We weren’t the most conventional couple. Our marriage wasn’t born from whirlwind passion or candlelit dates—it was quiet. Steady. It felt more like a pact than a romance at first. Two people with scars they didn’t speak of, choosing to share a home, a bed, a life.

Alejandro Vargas was a military man, through and through. Precision, discipline, stillness. But there was something in his stillness that made me feel… seen.

I had always covered up. Oversized shirts, high collars, cardigans even at home. Even married, I found myself draping a shawl over my chest before bed, out of habit more than anything. I didn’t want to draw attention to what made me feel self-conscious, even if we were husband and wife.

One evening, after a long day, I stood in front of the mirror, unbuttoning my blouse in the soft, amber glow of our bedroom lamp. Alejandro was behind me, sitting on the edge of the bed, towel draped around his neck after a late-night shower. He wasn’t looking at me—at least, I thought he wasn’t—until I felt his voice behind me.

“You’re still hiding from me,” he said softly.

I froze, my hands pausing at the buttons. I looked at him through the mirror. “I’m not—”

He shook his head gently. “You are. And I get it. I do. But cariño…” He stood and walked over, placing his hands lightly on my shoulders. “You don’t have to.”

His fingers brushed the fabric of my shirt, tracing where it curved around my chest, but never touching—just resting, just holding me. I looked down, suddenly aware of the flush in my cheeks.

“I know you think I stare,” he said, voice low against my ear. “But not for the reasons you think. I watch because I love the way you carry yourself—even when you’re trying to disappear.”

“You don’t think it's.... unnecessairly big ?” I whispered.

He let out a soft, rare chuckle, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. “You’re my wife. Everything you are is mine to protect—not for anyone else to judge. And if it makes you feel safer to cover up, I’ll hold the ends of that cardigan while you do it. But if one day you choose to let it go... I’ll be here for that, too.”

I leaned back into him, the weight of years of insecurity softening in his arms.

That was the thing about Alejandro—he never forced open the parts of me I closed off. He waited, quietly, lovingly, until I chose to open them myself.