The Message That Changed Everything
Every first morning of the month, exactly at nine, my phone buzzed with the same alert: a $300 transfer completed. The recipient was Doña Clara, Marina’s mother—my wife, who everyone said had died in a tragic accident five years ago. Sending that money had become a ritual, a promise I made at her funeral while her mother wept beside the grave. It was loyalty, not obligation—a way to keep love alive.
Life moved on, but my heart stayed tethered to the past. Friends urged me to let go, to stop living in memories, but I always said it wasn’t about duty—it was about love. Then one month, the bank called: the transfer couldn’t go through. No matter how many times I tried, Doña Clara’s numbers failed. Anxiety gnawed at me, and instinct drove me to the small coastal village where she lived, hoping to fix the problem—and perhaps find the closure I’d been seeking.
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