“Mariana,” it began, “If you are reading this, then I have failed you, and I am deeply sorry. I know I have been a distant husband, and you deserve more than I could ever give. But there’s something you need to know, something I couldn’t say out loud.”

My hands shook as I continued to read. Héctor wrote about his struggles with depression, a battle he had fought silently since before we met. He spoke of the immense pressure he felt to maintain the image of the perfect son and husband, a facade that had suffocated any ability to express his emotions or show vulnerability.

He revealed that he had always admired my strength and resilience, how he watched in awe as I faced each day with determination and grace. But his own demons kept him chained, unable to reach out and reciprocate the love I offered so freely.