“I went on a business trip for a month, and as soon as I got home, my husband hugged me tightly: ‘Let’s go to the room, I miss you so much…’. I smiled, not knowing that that hug would be the beginning of days I would never forget. Because in that house, it wasn’t just my husband who was waiting for me…”
Mexico City, early May. The first rain of the season suddenly fell, like the mood of a woman who had just left the airport after a month of intense work in Monterrey. Mariana dragged her suitcase, her heart beating wildly. Not only because of the success of the project—although she was also filled with pride—but because she was finally going home. With Ricardo, the man who every night told her he loved her before going to bed.
Mariana opened the door with her fingerprint, her heart pounding as if it were the first time she had visited her boyfriend. The two-story house was silent, filled with the smell of freshly used floor cleaner. As she set the suitcase down, she immediately heard quick footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Come back, my love!” Ricardo shouted, hugging her as if a whole year had passed without her seeing him. He squeezed her so tightly that she could barely breathe, and then smiled broadly:
“Let’s go to the room! I miss you so much!”
Marian laughed, holding her by the shoulder. The smell of her skin, her rapid breathing, the sparkle in her eyes: everything soothed her. She nodded,
“Let me take a bath first.”
Ricardo held the face of a mischievous child, but she agreed. While she bathed, he played soft music and prepared her orange juice, which he had left on the table. The details were simple, but to Mariana they meant everything.
That night, they hugged each other as if they had never been apart. Ricardo whispered sweet words to her, and Mariana felt lucky. She knew that many women carry the weight of the world alone, but she had a man who cared for her and made her feel loved.
The next morning, Ricardo woke up early to make breakfast: eggs, bread, and an iced latte, just the way she liked it. He said,
“You’re okay, honey.”
Mariana smiled happily. They may have said that Mexican men aren’t very romantic, but her husband was an exception.
But happiness, sometimes, is like glass: transparent, beautiful… and fragile.
Three days later, Mariana found a red tie under the pillow in the bedroom. It wasn’t hers. She had never worn that kind, especially that color.
She held it between her fingers for a long time. She felt no overflowing jealousy or anger, only a deep sadness, like a melody that gradually faded away. Because women have a sixth sense. She said nothing.
That night, as she sat with her head on Ricardo’s arm, she asked softly,
“While I was away… did anyone come to our house?”
Ricardo answered without hesitation:
“Hugo only came to borrow my drill, no one else.”
Mariana nodded silently, trying to keep her face calm. A smile forced itself on her lips. Ricardo didn’t notice, or maybe he pretended not to. He continued to hug her and tell her about his work last month. But those words, meant to fill the emptiness of distance, now only increased the space in her heart.
Her sixth sense told her that something didn’t add up. A red hair. A strange candy wrapper under the bed. Ricardo was nervous when he received a message and hung up the phone. Everything came together in a painful puzzle.
One night, Mariana waited for Ricardo to fall asleep. She took out her cellphone with trembling hands, which was hidden under the blankets. Her heart beat faster in her chest. She checked her calls, messages, and social networks. At first, nothing was out of the ordinary. Until a chat came in with a woman whose name I had never heard of.
Read. First innocent phrase. Then, more intimate words. “I miss you so much.” — “I’ll pick you up on Saturday.” — “Dinner was perfect, next time will be even better.” — “Good night, love.”
The blow was cruel. The dates coincided with the exact weeks she had been in Monterrey. The red garter, the sweetness, the nervous attitude… Everything made sense.
Tears began to stream down her cheeks. Mariana looked at Ricardo’s sleeping face, so calm, so fake.
“Did you deceive me, Ricardo?” she whispered between sobs.
She ran to the bathroom, locked herself in, and cried until she ran out of strength. But when she looked in the mirror, between her sad face and her red eyes, she saw something else: decision. She was no longer the woman who had discovered the truth a few minutes earlier.
The next morning, she confronted Ricardo. He showed her the Red League.
“Explain that to me.”
She sighed, nervously, and apologized to him: “Maybe Hugo… He must have left it here…” But Mariana stopped her with a bitter laugh.
“Hugo? A man wearing red garters? And is he the one who writes you messages saying ‘I miss you so much, my love’? Do you think I’m stupid?”
Ricardo turned pale. His confession was silent. When he finally whispered, “Forgive me… I don’t know why I did that…”, Mariana felt like her world had collapsed for her.
She kicked him out of the house. She cried, broken, and called her best friend for comfort. The house, which a few days ago had been a warm haven, had become a cold place, full of false memories.
Sitting by the window, watching the rain fall in Mexico City, Mariana thought: How many more tears do I have to shed before I can find peace?
And in the midst of that pain, a certainty was born: the storm would pass, the sun would rise again, and she, though broken, would learn to rise again. Because even the deepest scars, one day, become signs of strength.
The days after Ricardo left were a silent hell.
The house was too big, too empty. Every corner—the sofa, the dining table, the bed that still smelled—was a poignant reminder of the betrayal. Mariana cried until her tears dried and only a feeling of cold emptiness remained in her chest.
But in the midst of that intense pain, something began to change inside her.
A nagging thought kept repeating to her, “I will not let this betrayal ruin the rest of my life.”
The first week was the hardest. Mariana barely ate, barely slept. Her friends took turns visiting her, bringing her food, and distracting her. One of them told her:
“Mariana, no one deserves your tears. Especially someone who doesn’t know how to appreciate you.”
That phrase stuck with her. Like a spark in the dark.
Little by little, Mariana began to recover. She woke up early, dressed well even though she didn’t have to go out. She filled the house with fresh flowers, changed the sheets, painted the bedroom a different color. It was as if with each change she was erasing Ricardo’s mark.
At work, she gave more than ever. Her colleagues admired her for her strength, never imagining the storm that had passed. The projects gave her a purpose, a reason to wake up every morning. And every time someone recognized her talent, Mariana felt like she had regained a part of herself that Ricardo had never managed to destroy.
Three months later, things were different. Her eyes, although still unfocused, were shining with a new light. She had lost a little weight, but her posture was firmer, more confident. She signed up for yoga classes and resumed painting, a passion she had abandoned for years.
One afternoon, while painting in front of the open window, she heard the rain falling. That same rain that had once accompanied her illness now seemed like a rebirth. She smiled for the first time without feeling the weight of the past.
Until then, Ricardo had tried to go back.
One night, he appeared in front of her house, soaked from the rain, with red eyes and a broken voice.
—”Mariana… I made a mistake. Forgive me. I can’t live without you.”
Marian looked at him for a long time from the door. I no longer cried, I no longer trembled. Her voice was firm, quiet, sharp as a sword:
“I can live without you, Ricardo. And I am better than before.”
She closed the door.
And with that heavy blow, she also ended a chapter in her life.
A few months later, Mariana traveled again, this time to Guadalajara, to present a project. There, at a conference, she met new people: colleagues, friends, people with dreams like hers. And among them, a man who looked at her not with the desire to possess her, but with respect, with true admiration.
This was not the beginning of an immediate romance – Mariana had not yet sought it – but it was the beginning of something greater: her rebirth as a free woman, strong and aware of her own worth.