In This Life, I Have No Heart to Love novel · Chapter 1 of 12
Chapter 1: The Day Before
The last time I breathed, I had the taste of poison on my tongue and the sky of Chiapas above me.
It was in an empty field, on the outskirts of the base, that same night of the funeral.
I had been discharged from the army.
I was thirty-five years old, with one suitcase, and ten years of unanswered letters.
I opened my eyes in a bed with white sheets, smelling of lavender soap.
It took me a while to understand where I was.
My childhood room, in my mother's house, with the floral curtains and the wooden wardrobe.
Hanging on the wardrobe was a wedding dress.
Cream-colored, long-sleeved, with a high collar and pearl buttons.
I recognized it right away.
I sat up with a jolt and looked at my hands.
Twenty-five-year-old hands.
Without the scars from the kidnapping, or the calluses from the infirmary, or the mark from the ring.
I ran to the vanity mirror.
The face was mine, young and smooth, with the mole under my left eye.
On the wall calendar, a date marked in red.
The eve of my wedding to Captain Cuauhtémoc Pineda.
I sat down on the edge of the bed.
My whole body was trembling.
I remembered every day of the other life, like a movie playing at full speed.
The wedding that took place the next day.
The wedding night that never happened, because he requested a mission at the border before dawn.
Ten years of letters I wrote him from the base infirmary, with the neatest handwriting of my life.
And his replies, always the same, always one line.
"If you really feel guilty, die soon."
And then, the kidnapping.
And the gunshots.
And him, covered in blood, pushing my hand away with his last strength.
"The thing I regret most in this life is taking you as my wife."
My hands clenched over my knees.
I stood up.
"Fine," I said out loud, to the empty room. "I'll grant you that."
At six in the evening, the San Cristóbal military base hosted the dinner for both families.
It was held in the officers' dining hall, with white tablecloths, tall candles, and a portrait of the general presiding over the table.
I put on my dress uniform, navy blue, with the medical corps insignia.
I braided my hair myself.
When I walked in, the murmur of the room stopped for an instant.
Everyone from the other life was there.
Doña Irma Pineda, delicate and pale, in her gray cardigan with the rosary between her fingers.
Don Teófilo, her husband, a retired colonel, short and stocky, with his white mustache and medals on his chest.
The general, standing at the head of the table, glass in hand.
And to his right, in impeccable olive-green uniform, jaw tight and gaze fixed on the table, Captain Cuauhtémoc Pineda.
My fiancé.
And the man who, ten years later, would die for me.
I felt something in my throat, so deep and so old that it almost made me sit down.
I forced myself to walk with my back straight.
"Miss Orduña," said the general. "What a pleasure. We were about to make a toast."
"General."
Don Teófilo didn't even look at me.
Cuauhtémoc did.
For one second, and then he looked away.
I sat in the seat reserved for me, next to Doña Irma.
The general raised his glass.
"Tomorrow, two families very dear to me will be joined in marriage."
"I toast to Sergeant Orduña, who gave his life for me eight years ago, and to his daughter."
Everyone raised their glasses.
I stood up too.
But I didn't raise mine.
"With your permission, General," I said. "Before the toast, I have something to say."
The murmur died.
"Go ahead, my dear."
I took a deep breath.
I looked at each one of those who had wept for Cuauhtémoc at the funeral and had closed the door in my face.
"I want to call off the wedding."
Doña Irma dropped the rosary.
Don Teófilo's mouth fell open.
The general frowned.
"Excuse me?"
"I appreciate everyone's intention," I said, in a calm voice. "But I'm not going to marry Captain Pineda tomorrow, or ever."
Every eye fixed on Cuauhtémoc.
He raised his gaze, slowly.
And for the first time in two lifetimes, I saw him without knowing what he was thinking.
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