We slept in the same bed for ten years without ever touching each other. Everyone else thought our marriage was over, but the truth hurt more. Some wounds can be reopened with just a touch.

Over time, her health began to falter. Constant aches, exhaustion, doctor visits. I went with her. Always beside her. Always at a distance.

One afternoon, the doctor asked to speak to me privately.

“Your wife carries many things inside,” he said. “Sometimes the body becomes ill when the soul can’t carry any more.”

That night, Rosa didn’t turn away as she always did. She lay staring at the ceiling.

“Do you know why I never touched you again?” she asked suddenly.

My heart seemed to stop.

“Because if I did,” she continued, “I was afraid I would forget him.”
She paused. “Mateo.”

I had no words.