Five years after losing my wife, I thought I had finally started to piece my life back together. My daughter, Alma, and I had settled into a routine that felt comfortable, albeit tinged with sadness. However, everything changed when we attended the wedding of my best friend, Esteban. I never planned to go; it was my colleague Marcos who insisted, promising that it would help me “get out of the rut.” After weeks of working double shifts in construction, I felt like my body was made of concrete. “Just one hour,” Marcos urged, practically pushing me out the door.

The party was filled with laughter and people who seemed to have no worries. I, on the other hand, felt out of place in my worn jeans and old T-shirt. But then I saw her—Lucía. She shouldn’t have been there; I later learned she had only come to drop something off for a friend. Our eyes met across the room, and in that instant, something clicked.

“Who is that?” I asked Marcos, nodding toward her. “Lucía. Don’t even think about it, man. Her family owns half of Madrid,” he replied. But I was already walking toward her. She smiled as I approached, and that smile hit me like a hammer.

“I’m Javier,” I said, extending my hand. “Lucía,” she replied, her voice soft yet confident. Her hand was small in mine, but her grip was firm. “You look as uncomfortable here as I feel,” she remarked. We talked for hours that night, and by the time I walked her to her car, I knew I was in trouble.

“My parents would hate you,” she said under the moonlight. “Is that a problem?” I asked. She looked at me with eyes that seemed to pierce through me. “Probably. But I think I don’t care.”

Six months later, we were married. Her parents didn’t attend the wedding; they completely disowned her. No inheritance, no family gatherings—nothing. Yet Lucía squeezed my hand and said, “I don’t care about the money. I just want you.” For a time, that was enough.

We moved into a small two-bedroom apartment. I worked during the day in construction and studied architectural design at night. Lucía found a job at an art gallery. We were happy, or so I thought. Then Alma was born, and everything changed. The sparkle in Lucía’s eyes began to dim. She started comparing our life to the one she had left behind.

“My college friend just bought a house on the coast,” she mentioned one night while we were having macaroni in our tiny kitchen. Alma slept in her crib beside us. “She invited us to go. I had to tell her we couldn’t afford it.” Her words struck me like a dagger. “We’re fine, Lucía. Things will get better.”

“When?” she asked, her voice sharp. “When Alma goes to college? When we retire? I’m tired of waiting for the ‘better’ to come, Javier.” Our arguments became more frequent. She hated living on a budget and despised our humble life. “This isn’t what I wanted,” she would say, as if I had deceived her, as if love should pay the bills.

“You knew who I was when you married me,” I reminded her during one particularly harsh fight. “Maybe that was the mistake,” she replied coldly. “I thought you’d be more by now.”

The next day, I returned home early from work with flowers, hoping to surprise her. The house was silent. My heart sank as I realized something was wrong. Her suitcase and all her belongings were gone.

In the crib, I found a note: “I want a divorce. I’m sorry, but our marriage was a mistake. I’ve left Alma with Mrs. Martínez from the fifth floor. You can keep her.” I called her mobile a hundred times, but there was no answer. Desperate, I went to her parents’ mansion, my eyes wide with panic.

The security guard wouldn’t let me in. “You’re not welcome here, sir,” he said, almost pityingly. “Please, I just need to talk to Lucía,” I pleaded. “Sir, you need to leave.”

Two days later, the divorce papers arrived. Lucía had relinquished her parental rights over Alma. Her father’s lawyers handled everything with brutal efficiency. Then came the final blow.

Six months after her departure, I called her parents’ house one last time. “She’s dead,” her mother said flatly. “Lucía had a car accident. Don’t call here again. You meant nothing to her.” The line went dead.

I collapsed on the kitchen floor, crying until Alma woke up, crying too. They didn’t even let me see her grave. They erased Lucía from my life as if she had never existed.

I threw myself into work and raising Alma. I finished my studies and started designing houses instead of just building them. People noticed my talent. In three years, I had my own company. Alma grew up to be a smart and happy girl, just like her mother.

Five years passed. Life moved on, and the pain became a faint echo. Until the invitation arrived. Esteban, my best friend from years ago, was getting married. We had lost touch after he enlisted in the army, but now he wanted me at his wedding.

“What do you think, Almita? Shall we go see Uncle Esteban get married?” I asked her while she colored. “Will there be cake?” she asked seriously. I laughed. “Yes, a big, fancy one.” “Then let’s go,” she decided, returning to her drawing.

The wedding was at a resort on the coast, filled with white flowers and a sea breeze. Esteban hugged me tightly when I arrived. “Look at you! A real success,” he said, giving me a friendly punch. “And this beauty must be Alma.”

Alma smiled shyly. The ceremony was beautiful. Guests filled the white chairs on the beach. Alma sat beside me, swinging her feet and playing with the flower in her hair.

Then the music started, and everyone stood up. The bride walked down the aisle, her veil covering her face.

And then came the moment. Esteban smiled as she approached. When he lifted the veil, I stopped breathing. Tears streamed down my face before I even realized I was crying.

Alma looked at me, confused. “Papi, why are you crying?” I froze, staring at the ghost of my dead wife dressed as a bride.

Lucía smiled at the guests, but her eyes widened in shock when she saw me with our daughter. And then she ran away.

Esteban called out to her, bewildered, but she had already disappeared. I stood up, my legs trembling.

In that moment, I realized that the best revenge had been building a happy life without her.