Suddenly, my mind rushed back to the last days of our marriage.
I remembered the arguments. How I accused Javier of being distant, of not caring, of always being away on business trips. I thought he had grown cold, unloving. And in my anger, I filed for divorce.
I never asked why he was gone so often. I never tried to understand. I was too proud, too wrapped up in my own hurt.
Now I realized those trips had changed him forever. They led him to Mariana—the woman who had risked everything for him.
And when I saw how he looked at her, my heart cracked wide open. He had never looked at me that way. His eyes glowed with gratitude, reverence, and a love so deep it silenced the entire room.
A Dance That Broke My Heart
As the evening continued, I sat in silence, my carefully prepared lines of mockery dissolving into ashes.
When the music for the first dance began, Javier leaned down, scooped Mariana into his arms, and carried her gently onto the dance floor. He held her close, swaying slowly as tears streamed down the cheeks of the guests.
The applause was thunderous. People stood. They cheered. They wept.
And I wept too. Only my tears weren’t for them. They were for me.
A Painful Reflection
When I finally returned home, I stood in front of my mirror again. The image staring back at me was no longer a queen in red, but a broken woman with smudged makeup and swollen eyes.
I cried that night like I had never cried before. Not for Javier, not even for Mariana, but for myself.I cried for the selfishness that blinded me. I cried for the marriage I had thrown away because of pride. I cried for the years wasted in bitterness.
And most of all, I cried because I realized something I should have known long ago: happiness doesn’t come from outshining others, from being admired, or from winning battles of ego.
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