A Proposal Over Soup
That evening they shared a meal and talked for a long time.
Raúl was not angry. He was tired. He did not want a fight. He only wanted what he had always had — the right to live quietly in his own home, to read beneath his lemon tree in the afternoons, to grow old with dignity rather than be moved into an institution while others sorted through his belongings.
Lara listened to all of it. And as she did, she thought about her own childhood. About losing her mother at a young age. About the promise she had made to herself that she would never turn away from someone facing life alone.
She had not planned what she said next. It came from somewhere honest and immediate.
“Marry me,” she told him. “If I am your wife, it will be much harder for them to force you out.”
Raúl was quiet for a long moment. He worried about what people would say. He worried that her life would become difficult because of his problems.
But Lara had already made up her mind. To her, that house was not a property dispute. It was his history. His identity. His home.
A Quiet Tuesday Wedding
They married at the civil registry on a Tuesday morning.
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