My name is Marcela, and this story is my own retelling of the first three months of a marriage that seemed perfect. Three months, a period of time too short for people to truly understand each other, but long enough for a small crack to quietly form and grow, threatening to break everything. Ricardo and I got married, a simple but warm wedding, with the blessings of our family and friends. Everyone said I was lucky, because I had found a perfect husband.

In everyone’s eyes, Ricardo was a wonderful man. He was kind, considerate, had a steady job, and always treated me with complete sincerity. He remembered every anniversary, every meal I liked, and he always gave me sweet and warm gestures. When we went out, he always held my hand tightly, attracted me to him as a way to protect me. He did all the household chores, from cooking to cleaning, without letting me worry about anything. I also believed that I was the happiest woman in the world.

The first few days after the wedding, our little house was full of laughter and romance. I thought we would have passionate honey nights, sweet moments like the ones I’d seen in the movies. I was mentally prepared, I was anxious about it. However, the first night, when I approached him, Ricardo just gave me a soft kiss on the forehead and turned around. He said he was tired, that he needed to rest. I didn’t think much of it, I believed him, because in fact, a long and tiring wedding day had exhausted both of us.

But then, a week passed, a month passed, and then three months, and nothing had changed. Every night, I expected an intimate gesture from him, a passionate embrace, a deep kiss. But all I received were kind words, caresses in my hair, and then, he would turn around, excusing himself with busy work and tiredness. He was still considerate, he was still attentive, he still bought me flowers and cooked, but there was absolutely no intimate gesture. Confusion and doubt began to creep into my soul.

Every night, when Ricardo fell asleep soundly, I would stay awake, looking at his back, my heart full of sadness and extreme loneliness. I wondered, wasn’t I attractive enough? Wasn’t I seductive enough? I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a young and beautiful woman, but in my heart I felt useless. I began to doubt myself, my worth. I became insecure, I felt inferior, and gradually, I no longer dared to look him in the eye.

Not only did I doubt myself, but I also started to doubt him. Did he have someone else? Had he grown tired of me? But then, those thoughts were rejected by myself. Ricardo was never out and about, he never held his phone on the sly. He was always by my side, he always made time for me. But if it wasn’t for someone else, why did he avoid me? Confusion and doubt grew, like a demon silently gnawing at my soul.

Whenever I tried to talk to him frankly, he avoided him. “Don’t think too much, we have a whole life together.” His words were kind, but they couldn’t soothe the pain in my heart. I felt like I was living in a play, a play that I didn’t know the script for, and I didn’t know when it would end. Our marriage, in the eyes of others, was perfect, but in my eyes, it was a prison, a prison of silence and deception.

One night, when the despair and disorientation had peaked, I made a risky decision. I had secretly installed a hidden camera in the bedroom, a camera that I had ordered a long time ago, but had never dared to use. I felt ashamed, I felt like I was a terrible person for having to do something like that. But I knew this was the only way to get an answer. I didn’t want to live in doubt for another minute.

After installing the camera, I lied to Ricardo that I would stay at my mother’s house because he wasn’t feeling well. He didn’t suspect anything, just gently told me to take care of myself. My heart ached like I was being cut, but I still managed to smile. When I left the house, I turned to look at our little house. My heart was heavy, not because of the separation, but because I knew that tonight, I would have to face a truth, a truth that could break everything.

That night, I couldn’t sleep at all. I was lying in bed, but my soul was at home. I imagined all kinds of scenarios, all kinds of stories. Would he bring another woman home? Would you talk to her? Every second, every minute that passed was torture for me. I felt so weak, so pathetic.

The next morning, I drove home in a hurry. My heart was pounding, as if it wanted to jump out of my chest. I opened the door to the room and found it as quiet as usual. Ricardo had already gone to work. I sat down, shaking, opened my phone, and played back the previous night’s recording.

On the screen, I saw Ricardo return to the room. He didn’t make any calls, nor were there any other women. He sat quietly on the edge of the bed for a long time, his back radiating extreme loneliness. He sat there, doing nothing, just staring into space. My heart was filled with pain. I had never seen him so alone, I had never seen him so sad.

Then a scene left me cold. Ricardo went to the closet, took out a blue silk dress of mine. The dress I wore on our first date. She hugged him, pressing her face against the soft fabric. I could see, through the screen, how her tears rolled down her cheeks. He sat in front of the mirror, staring at himself in agony. She cried, tears contained and full of despair. I didn’t understand. Why was she crying? Why was she hugging my dress? I thought I had someone else, but I didn’t. He was alone, alone in the empty room, alone with his own pain.

A moment later, Ricardo answered a call from a friend. I heard his choked voice: “I’m so tired, buddy… I love her, but I can’t… I can’t fool her or myself anymore.” Those words were like a dagger that pierced my heart. The phone in my hand fell to the floor, shattering into pieces. Everything was shattered. I understood everything. His tenderness, his evasion, and the deep sadness in his eyes, it was all not because of a third person, but because of a secret that resided in him, a truth he had struggled to hide. I cried, not tears of anguish, but of pity. I knew his secret. And now I had to face a difficult question: should I confront Him so that we would both reveal our pain, or should I remain silent and continue this charade of marriage?

For three days, I lived in agony, in a dead end. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to hug him, I wanted to tell him that I understood, that I would be by his side. But he was afraid, afraid that the truth would hurt him, that he would feel ashamed. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to accept the truth and that I would make him suffer even more. I locked myself in the room, not eating or drinking, just crying and thinking.

Finalmente, decidí que no podía seguir viviendo en este silencio. No podía dejarlo solo para enfrentar su dolor, no podía dejarlo solo para luchar contra ese secreto. Lo amaba, amaba a la persona que realmente era, no un modelo perfecto que todos habían construido. Creía que nuestro amor era lo suficientemente fuerte como para superar cualquier desafío.

Esperé a que regresara del trabajo. Preparé una cena sencilla pero cálida. Quería crear un espacio seguro, un lugar donde él pudiera abrirse. Cuando entró en la casa, me vio esperándolo. Sus ojos estaban llenos de preocupación y miedo. Él sabía que había llegado el momento de enfrentar la verdad.

No dije nada, solo tomé su mano suavemente y coloqué en ella el teléfono roto. Él vio la imagen en la pantalla, lo entendió todo. Sus lágrimas comenzaron a rodar por sus mejillas. No dijo una palabra, solo me abrazó con fuerza, sollozando. Eran lágrimas de alivio, de miedo y también de esperanza.

After that, he told me everything. About his confusion since childhood, his conflicting feelings, his internal struggle. He had tried to hide it, to be a “normal” man in everyone’s eyes. He had loved me, he loved my sweetness and my purity. But he couldn’t get close to me. He was afraid, afraid that I would discover his secret, afraid that I would leave him.

I listened to him, without judging, without blaming. I just held him tightly, stroking his hair. I told him I loved him, loved the person he truly was, not some perfect model. I told him I would be by his side, that we would face every difficulty together. I would be his friend, his companion on the path to finding himself.

From that day on, our lives changed. Together, we sought help from a psychologist. Together, we learned to accept and face the truth. I became her best friend, her companion, and her greatest supporter. She no longer lived in doubt or fear. She lived in love, understanding, and trust.

Our marriage isn’t a “normal” marriage, but it is a true marriage. We found a new kind of love, a love not just based on physical intimacy, but also on understanding, companionship, and acceptance. We built a family together, a family that people might not understand, but that we do.

Many years have passed, and we’re still together. We don’t have children, but we have a great love. Our love is not only for each other, but also for those around us. We became a special couple, a couple who overcame all difficulties to find true happiness. And I am no longer a confused woman, but a strong, self-confident, and loving woman. I have found the meaning of life, I have found true happiness.