Don Tomás, 70, was a wealthy farmer in a rural village in Oaxaca. He had a first wife, Doña Rosa, who had died ten years earlier, leaving him with three married daughters. Despite his advanced age, Don Tomás still dreamed of having a son to carry his surname and continue the family line—a wish that for him remained unfulfilled.
That was why he decided to marry again. The chosen bride was Marisol, a 20-year-old young woman from a poor family in the same village. Marisol was beautiful and fresh as springtime, but poverty had hit her hard. Her parents, desperate for money to settle debts and pay for their youngest son’s medical treatment, agreed to give her away in marriage in exchange for a large sum of money.
Though she didn’t want to, Marisol accepted the marriage out of love for her family. On the eve of the wedding, with tears in her eyes, she told her mother:
—“I only hope he treats me well… I will do my duty.”
The wedding was simple but showy, because Don Tomás wanted the whole village to know that he was still “strong” and ready to father a child. The neighbors whispered, criticizing the large age gap, but he didn’t care. He smiled proudly, enthusiastically preparing for the wedding night, confident that Marisol would soon become pregnant. She, resigned, tried to appear cheerful to fulfill her role.
The wedding night came. Dressed with elegance, Don Tomás drank a little of a medicinal liquor that, according to him, would make him feel young again. He took Marisol’s hand and led her to the bedroom, his eyes full of expectation. She, nervous, forced a smile, afraid of disappointing him.
The atmosphere grew intimate. Don Tomás whispered words of affection to her, when suddenly his face twisted, his breathing grew heavy. He let go of Marisol’s hand, clutched his chest with the other, and collapsed heavily onto the bed.
—“Don Tomás! What’s happening to you?” Marisol cried, her eyes wide with terror.
She tried to hold him, but his body was already stiff, drenched in sweat. A guttural groan escaped his throat, sending shivers through the young woman.
The image of the liquor he had drunk moments earlier flashed in her mind: that which he trusted to “rejuvenate” himself had turned into a silent poison.
Desperate, Marisol called for help. Don Tomás’s daughters and other relatives burst into the room, finding the old man lifeless and the young bride crying, lost in the chaos.
That night became a storm of screams, rushing footsteps, and tears. They rushed Don Tomás to the hospital, but the doctors could only confirm the worst: he had suffered a fatal heart attack brought on by the strain and his age.
The news spread throughout the village. The people, who had already whispered about the unequal marriage, now spoke louder. Some pitied Marisol, others mocked:
—“He didn’t even manage to give her a son… destiny is fair.”
Marisol remained silent, her gaze lost. She remembered her own words: “I will do my duty.” But that duty never even began; everything ended with a tragedy no one had foreseen.
After the funeral, the money received from the marriage was enough to pay her family’s debts and her brother’s medical treatment. But in exchange, Marisol carried a cruel fate: to be a widow at twenty, forever branded as “the second wife of Don Tomás.”
The wedding night, which was supposed to mark the beginning of a commitment burdened with pressure and expectations, instead became the final night of a man’s life… and the beginning of the heavy cross a young woman would have to bear for the rest of her days.
