Divorced, my husband threw an old pillow at me with a sneer. When I unzipped it to wash it, I was stunned by what was inside

My tears fell heavily onto the yellowed paper. I remembered on my wedding day, my mother giving me the pillow, saying it was very soft, so I would sleep well.

I laughed and said, “You’re getting old, Mom, what a strange thing to think. Héctor and I will be happy.”

My mother just smiled, with a distant, sad look in her eyes. I hugged the pillow to my chest, feeling as if my mother was sitting beside me, stroking my hair and comforting me.

It turned out she always knew how much a daughter would suffer if she chose the wrong man. It turned out she had prepared a backup plan for me; not a wealthy one, but one that kept me from despair.

That night, I lay on the hard bed in my small rented room, holding the pillow to my chest, my tears soaking the pillowcase.

But this time, I wasn’t crying because of Héctor. I was crying because I loved my mother.

Crying because I felt lucky, that at least I still had a place to go back to, a mother who loved me, and a big world out there waiting to welcome me.

The next morning, I woke up early, folded the pillow carefully, and put it in my suitcase. I told myself I would rent a smaller room, closer to my job.