The Final Promise
Years later, when Lucia went away to college, the house felt quieter. Marisol and I often sat on the porch, watching the sunset. She rested her head on my shoulder, and I traced the faint scars that time had softened.
“Do you ever think,” she asked one evening, “about that night? Our wedding night?”
I smiled. “Every day. That was the night I learned what love truly is.”
She laughed softly. “And to think, I was so afraid to let you see me.”
“You showed me everything that mattered,” I said. “Not what you hid—but what you endured.”
She took my hand, voice trembling.
“Promise me, Alejandro. If one day I’m gone before you… tell Lucia the truth. Tell her I wasn’t broken. Tell her I was loved.”
I kissed her forehead. “You’ll tell her yourself. A thousand times.”
