Four months after the divorce, my ex-wife invited me to her wedding. As soon as I saw the groom’s face, my heart stopped: the truth was even more bitter than I had imagined…

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.

 

 

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