Knowing I could never give him children, knowing I could never satisfy the needs of an ordinary man, he still got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.
Everyone said I'd made the right bet. That I'd gambled and won.
But in this moment, all of it shattered.
I had poured out every last drop of my love, offered it up with both hands. And Leo had taken a blade to it, slashing it open until it bled.
I turned away, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I hadn't called in a very long time.
"Mom, Dad... I made a mistake."
I dragged myself home, exhausted to the bone. The wedding photo on the wall caught my eye, and this time it looked nothing short of absurd.
Adela. The one they all kept mentioning. She'd been our wedding photographer.
Back then, Leo had visited her studio over and over again, always with the same pretty excuse: he wanted me to look my most beautiful on our wedding day.
Now it all made sense. Every last sign had been there.
I stared at the photo—at Leo's tender smile—and couldn't tell anymore whether it had been meant for Adela or for me.
The next day, I didn't reach out to Leo. Not once. Before all this, I would've texted him every spare moment I had.