I spent more time in the hospital with my wife than I did with my own for five years. I fed her with a spoon, changed her bandages, and wiped every drop of sweat off her body. People called me stupid, but I believed in the sacred bond of marriage. One day, I forgot my purse at home and got home earlier than usual. I halted when I opened the door to our room. In a flash, the world I had fought for years fell apart.
Esteban was in his 40s and had a thin but powerful body. His face looked older than it really was.
He and his wife, Sofía, lived in a little, one-story house on the outskirts of Guadalajara.
They were both elementary school teachers and lived simple, peaceful lives. They weren’t wealthy, but they were content.
A lot of people around them felt their love story was amazing.
Then, on a frigid afternoon, something awful happened.
Sofia got into an accident on her way home after shopping for the Day of the Dead.
She couldn’t move her legs since she hurt her back.
While Esteban was teaching, the hospital summoned him.
He ran without thinking, and when he saw her, his heart sank. His happy and vivacious wife was lying quiet, her eyes full of tears, and she couldn’t say anything.
After that day, Esteban didn’t work for a long time.
He took care of Sofia’s requirements by bathing her, feeding her, and giving her physical therapy at home.
Their little cottage became a temporary hospital with medicine, bandages, and other supplies.
Some others told her to move into a nursing home that specializes in this kind of care. But he said no.
“She is my wife.” I will take care of her. Nobody else.
Every day, he got up before dawn to make her atolito (atrolito), feed her, and then go to her house to fix electrical problems.
He sat next to her bed at night, read to her, and rubbed her arms and legs to try to wake up her nerves. The first time a finger moved a little, Esteban wept like a baby.
Sofía didn’t say much. She lived in silence, simply nodding or crying softly every now and then.
Esteban thought that being quiet meant there was no hope, but he also said thank you. He never doubted her. He only felt bad for them.
At first, family members from both sides came to see them and offered to help.
But as time went on, life got in the way. There weren’t many visits. Esteban didn’t blame them.
He knew that caring for someone who is paraplegic is a long and lonely road, and not everyone has the strength to walk it with you.
Life got monotonous, slow, and awful until that day came.
Esteban He was on his way to have something resolved when he suddenly remembered that he had left his wallet at home.
There were essential papers, money, and a receipt he needed to provide to someone inside. He turned around because he thought he would only be in there for a little while.
He halted when he opened the door.
The small window let in the light from the setting sun, which lighted up the landscape and wrecked his whole world.
Two people were on the bed where Sofia had been sleeping for five years. There was also a man sitting just next to Sofia. He was tall and wore brown pants and a white shirt. I thought I recognized his face. He knew right away who the physical therapist was that she hired once a week to help her.
But the thing that astonished him the most wasn’t him; it was her.
Sofia was kneeling. Standing up. Not helped.
And when they held the physical therapist’s hands, her hands shook like they were holding something really vital and valuable.
“Sofia…” Esteban muttered, and his legs shook. His voice was barely a whisper. Her body was limp.
Both of them looked back. Sofia’s face went pale, and her eyes got wider. The man quickly pulled his hands back and stood up like a child who had been caught stealing candy.
Esteban didn’t shout. He didn’t curse. He didn’t hurt anyone. He just stood there, his eyes full of a thousand feelings.
“How long… how long have you been able to walk?”
Sofía looked down. After a few seconds of stillness, she muttered back:
“Almost eight months.”
“Eight… months?” Esteban stated it again, in amazement.
Tears clouded Sofia’s eyes. They weren’t in pain for the first time in years.
“I was terrified… scared that you would find out. I’m afraid of how you look at me, what you think, and myself. I don’t know who I am anymore. I felt like a ghost for these five years. When my body started to heal, I didn’t know what to do. You gave me everything, yet I couldn’t love you the same way anymore.
Esteban didn’t utter a word. He wasn’t heartbroken by betrayal. It was broken because five years of love, commitment, and trust had led to nothing. He always thought that love could make things better. But he forgot that some scars aren’t on the outside but on the inside.
The other man wanted to get away, but Esteban stopped him.
—”You don’t have to leave.” I just want the truth.
The physical therapist put his head down:
“I never wanted this to happen…” But she needed someone to listen to her. You were her husband and caretaker, but you didn’t know her as you used to. “She was alone, even with your love.”
Esteban didn’t say anything else. He took the wallet he had come back for and exited the home. This was the moment when everything changed. It felt like the walk back to work took twice as long.
That day, it rained.
Later, he moved in with family in Veracruz. There wasn’t a single complaint. No lawsuits. He quickly signed the divorce papers and gave the house to Sofía.
“This is my thank you for five years of marriage,” he wrote in shaky but steady handwriting.
He went back to school, this time at a little school in the country. Life was slower and sadder, yet it was also lighter.
One day, someone asked him, “Do you wish you hadn’t given up so much?”
Esteban shook his head and grinned tiredly:
“No. You don’t care about the cost when you really love someone. But from now on, I’ll say, “I’ll learn to love myself before I love someone else.”
There are no wicked people or faultless saints in this story. Esteban didn’t do anything wrong by loving too much. Sofia was right to want her life back.
The sad part was that they both thought love was enough to keep everything secure, even things that had already died in silence.
