I am 65 years old.
And after 37 years together, the man I had spent almost my entire life with left me.
On the day of the divorce, my former husband, Don Rafael, gave me a bank card.
He said in a calm voice:
“There are 3,000 pesos here. Enough for you to live on for a few months.”
He said it as if our 37 years together were worth only that much.
As if I were an old object that was no longer useful.
I watched him turn his back and walk out of the family court in Guadalajara without looking back.
I felt a lump rise in my throat, so heavy that I could barely breathe.
I kept the card.
Not because I needed it…
but because it felt like a thorn in my heart.
After the divorce, I lived in a small, damp room on the outskirts of the city.
I survived by doing whatever I could: cleaning houses, watching cars, collecting bottles from the streets.
Those were probably the darkest years of my life.
Many times, I went hungry.
Many nights, I went to sleep with an empty stomach.
But I never touched those 3,000 pesos.
Not because of pride…
but because I didn’t want to touch something that felt like charity.
I hated that card.
I hated being abandoned.
I hated the feeling that after an entire lifetime, I was nothing but a burden.
Time passed slowly, like a dull knife cutting little by little, but deeply.
My body aged quickly.
There were days when getting out of bed was a battle.
From time to time, my children would come and leave me some money, but they had families of their own.
I never told them about my pain or dizziness.
I didn’t want to become another worry.
Until one day…
I lost consciousness in front of the door of the room where I lived.
The doctor was very clear:
“Severe malnutrition. You need treatment. Hospitalization.”
I knew I had no choice.
For the first time in five years, I thought about that card.
“It only has 3,000 pesos left… but even a few days of help is still help.”
The next morning, I went to the bank.
My hands were shaking as I handed the card to the young cashier.
“I’d like to withdraw everything, please.”
In my mind, I already saw myself leaving with a few bills, returning to my miserable life.
The young woman stared at the screen…
for far too long.
Then she looked at me.
Her eyes were filled with shock.
“Ma’am,” she swallowed, “the balance is not 3,000 pesos.”
My heart started pounding.
“Then… how much is there?”
She printed the statement and slid it toward me.
I looked at the paper.
I felt the world stop.
983,000 pesos.
Almost one million.
I lost my breath.
I thought I had read it wrong.
I looked again.
The number didn’t change.
“Who… who deposited this money?” I asked in a trembling voice.
The cashier turned the screen toward me.
A name I knew all too well.
RAFAEL.
Monthly transfers.
For five years.
Never missing a single one.
I went home in silence.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I just stared at the ceiling, crying.
I remembered his sad expression.
His strange silence.
The nights he would wake up thinking I was asleep.
What if… he didn’t leave me because he stopped loving me?
I needed answers.
The next day, I traveled to the town in Michoacán where his older sister, Doña Teresa, lived.
Her house was small, beside cornfields.
“Teresa… are you there?” I called out, my voice breaking.
She came out, and when she saw me, her eyes filled with tears.
“María… you came.”
“Where is Rafael? I need to talk to him.”
Doña Teresa remained silent.
She went inside and came back holding a small wooden box.
Her hands were trembling.
“María… Rafael is dead.”
I felt my heart shatter.
“No… that can’t be… it’s only been five years…”
She was crying.
“He had terminal cancer… even before the divorce.”
My world collapsed.
“He didn’t want you to take care of him,” she continued.
“He didn’t want you to spend your final years watching the man you love slowly die.
That’s why he left.
That’s why he set you free.”
She handed me the box.
“This is for you,” she said. “He told me to give it to you only if you came for it.”
Inside was a letter.
It read:
María,
If you are reading this, I am no longer here.
Forgive me for leaving in the cruelest way.
It hurt me more than you can imagine.
I didn’t want you to take care of me as I faded away.
I wanted you to live without chains, without tears.
The money is so you will never lack anything.
Eat well. Live well.
I don’t need you to forgive me.
I just want you to be happy.
If there is another life… I would choose you again.
I collapsed to my knees.
I cried like a child.
For five years, I lived hating him…
while he was fighting death,
sending me money every month,
until his hands could no longer do so.
I thought he had abandoned me.
But the truth was different:
He loved me so deeply…
that he chose to face it alone.
Standing before his photograph on the family altar, I held the frame with trembling fingers.
“Why didn’t you tell me…”
But he could no longer answer.
On the day I held that card with 3,000 pesos, I thought I was an abandoned woman.
Five years later, standing before his memory, I understood the truth:
I was never alone.
I was loved… until the very end.