The house was dark.
Silent.
I slowly walked toward the kitchen.
And there he was.
Sitting alone at the table.
One hand pressed against his chest.
Sweating.
Breathing heavily.
My heart nearly stopped.
—Manuel?!
He quickly straightened up.
—I’m fine… it’s nothing.
But I could see the pain in his face.
At the hospital, the doctor explained everything calmly.
His heart was weak.
The surgery had saved his life years ago, but the damage remained.
Stress was dangerous.
Strong emotions too.
He needed rest.
Medication.
Care.
On the drive home, neither of us spoke much.
The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was frightened.
That night, Manuel sat on the edge of the bed without looking at me.
—I almost didn’t marry you.
I frowned.
—Why?
He swallowed hard.
—Because I knew this could happen.
I sat beside him quietly.
