The day I married him, his family was still poor. However, he gathered all the dowry and came to look for me amidst the astonished looks and envy of so many girls in the village. I thought it was my luck to marry a handsome man, but after marriage I discovered that he was also incredibly tender and attentive. I didn’t eat onion or spicy food, and he remembered every detail. When we went out to eat, I always asked the owner of the place not to put onion on my plate, and if they carelessly put it, he would take it out one by one, just so that I could eat quietly. She pampered me like a child, always keeping me in that youth of our wedding day.
But every marriage, sooner or later, has scars. My mother-in-law had four sons; He was second, but almost all the responsibilities of the household, from carrying heavy things, repairing the house, to taking her to the doctor, fell on him. At first, I admired his faithfulness, but gradually, a feeling of sadness grew inside me. I once told him,
“Your mother takes too much advantage of you.
He smiled,
“It’s because he trusts me.
I answered:
“No, it’s because he sees you as too good and easy to command.
One day, just because I made a comment about his mother, he lost his cool and said furiously:
“Let’s divorce, whoever doesn’t divorce is a coward.
I froze, it was the first time I saw him like this, and I never imagined that he would ask me for a divorce. But a few days later, he came back with a big box of ice cream, my favorite, and smiling he said,
“I’m that coward, forgive me.”
I laughed through tears.
The years passed. His father and older brother died prematurely. The younger brother had problems with the law. The family was left with no support other than my husband, who carried everything without a single complaint. My mother-in-law, instead of relieving him, leaned even more on him.
When our daughter entered college, I finally felt like we had a little time to ourselves. But the joy did not last long: he fell ill. At almost 60 years old, he suffered from hypertension, diabetes, high cholesterol… until a stroke affected several organs. I stayed by his side day and night, bathing him, feeding him, not letting anyone else touch him. I thought: he took care of me all my life, now it’s my turn to return that love.
What hurt me most was that, during all that time, my mother-in-law did not visit him once. It only appeared when he was already dying. In a weak voice, he said to her:
“Mom… I want to eat your food.
She came home, cooked four dishes, and sent my younger brother-in-law to fetch them. My husband could no longer eat, he only indicated with his eyes that I should eat. I understood that it was his last way of “cooking” for me, using his mother’s hands. I ate crying.
The fatal day arrived. The hospital’s blood bank ran out of his blood type. His younger brother offered to donate, but he was not compatible. The doctors did more tests and the result was cruel: my husband was not his parents’ biological child.
I was shocked. All his life he had lived to please a mother who had never truly loved him. Then, in private, I asked him and he nodded silently: he had known for years, after accidentally overhearing a conversation between his parents. None of his siblings knew. Her resigned smiles in the face of her mother’s excesses were not because it didn’t hurt, but because she still longed for a little recognition and affection that she never received.
I remembered then how he sometimes behaved like a little boy with me, looking for cuddles. I used to joke,
“You’re grown up, how can you be so mellow?” Am I your mother?
Now she understood: it was her way of compensating for the maternal love she lacked in her childhood.
He left on a rainy afternoon. The room was so quiet that I could clearly hear my heart breaking. Our daughter took me to live with her. One afternoon, walking by the lake, he suddenly said to me:
“Dad told me: I took care of your mother all my life, now I can’t take it anymore. So from today, I will take care of her instead.
I hugged her and smiled through tears. His love never left me, it only continued in another form.
From the day he left, I learned to live more slowly. Every morning I still unconsciously turn to the side of the bed where I used to be, and then I remind myself that that void can never be filled. On their anniversaries I prepare their favorite dishes, I put them at the altar, as if I had gone out for a moment and was about to return.
Our daughter keeps her promise: she takes care of me at every meal, every night, she doesn’t leave me alone. Many times, in the stillness of the early morning, I hear whispers:
“Dad, I’m taking care of mom in your place, don’t worry.
I hug the pillow, I cry in silence, with pain but also with warmth in my soul.
Some ask me if, knowing that he was not his mother’s biological son, I don’t think it’s unfair to him. I just smile. For I know that he never lived for himself, but always to give. He chose to be silent, to endure, to maintain filial duty, to protect those he loved.
Today, as I look back, I understand that love is not just sweet words, but a lifetime of silent sacrifice. He used his tenderness to fill shortcomings, his care to heal wounds. That afternoon at the lake, when I heard my daughter say, “I’m going to take care of Mom instead of Dad,” I realized that their love had never disappeared. It was only transmitted, like a warm flame, from him to our daughter, and from our daughter to me.
If there is another life, I still want to find it again. I want her to hold my hand on a windy afternoon, smiling proudly and saying,
“She’s my wife.”
And this time, I will hug him with all my strength, so that we will never be separated again.
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