“I’m grateful that you moved me to a nursing home and helped me, Stef,” I said. “However, I have one favor to ask.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Stefania replied. “What is it?”
“Could I see George just once more?” I felt tears welling up in my eyes.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Stefania said with regret. “His body was in terrible condition when our hospital received him after the fire. I think it’s best you didn’t see him.”
I had to make peace with that. So, I arranged the funeral for the following week, and Stefania stayed by my side the entire time.
Years went by. One day, I left my room to watch television with the other residents. But as I looked more closely at the screen, my eyes filled with tears.
It was my husband. Alive.
“Is that really you, George?!” I was so confused and overwhelmed. But then, something caught my attention.
“Wait, who’s that young woman in the swimsuit? And why did she kiss George?!” I exclaimed aloud. Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe it wasn’t George…
I thought about it as I approached the television. And OH MY, WHAT A SIGHT!
It was Stefania and George.
Stunned, I stared at the screen, my heart pounding as I watched Stefania laughing and holding hands with George, who looked very much alive and well. They were on a beach somewhere, the sun shining down as they shared a smile that sent a shiver through me.
I stumbled back, a thousand thoughts swirling in my mind. Could this be real? Had Stefania lied about George’s death all those years ago? Why would she do this?
As I struggled to make sense of what I was seeing, another resident noticed my distress. “Are you alright?” she asked gently.
Without thinking, I blurted out, “That’s my husband… and my caretaker, Stefania. I was told he had died years ago.”
The woman gasped and looked back at the screen, watching the scene play out as Stefania and George laughed, their fingers intertwined. I felt an overwhelming urge to confront her, to get answers.
I waited anxiously for Stefania’s next shift. When she finally entered my room with her usual calm smile, I could barely contain myself. “I saw you,” I whispered, my voice shaking with a mix of fury and heartbreak. “On the television. With George. You told me he was gone.”
For a brief moment, her face went pale, her composure slipping. But then she quickly composed herself and sighed, realizing she had no choice but to tell me the truth.
“Alright,” she said, sitting down across from me. “It’s time you knew everything.”
She explained that years ago, George had wanted to leave and start a new life, but he couldn’t bear to tell me the truth. Stefania, who was there to care for me, became his confidante—and eventually, his partner. They staged his death in hopes that I would move on peacefully.
I sat there, numb, struggling to process the betrayal. “All these years… all those tears… you let me believe he was dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Stefania murmured, not daring to meet my gaze. “I know it was wrong, and I’ll never forgive myself for the pain we caused you.”
But her words brought no comfort. Betrayed by both my husband and the woman I had trusted, I felt a hollow ache that words couldn’t touch.
In the days that followed, I found myself letting go—not of the pain, but of them. I resolved to live out my days with dignity, refusing to let their deceit define my life. They were gone from my heart, just as they’d been gone all those years. And as the days went by, I slowly found peace in the life I was building anew, a life truly my own.
