Antonio and I were inseparable throughout college. He was gentle, kind, and loved me with a devotion that never wavered. But after graduation, life split us apart. I secured a high-paying job in Mexico City, while Antonio struggled, working as a receptionist at a small clinic.
Blinded by ambition, I convinced myself I deserved “better.” I left him for the CEO’s daughter, thinking it would elevate my career. Antonio wept the day I ended things, but I walked away without remorse.
Years later, trapped in a loveless marriage built on status and pride, I heard Antonio was getting married—to a “poor construction worker.” I went to the wedding out of arrogance, ready to mock him.
But when I arrived, I froze. The groom was Emilio—my humble college roommate who’d lost a leg but never his dignity. And Antonio? He was radiant, holding Emilio’s hand with peace I’d never seen before.
That day, I realized I’d traded love for vanity. I cried—not from jealousy, but from the truth: I lost the only person who ever loved me for who I was, not what I had.
