The day I heard that my ex-husband was getting remarried, my stomach dropped. It had been three years since our divorce, yet the wound still felt raw, as if time had done little to heal it.
I told myself I had moved on, that I was stronger now, that I no longer cared. But when I learned who he was marrying, a storm of emotions rose up inside me. Friends whispered the news in hushed voices:
“He’s marrying a woman in a wheelchair. Can you believe it? Poor thing.”
The words stirred something dark in me. Instead of compassion, I felt a twisted sense of pride. I thought, “So this is where his choices led him? He left me only to The wedding took place in an elegant hall in the heart of Mexico City. Music filled the air, laughter rippled through the crowd, and the glow of chandeliers sparkled above the guests.
As I entered, I felt the eyes of familiar faces upon me. Some were surprised, others curious. I lifted my chin, wearing my pride like armor.
Then the music softened. The doors opened. And everything I thought I knew about this wedding—about myself—began to unravel.
The Bride Appears
Javier, dressed in a sharp black suit, appeared at the entrance. But he wasn’t walking alone. He was pushing a wheelchair.
Seated in it was a petite woman with delicate features, a gentle smile, and eyes that radiated peace. She wasn’t pitiful. She wasn’t weak. She was luminous.
A hush fell over the hall as Javier took the microphone. His voice trembled as he spoke:
Nächste
