There was a time when Antonio loved me more than anyone else in the world.
Throughout my four years of college, she was the one who believed in me, who supported me, and who stood by me through exams, stress, and late-night ramen dinners. She was sweet, endlessly patient, and her love for me never wavered.
But the world off campus isn’t as forgiving as college romance. And when we graduated, life began to pull us in opposite directions.
I was offered a lucrative position with a multinational corporation in Mexico City almost immediately after I tossed my graduation cap in the air. Antonio, however, was struggling. She spent months sending out resumes before finally landing a humble position as a receptionist at a small clinic.
At that time, I not only saw the difference—but focused on it.
Choosing money over love
Back then, I was convinced I was destined for something more. I told myself I “deserved better” than a partner who earned so little. The truth was more sordid: I was chasing status.
So I did the cruelest thing.
I left Antonio. And not for just anyone—I left her for the CEO’s daughter, someone whose name opened doors faster than any management degree.
Antonio cried that day. She squeezed my arm, begging me to stay, her voice breaking with each word. But I didn’t hesitate. I’d already decided she wasn’t “enough” for the life I imagined.
The Marriage That Wasn’t a Dream
Five years later, I was promoted to assistant sales manager. I had elegant suits, a company title, and a gold-embossed business card.
And my personal life? It was a cold, lonely battlefield.
My wife—the CEO’s daughter—constantly belittled me for what she called my “average salary,” even though I worked at her father’s company. I lived under the weight of her expectations and the even heavier weight of my father-in-law’s contempt.
One afternoon, a friend from college called me and told me some gossip that changed everything.
An invitation that fueled my pride
“Did you hear?” he said. “Antonio is getting married.”
Before I could digest the news, he added, “She’s marrying a construction worker. She has no money. Honestly, she still can’t make good choices.”
I laughed — hollowly and arrogantly.
I could already picture him in my mind: a man in a wrinkled, cheap suit, worn hands, and a tacky tie. I decided then and there that I would go to the wedding—not to congratulate her, but to show her what she had missed.
I pictured myself as the epitome of success—a custom-made dress, a luxury car, a confident entrance. I wanted her to regret letting me go.
