my hand and said, “I don’t care about the money. I want you.” And, for a time, that was enough. We moved into a small two-room apartment. I worked construction during the day; at night, I studied architectural design. Lucía found a job at a gallery. We were happy, or so I believed. Until Alma was born, when something changed. The sparkle in Lucía’s eyes began to fade. She started comparing our life to the one she had left behind.
“My old college roommate just bought a house on the coast,” she threw out one evening while we ate mac and cheese in our small kitchen. Alma slept in her crib beside us. “That’s great,” I replied, without looking up from the blueprints I was studying. “She invited us. I had to tell her we couldn’t afford it.” Her words pierced me. “We’re making it, Lucía. Things will get better.” “When?” she retorted, her voice sharp. “When Alma is in college? When we’re retired? I’m tired of waiting for the ‘better,’ Javier.” Arguments became more frequent. She hated having to budget, despised our modest life. “This isn’t what I wanted,” she would say. As if I had misled her. As if love should pay the bills. Best gift ideas for your loved ones “You knew who I was when you married me,” I reminded her during a particularly bitter fight. “Maybe that was the mistake,” she replied coldly. “I thought by now you would be… more.” The next day, I came home early from work with flowers to surprise her. The apartment was silent. Her suitcase and all her belongings were gone. In the crib, I found a note: “I want a divorce. I’m sorry, but our marriage was a mistake. I left Alma with Mrs. Martínez, on the fifth floor. Keep her.” I called her cell hundreds of times. No answer. Desperate, I went to her parents’ mansion, my eyes wide with tears. The guard wouldn’t let me in. “You are not welcome here, sir,” he said, almost with sympathy. “Please, I just need to speak to Lucía,” I pleaded. “Sir, you must leave.” Two days later, I received the divorce papers. Lucía had renounced her parental rights to Alma. Her father’s lawyers handled everything with ruthless efficiency. Then came the final blow. Six months after she left, I called her parents’ house one last time. “She’s dead,” her mother told me in a flat voice. “Lucía was in a car accident. Don’t call again. You meant nothing to her.”
Pregnancy products She hung up. I collapsed onto the kitchen floor, weeping until Alma woke up, crying too. They didn’t even let me see her grave. They erased her from my life as if she had never existed. I threw myself into work and raising Alma. I finished my studies and started designing houses instead of just building them. My talent was noticed. Within three years, I had my own company. Alma grew up, bright and cheerful, just like her mother. Pregnancy products Five years passed. Life went on, and the pain turned into a quiet, dull throb deep inside me. Until the invitation arrived. Esteban, my best friend of many years, was getting married. We had lost touch after he joined the army, but he wanted me at his wedding. “What do you think, Almita? Should we go see Uncle Esteban get married?” I asked while she colored. “Will there be cake?” she asked very seriously. I laughed. “Yes, a big, very elegant one.” “Then let’s go,” she decided, returning to her drawing. The wedding took place at a seaside resort, with white flowers and a sea breeze. Esteban hugged me tightly when we arrived. “Man, look at you! A real winner,” he said, clapping my arm. “And this beauty, this is Alma.” Alma smiled shyly. The ceremony was magnificent. Guests filled the white chairs on the beach. Alma sat next to me, swinging her feet and playing with the flower I had tucked into her hair. The music started, and everyone stood. The bride walked down the aisle, her face covered by a veil. Then the moment came. Esteban smiled as she approached. When she reached him, he delicately lifted her veil. I stopped breathing. Tears were already flowing when I realized I was crying. Alma looked up at me, confused. “Papa, why are you crying?” I froze, staring at the ghost of my supposedly dead ex-wife, in a wedding dress. Lucía was smiling at the guests, but her eyes widened when she saw us, Alma and me. Then she ran. Esteban called out to her, bewildered, but she had already vanished. I stood up, my legs trembling. “Keep her.” And, in the end, I understood that the best revenge had been to build a happy life without her.
