My name is Araceli “Celi” Salazar, I am 32 years old and live in Quezon City. I thought she was a good mother.
After my first divorce, I brought my youngest daughter home, vowing to protect her at all costs.
Three years later, I met Ricardo Montes: a decent, reasonable man, who, like me, lived alone.
He was quiet, calm and never made my daughter feel like an “illegitimate child.”
I was convinced that after so many storms, my daughter and I would finally find a peaceful home.
But then, something strange started happening.
My daughter, Ximena (Xime), turned seven this year. Ever since she was a little girl, she had difficulty sleeping; she often woke up crying in the middle of the night, sometimes wetting the bed and screaming. I thought it was because I didn’t have a father, so when I had a “new dad,” I hoped that things would get better.
But no.
Xime still cries in his dreams, and sometimes, when I see her without realizing it, I see something cloudy and distant in her eyes.
Last month, I started to notice:
Every night, Ricardo would leave the room around midnight.
When I asked him, he simply said:
“My back hurts, I’m going to the sofa in the living room to make myself more comfortable.”
I was convinced.
But a few nights later, when I woke up, I saw that he wasn’t lying on the sofa, but in my daughter’s room.
The door was slightly open, the orange night light was shining.
He was lying next to her, and I hugged her gently.
I got angry and asked:
“Why are you sleeping there?”
He calmly replied:
“The girl was crying, I comforted her and she fell asleep.”
It seemed logical, but a strange suspicion kept swirling in my heart, like the warm wind of a summer night in the heat of Mexico.
I was scared.
It wasn’t just my husband who had broken my trust, but something much worse—something no mother ever wants to think about.
I decided to put a small camera in a corner of Xime’s room.
I lied to Ricardo, saying that he had to go through a security check, but in reality, I was just watching him.
That night, I opened my cellphone to watch the video.
Around two in the morning, Xian got up and… Actually, I had already started saving!
He stood with his eyes closed, his face expressionless.
He walked around the room, gently banging his head against the wall, and then stood there.
I froze.
After a few minutes, the door opened.
Ricardo entered, without haste, without fear, he just hugged her slowly, whispering something that the camera couldn’t catch.
Xime gradually calmed down, lay down on the bed, and slept peacefully as if nothing had happened.
I couldn’t sleep all night.
The next morning, I took the video to the city hospital to show the pediatrician.
When I saw him, the doctor looked at me and said:
“Your child suffers from sleepwalking—this is a type of sleep disorder that occurs in children with psychological trauma or deep subconscious fears.”
Then he asked:
“When he was young, was he ever left or separated from his mother for a long time?”
I was dumbfounded.
A question I couldn’t answer in words.
I immediately remembered the time after the divorce.
Back then, I had to leave Xime with her grandmother in Udaipur (a place that remained from the original, if you want to maintain the emotional geography) for more than a month so that I could work and earn money.
When I returned, she didn’t recognize me, she hid behind her grandmother, scared.
I smiled and said to myself:
“She’ll get used to it.”
But I didn’t know that I had left a hole in my daughter that might never heal.
And Ricardo… the man I secretly placed the camera with out hesitation…
Only he knew how to fill that hole.
He learned to calm my daughter down with patience to sleep.
He knew exactly when to wake him up.
He set an alarm, sat by her bed all night, just waiting for the moment when she would start sleepwalking, and then gently put her back to sleep.
He never once scolded me for doubting him.
When I was angry, he didn’t complain.
He just kept loving his daughter and me with the patience and tenderness I gave him.
When I watched the entire video, I burst into tears.
Not out of fear, but out of shame.
The man I feared would hurt my daughter was the one who endured his own pain every night for her.
And I, the mother who thought she was strong, was the one who left her daughter with invisible wounds.
I put down the camera and hugged my pet tightly. Xime woke up, looked at me with empty eyes, and then said softly:
“Mommy, is Daddy coming tonight?”
I burst into tears:
“Yes, dear. Daddy is still here.”
Every night, we slept together in the same room.
I lay down next to my daughter, holding her in my arms, and Ricardo—the non-biological father—lay on the other bed, with one hand always close, in case she was startled, so that he could comfort her in time.
Those nights were no longer heavy, but full of love.
Because now I understand:
Some people don’t come to replace someone, but to fill the void left by another.
I set up a camera to look for evidence to accuse my husband.
But what I found was proof of true love.
The person I feared,
Choosed to embrace the pain of my son and my daughter with all his tenderness.
And the little girl who used to be afraid to sleep alone, now knows how to smile in the arms of a non-biological father, but with a heart big enough to protect us both.
They say:
“A true father is not the one who gives life, but the one who is there when you need a hug.”
I knew I had found that man.