That smile pierced right through me. We spent hours talking that night. She wasn’t the spoiled daughter of wealthy parents I expected. She was warm, curious, and alive. By the time I walked her to her car, I already knew I couldn’t let her go.
A Love Against the Odds
Six months later, we were married. Her parents disowned her for choosing me, a man without wealth or title. They refused to attend the wedding, cut her off from her inheritance, and erased her from their family gatherings.
But none of it mattered, or so I believed. Lucía squeezed my hand as we signed the papers and whispered, “I don’t care about money. I just want you.”
We moved into a modest two-bedroom apartment. I worked construction by day and studied architectural design by night. She found work in an art gallery. Life was simple, but we were happy.
At least, I thought we were.
Cracks in the Marriage
When our daughter Alma was born, everything shifted. The glow in Lucía’s eyes began to fade. She started comparing our life with the one she had left behind.
“My old college roommate just bought a villa by the coast,” she said one evening as we ate macaroni at our small kitchen table.
“That’s wonderful for her,” I answered, distracted by my floor plans.
“She invited us to visit. I had to tell her we couldn’t afford it.”
Her tone stung. I reassured her that things would get better, that all my hard work was leading somewhere. But she grew restless. “When, Javier? When Alma is grown? When we’re old? I’m tired of waiting for ‘someday.’”
The arguments became constant. She despised our tight budget. She loathed the sacrifices. One night, she spat words I’ll never forget: “Maybe marrying you was the mistake. I thought you’d be more by now.”
The Day She Left
One afternoon, I came home early with flowers, hoping to mend things. The apartment was silent. Her suitcase was gone. Her clothes, her belongings — all gone.
In Alma’s crib, I found a note:
“I want a divorce. Our marriage was a mistake. I’ve left Alma with Mrs. Martinez upstairs. Keep her.”
My knees buckled. I called her phone over and over, but she never answered. I went to her parents’ mansion, desperate, but the security guard barred me at the gate.
“You’re not welcome here,” he said with pity in his eyes.
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