Four months after my divorce, my ex-wife sent me a wedding invitation.
Clinging to a curiosity I didn’t want to admit, I put on the old suit I’d worn on our wedding day and drove alone to the hacienda where the event would be held.
I just wanted to know—who was the man she’d chosen instead of me?
But when I saw the groom come out… I covered my face with my hands, regretting it like never before.
Mariana and I had been together for three years before we got married. Our first few months as husband and wife were like a soft bolero: uneventful, but full of affection.
She had a sweet, almost shy appearance, but inside she was strong, clever, always ready to untangle any mess in our daily lives.
I… was the typical “good enough” man: I didn’t drink excessively, I didn’t gamble, I worked hard.
But I failed at the essential thing: listening to her.
My job in real estate in Mexico City was a constant pressure. I always had the perfect excuse:
“I’m busy… it’s for our future.”
And while I said that, Mariana would sit across from me, waiting for a look, a word, anything.
But I was always glued to my phone, my laptop… or to the silence.
Over time, I stopped knowing if she was sad or happy.
We didn’t fight.
And that was my mistake: confusing silence with peace.
One night, Mariana said bluntly:
“I want a divorce.”
I froze.
“We can try again,” I pleaded.
She shook her head gently:
“I waited a long time, Santiago. I thought that loving you enough would be enough… but I’m losing myself.”
I signed the papers one gray evening. There were no tears, but there was an emptiness that haunted me for months.
One Thursday afternoon I received a message from her:
“Are you free this Sunday? I want to give you an invitation.”
I didn’t have to open the envelope to know what it was.
I barely slept three hours that night.
On Sunday, I drove to an elegant hacienda in Puebla. I sat at a table in the back, not wanting to see or be seen.
Until she appeared.
Mariana, in a shimmering white dress, smiling in a way I hadn’t seen in years.
My chest burned.
Then her boyfriend came out.
And I almost collapsed.
It was Alejandro.
My brother for life. My buddy since college.
The one with whom I shared tacos de canasta, failed exams, and youthful dreams.
Him? Could he…?
My head was spinning.
I wanted to scream, to hear myself, or to disappear.
Suddenly, Alejandro looked at me.
And his expression… wasn’t one of pride or satisfaction. It was painful.
Mariana whispered something in his ear, and they both walked toward me.
I clenched my fists under the table.
“Congratulations…” I managed to say.
Alejandro raised his hand, his voice breaking:
“Brother… forgive me.”
Mariana took a deep breath:
“Santiago, you’re misunderstanding everything. Ale and I… we’re not together like you think.”
“Then what is this?” I managed to ask.
Alejandro took out a thick envelope and placed it in front of me.
I opened it.
It was medical testing. The diagnosis was written in letters that felt like they were burning me:
“Advanced Carcinoma – Terminal Stage.”
Patient’s name: Alejandro Ruiz.
I felt like the world was collapsing.
Mariana said, her voice breaking:
“Ale found out three months ago. He didn’t want to tell anyone.” But when he knew he didn’t have much time left… the first thing he wanted was to talk to you.
Alejandro lowered his gaze:
“I always knew I owed you something. Ten years ago… I fell in love with Mariana first. But when I saw the way you looked at her, I stepped aside.
I thought I’d moved on… until you divorced.
And I felt guilty. I thought maybe… I had unwittingly influenced things between you two.”
I immediately denied it:
“No, brother. I was the one who messed up.”
But he smiled sadly:
“I wanted to use the time I have left to make amends to you. This wedding…” He swallowed hard. “…was just a way to force you to come.
I was afraid of leaving without telling you all this… and that you would carry this pain forever.”
I felt something inside me break.
The wedding was a farce.
A staged performance… to help me heal.
In his final days, Alejandro was still thinking about protecting me.
I hugged him tightly, not caring who was watching.
“Thank you…” I stammered. “Thank you for continuing to be my brother.”
He hugged me back:
“Brother until death. And beyond.”
Two weeks later, Alejandro passed away in a hospital in Guadalajara. Mariana was with me during the funeral, not out of romantic love, but because we had finally learned to talk… like two people who no longer owed each other anything.
I stood before his grave, placed the fake invitation on the fresh earth, and murmured:
“I promise to live better… for you too.”
A warm breeze drifted through the trees, as if Alejandro were still there, smiling with that calmness of his that always saved me.
And for the first time in a long time… I felt I could move on.Related posts: