Chapter 3 - The Price of a Lie
I stared at the ring box for so long that Teresa finally laughed.
“You look like I've asked you to rob a bank.”
“Why marriage?”
“Because I'm tired of pretending we're strangers.”
“We're not strangers.”
“No.”
She looked at me carefully.
“We're something much harder to define.”
I couldn't answer.
She opened the box.
The ring was simple.
Not extravagant.
A small stone surrounded by tiny diamonds.
“I don't need a young husband,” she said.
“I know.”
“I don't need someone to prove anything.”
“I know.”
“And I certainly don't need someone who wants my house.”
My throat tightened.
She knew.
There it was.
No accusation.
No anger.
Just the truth.
I should have walked away.
Instead, I asked:
“Then why me?”
Teresa folded her hands.
“Because I know what kind of man you are.”
I looked down.
“And?”
“And I also know what kind of man you could become.”
Those words stayed with me.
I didn't understand them.
Maybe I didn't want to.
I accepted.
Mariana arrived from Querétaro two weeks later.
She was thirty-seven, sharp-eyed, and protective of Teresa.
She barely shook my hand.
“You're making a mistake,” she told Teresa.
“I've made many.”
“This one is different.”
Teresa smiled.
“You don't know him.”
“I know enough.”
Mariana turned toward me.
“Do you love her?”
I couldn't answer quickly enough.
She noticed.
“I thought so.”
Teresa stepped between us.
“Mariana.”
“I just want you protected.”
“I am.”
“You're not.”
Teresa's expression hardened.
“I've survived worse than a twenty-eight-year-old man with bad judgment.”
Mariana left the room.
That night, I asked Teresa whether she regretted the decision.
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“Even if I don't love you the way you expect?”
Teresa looked at me.
“What makes you think I expect anything?”
That question hurt.
We married at a civil registry office.
There were no flowers.
No large celebration.
No romantic vows.
Just paperwork.
When the official asked whether we accepted each other as spouses, Teresa answered immediately.
I hesitated for half a second.
Then I said yes.
Mariana stood in the back.
She didn't clap.
She didn't smile.
Afterward, she approached me.
“When she dies, I will inspect every account, every document, every room.”
I shrugged.
“Do whatever you want.”
“I will.”
She leaned closer.
“I don't believe you love her.”
I looked at Teresa.
She was speaking to the clerk.
I wanted to tell Mariana she was wrong.
But the words wouldn't come.
Because I still remembered the property valuation.
For the first two years, Teresa and I slept in separate bedrooms.
Our marriage was unusual.
We shared meals.
We traveled occasionally.
We argued about money.
We laughed about stupid things.
She corrected my grammar.
I fixed things around the house.
She complained when I left tools on the dining table.
I complained when she bought expensive shoes she didn't need.
Sometimes we felt like spouses.
Sometimes we felt like two stubborn relatives.
Then one winter, I became seriously ill.
Teresa stayed awake beside me for three nights.
She changed the sheets.
She made soup.
She called the doctor.
She sat beside my bed and read quietly while I slept.
When I recovered, I found a note beside my pillow.
“Don't scare me like that again.”
I held the note for a long time.
Something inside me shifted.
It was small.
Almost invisible.
But it was real.
Months later, I brought home my first major furniture contract.
I was so excited that I ran into the kitchen.
“I got it.”
Teresa looked up.
“How much?”
I told her.
She smiled.
“I knew you could.”
I hugged her.
Neither of us moved for several seconds.
Then she patted my back.
“You're finally becoming the man I knew you could be.”
I pulled away.
“What did you mean?”
“Nothing.”
But I knew she had meant something.
Years passed.
My business grew.
I stopped looking at the house as often.
Then one morning, Teresa placed a document on the table.
I recognized it immediately.
Another property valuation.
This time the number was over eight million pesos.
She watched me read it.
“Still want it?”
I looked at the paper.
Then at her.
“No.”
May you like
Teresa smiled.
Two weeks later, she collapsed in the garden.
