CHAP 1 — My Wife Can Wait
“If you have to choose, doctor, operate on Mariana first. My wife can wait.”
Those were the last words I heard before I understood my marriage had not broken in the crash.
It had been broken long before.
The accident happened on a Friday afternoon after a family lunch. Alejandro Montes was driving. Mariana Ledesma, his lifelong friend, sat in the front passenger seat, crying because she said she felt dizzy after an argument with her boyfriend.
I sat in the back seat, clutching my purse to my chest, still swallowing the argument Alejandro and I had not finished.
A truck stopped suddenly.
Our car slammed forward.
After that, everything became twisted metal, broken glass, screaming brakes, and the sharp smell of gasoline.
At the hospital, Mariana and I were brought into the emergency corridor almost together. She was placed on one stretcher near the doors. I was placed on another, my right leg crushed under a temporary brace and a deep, spreading pain in my abdomen making the ceiling blur.
A nurse shouted, “Mrs. Sofía’s blood pressure is dropping! We need an operating room!”
I searched for Alejandro.
He stood beside Mariana.
Holding her hand.
His shirt was stained, his face pale, but all his fear was turned toward her.
“Ale,” Mariana sobbed weakly, “I’m scared.”
He bent over her.
“I’m here. I’m right here.”
The nurse turned to him.
“Mr. Montes, your wife needs emergency authorization.”
Alejandro looked at me.
Barely.
Not with panic.
Not with love.
With irritation.
“She’s conscious, isn’t she? Let her sign. Mariana is fragile.”
The words landed harder than the crash.
We had been married three years.
Three years of learning not to complain when Mariana called at midnight.
Three years of hearing, “She’s practically family.”
Three years of his mother, Doña Teresa, smiling over coffee and saying, “A Montes wife must be mature. Don’t be jealous of a woman who has always been in his life.”
Mature meant silent.
Understanding meant invisible.
Love meant waiting until Mariana did not need him first.
Dr. Ramírez leaned over me.
“Mrs. Montes, we need your signature now.”
My right hand would not move.
With my left hand, I took the pen.
The nurse tried to help.
I shook my head.
I wanted to do it alone.
If my husband would not sign to save my life, I would.
My name came out crooked.
Sofía Rivera.
Before they wheeled me toward surgery, I heard Mariana from the other stretcher.
“Ale, go with Sofía… I don’t want her to be mad at me.”
Her voice was weak.
Perfectly weak.
Alejandro answered softly, “Don’t talk. You’re what matters right now.”
I wanted to laugh.
The pain stole my breath.
As the operating room lights came closer, I lifted my left hand and touched my wedding ring. It was stuck because of dried blood. I pulled until my finger hurt.
The nurse panicked.
“Ma’am, what are you doing?”
I dropped the ring into a metal tray.
“Keep it,” I whispered.
“Is it important?”
I stared at that cold circle.
May you like
The symbol of a life where I had always come second.
“Not anymore.”
