The next morning, I woke up before Alejandro.
For years, that had been my routine.
Wake up first.
Prepare breakfast.
Check his schedule.
Make sure everything in our home was perfect.
Because I believed that if I gave enough love…
Eventually, he would return it.
But that morning was different.
I sat at the edge of the bed and placed my hand on my seven-month belly.
My son moved slightly.
A small reminder that I was no longer making decisions only for myself.
I was making them for him too.
My phone rang.
It was my best friend, Clara.
“Mariana, are you really serious about divorce?”
I looked toward the kitchen.
The breakfast Alejandro had prepared was still on the table.
A perfect plate.
A cup of coffee.
Everything arranged carefully.
Anyone looking from the outside would think I was lucky.
“He made breakfast for you this morning,” Clara said.
“I know.”
“Then why?”
I was silent for a moment.
Because that was the hardest thing to explain.
Alejandro was not cruel.
He was not irresponsible.
He never abandoned his duties.
He paid the bills.
He attended family events.
He would probably be a good father.
But a marriage cannot survive only because someone fulfills obligations.
A person can take care of you…
And still never truly choose you.
“He remembers everything I need,” I whispered.
“But he never notices what I feel.”
Clara became quiet.
Because she understood.
When Alejandro came home that evening, he found the box waiting in the study.
The same box I had carefully placed there.
The box containing everything I had discovered.
Three thousand photos.
Seven years of memories.
Seven years of proof that a part of my husband had never left another woman.
His face changed when he opened it.
“Mariana…”
I stood near the window.
“I found it two days ago.”
His fingers trembled as he picked up one photograph.
It was old.
Before our marriage.
But the words written behind it were not.
“The only woman who ever understood me.”
My chest tightened.
Because that sentence was written during our second year of marriage.
When I was working late.
When I was taking care of his family.
When I was carrying the weight of our relationship alone.
“You said your past was over.”
Alejandro lowered the photo.
“It was.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
My voice was calm.
“That’s what you wanted me to believe.”
He stepped closer.
“Mariana, Dulce and I were just—”
“Don’t.”
I raised my hand.
“Please don’t say friends.”
Because I was tired of that word.
Friends didn’t hide thousands of photos.
Friends didn’t receive the tenderness that your wife begged for.
Friends didn’t become the first person you ran to when something happened.
Alejandro looked away.
And that small movement hurt more than an argument.
Because he knew.
That night, Alejandro slept in the guest room.
For the first time in seven years, there was distance between us.
But the strange thing was…
I felt more peaceful.
The next morning, he appeared at the door holding his car keys.
“I’ll take you to the hospital.”
I looked at him.
“No need.”
“Mariana.”
His voice softened.
“You’re pregnant.”
I almost smiled.
Now he remembered.
Now he was worried.
I picked up my bag.
“I was pregnant yesterday too.”
His expression froze.
The words were quiet.
But they hit harder than anger.
Before he could answer, I opened the door.
Then I saw it.
A small pink handbag on the passenger seat.
Not mine.
Dulce’s.
Again.
Alejandro immediately noticed my eyes.
“Mariana, wait.”
He grabbed it quickly.
“She left it in the car.”
I stared at him.
“Of course.”
He frowned.
“What does that mean?”
I looked at the seat.
Then at him.
“It means even after everything…”
“She is still the first person who occupies space in your life.”
He became silent.
Because he knew I was right.
That afternoon, I went to my doctor alone.
Again.
The same hospital.
The same hallway where I had seen Alejandro with Dulce.
But this time, I didn’t feel hurt.
I felt clear.
My doctor looked at my records.
“Mariana, are you under a lot of stress recently?”
I hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
“Yes.”
She sighed.
“Stress during pregnancy can be very difficult.”
I touched my belly.
“I know.”
Then she looked at me carefully.
“Does your husband support you?”
The question was simple.
But I couldn’t answer.
Because the truth was painful.
I had a husband.
But I had never felt less alone than when I was married.
When I left the hospital, my phone received a message.
From Alejandro.
“We need to talk. I know I hurt you.”
I stared at it.
Then another message appeared.
“Dulce is leaving the city tomorrow.”
I almost laughed.
Even now.
Even when asking me to save our marriage…
He started with her.
I put the phone away.
But before I could leave, someone called my name.
“Mariana.”
I turned.
Dulce was standing behind me.
Her face was pale.
Her eyes were filled with tears.
“I need to tell you the truth.”
I didn’t move.
Because deep down, I knew.
Whatever she was about to say…
Would change everything I believed about Alejandro.
