A young woman, wearing a red dress and with perfect lips, walked down the corridor in heels that clicked like knives on the hospital floor.
When she opened the door and saw Elena sitting on the edge of the bed, she stopped.
The silence was unbearable.
Elena looked up, studied her for a second, and said in a low voice,
“He can’t talk much anymore… but if you want to say goodbye, you can.”
The young woman swallowed, looked at the sick man’s face—and stepped back. Then, without a word, she turned and disappeared.
No one can compete with a woman who has suffered in silence for twelve years.
That night, Raúl tried to speak.
His breathing was shallow, the sound of his lungs filling the room.
“E… Elenita…” he whispered. “Forgive me… for everything… I… I know I hurt you… but… you… still love me… right?”
Elena stared at him for a long time.
There was no hatred in her eyes, but neither was there tenderness.
Only a profound calm, the calm of someone who no longer feels anything.
He smiled, his lips trembling slightly:
“Love you?”
Raúl nodded with difficulty.
His eyes filled with tears, convinced that silence was a form of forgiveness.
Then Elena leaned down to his ear and whispered something that made his eyes widen, as if life were slipping away from him faster than ever:
“It’s been twelve years since I stopped loving you, Raúl.
I stayed alone so our children wouldn’t be ashamed of their father.
When you’re gone, I’ll tell them you were a good man…
so they’ll remember with pride the one who was never capable of true love.”
Raúl tried to answer, but only a dry sob escaped his throat.
His fingers twitched, searching for her hand.
Tears mingled with the sweat on his forehead.
And in that final glance, he understood what he had never wanted to see:
that the woman he thought was submissive, weak, dependent… was, in reality, stronger than him.
Elena adjusted her pillow, gently wiped her face, and said calmly,
“Rest. It’s all over.”
Leave a Comment