I opened the paper. My mother’s familiar handwriting appeared, shaky and wobbly: “My daughter, this is the money I saved for you in case of hardship. I hid it in the pillow because I was afraid you’d be too proud to take it.
No matter what, don’t suffer for a man, my dear. I love you.”
My tears fell heavily onto the yellowed paper. I remembered on my wedding day, my mother giving me the pillow, saying it was very soft, so I would sleep well.
I laughed and said, “You’re getting old, Mom, what a strange thing to think. Héctor and I will be happy.”
My mother just smiled, with a distant, sad look in her eyes. I hugged the pillow to my chest, feeling as if my mother was sitting beside me, stroking my hair and comforting me.
It turned out she always knew how much a daughter would suffer if she chose the wrong man. It turned out she had prepared a backup plan for me; not a wealthy one, but one that kept me from despair. That night, I lay on the hard bed in my small rented room, holding the pillow to my chest, my tears soaking the pillowcase.
But this time, I wasn’t crying because of Héctor. I was crying because I loved my mother. Crying because I felt lucky, that at least I still had a place to go back to, a mother who loved me, and a big world out there waiting to welcome me.
The next morning, I woke up early, folded the pillow carefully, and put it in my suitcase. I told myself I would rent a smaller room, closer to my job. I would send more money to my mother, and I would live a life where I no longer had to tremble or wait for a cold message from anyone.
I smiled at myself in the mirror. This woman with swollen eyes, from today on, would live for herself, for her aging mother back home, and for all the unfinished dreams of her youth. That marriage, that old pillow, that sneer… all of it was just the end of a sad chapter.
As for my life, there were still many new pages waiting to be written by my own resilient hands.
