“Tomorrow I marry Laura, the woman who patiently waited for me for three years. Everything is ready; both families have meticulously prepared the wedding. But deep in my heart, a shadow remains: the memory of Mariana, my first wife, who died in a car accident four years ago.”
That day is still etched in my memory like a scar. Mariana had left early to go to the market to prepare food for my father’s death anniversary. Then came the call that shattered me: “Your wife has been in an accident… we did everything we could, but she didn’t survive.”
When I arrived, her body was already lifeless, yet her face still bore the sweet smile I knew so well. I felt as if the world had collapsed beneath my feet.
I spent a year living like a ghost. The house we had built together with so much effort became cold and empty. Every time I opened the closet and caught the scent of the fabric softener she used, I crumbled. My friends and family insisted I move on, but I just shook my head. I felt unworthy of anyone and convinced I could never love again.
Until Laura appeared. She was a new coworker, five years younger than me. She wasn’t pushy or intrusive, but her quiet tenderness gradually showed me that my heart could still feel warmth. When I remembered Mariana, she would sit beside me with a cup of tea. When the noise of the streets triggered memories of the tragedy, she would hold my hand until I calmed down. For three years, she never asked me to forget the past; she simply waited, with endless patience, for me to open my heart.
And so, I decided to marry her. But before taking that step, I felt I had to visit Mariana’s grave, clean it, and light incense. I wanted to believe that, wherever she was, she would want me to be happy.
That afternoon, a gentle rain fell. The cemetery was empty, only the wind rustling through the eucalyptus trees. I carried white flowers, a cloth, and a pack of candles. With trembling hands, I placed the chrysanthemums on the grave and whispered:
“Mariana, tomorrow I marry another woman. I know that if you were alive, you would want me to find someone to share my life with. I will never forget you, but I have to move on… I can’t let Laura wait any longer.”
A tear fell without me realizing it. As I cleaned the tombstone, I heard soft footsteps behind me.
I turned, still with red-rimmed eyes. In front of me stood a woman in her thirties, slim, wearing a light brown coat. Her hair was tousled by the wind, and her eyes carried a melancholy glow.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said in a trembling voice.
I nodded, wiping my tears.
“Don’t worry… did you come to visit someone?”
She paused for a moment, looked at the nearby tombstone, and said:
“I came to visit my sister. She died in a car accident… four years ago.”
My heart stopped. I read the nearby tombstone: Gabriela Ramirez – 1992–2019. The exact same date Mariana had passed.
“Your sister… passed away the same day as my wife.”
Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked at me:
“Your wife also died that day?”
I nodded and briefly told her what had happened. Her eyes filled with tears as she laid a bouquet of white lilies on her sister’s grave.
“That day Gabriela was traveling with a friend… I never imagined it would be her last trip,” she said through sobs.
The silence of the cemetery surrounded us. I felt a strange connection, as if the grief of two strangers had somehow intertwined.
As we said goodbye, she introduced herself:
“I’m Isabel.”
“My name is Daniel,” I replied.
We stayed a while longer, talking about those we had lost. She told me Gabriela was cheerful, optimistic, and loved music. I spoke of Mariana, her sweetness, and how she always thought of others. In our eyes, there was pain, yes, but also a spark of tenderness when recalling beautiful memories.
The next day, my wedding with Laura was celebrated, surrounded by family and friends. She looked radiant in white, and everyone congratulated us for finding happiness again. Yet deep inside me, the image of Isabel at the cemetery lingered.
Fate, capricious as always, brought us together again. I discovered she worked at a supplier company connected to mine. When we saw each other in a meeting, she barely whispered:
“Daniel…”
We had coffee after work. Isabel confessed:
“Since Gabriela died, I immersed myself in work. But there are still nights when I cry for no reason. Finding you that day in the cemetery made me feel I wasn’t alone in this grief.”
I listened and understood that an invisible bond existed between us: shared mourning. But I also knew that bond was dangerous. I had just married; I couldn’t let myself be drawn into emotional confusion.
Over time, Isabel and I met several times. Our conversations grew longer and deeper. I shared things with her I had never told Laura. It tormented me.
One night, unable to keep hiding it, I confessed everything to my wife. I told her about the cemetery encounter, about Isabel, about our later conversations.
Laura was silent for a long moment. I expected anger, but finally she said:
“Daniel, I waited three years for you. I’m not afraid of Isabel. I know love isn’t pity or coincidence: it’s a choice. I just want you to have the courage to decide what truly makes you happy. If it’s with her, I will let you go.”
Her words pierced my heart like a dagger. Then I understood that true love isn’t only about sharing wounds—it’s about sacrifice, trust, and faith.
From that day on, I limited my encounters with Isabel strictly to work. I chose to stay with Laura, because I realized the past had to stay behind, and the woman who truly helped me move forward had always been by my side.
Sometimes, in silence, I recall Isabel’s sad eyes and the question she asked me:
“Are you with someone who only reminds you of your wounds, or with someone who helps you heal them?”
I understood that the encounter at the cemetery wasn’t meant to start a new love story, but to remind me that I didn’t have to carry my pain alone. I had Laura, and with her, I had to learn to live fully.
From that day, my life truly changed. Not because of a love triangle, but because I learned to value the present, let go of the past, and move forward.