This is a story about love.
It’s a story of death.
But there’s also a story to tell of how it was the other way around, and how my relationship with my beloved husband changed when I left him behind.
My story begins a decade ago, and I’ll tell it tonight.
In March 2018, I moved into my new home in a tiny two-bedroom house in central Madrid with my husband, Javi, who had moved to Spain to live with me.
I was only 20 years old, and my husband and I had spent three years together in the US.
I had met him in Mexico, and had worked out a tentative contract that he’d be on my wedding night, which would take place a few months later.
We had no idea what would happen after that, so we stayed together, even though we’d only known each other for about six months.
In those six months, we’ve been together five months longer than that.
I still don’t know if I’m supposed to go through with it.
I don’t want to go to the hospital to be with him, because we didn’t have any money. And I don�t want to make the mistake of letting my family know that I�m dating a guy who’s dead.
But I also didn�t know what I was doing to kill my love for him.
We didn�ts know how to get married, or if we could even have a wedding ceremony.
In the months after my marriage, Javy and I lived on different continents.
In one place, we were married.
In another, we weren�t.
I worked at a café in the city of Madrid, and he stayed at my family�s home in the resort of Castellon, a couple of hours away. They didn�nt even have enough money to rent a wedding cake to send to us, because they didn�ll be able to afford it.
We lived together in a three-bedroom apartment in Castellón for three months, and we were only able to move in after Javy went to work in Spain for a few weeks.
At that point, we already had a plan.
We knew what we wanted, and were going to do it.
But it took a year before I found out I was pregnant with his child.
We were supposed to get a wedding ring for Javy, and to give it to my boyfriend, who was going to give birth to a girl.
But after the ceremony, we didn�’t hear from Javy for six months after that.
And after that I just didn�te believe that I could have my life together, that I would be happy.
We never really got to know each other again.
I spent the next six months trying to convince my husband to come back to Spain.
After the baby was born, I decided to leave the apartment, because I had a feeling that it would be better for us to be apart.
We went back to my family in Castelón, where Javy was staying, and then to another family.
We thought we were moving to a new life together.
Then my husband returned to his job as a lawyer, and started to look for work again.
And the year after that came the end of the wedding.
I never got a phone call, and Javy never got to see me again.
We started to think about it again, and it was only then that I realised how lucky we were.
We could have been together forever.
Javy started to get worried, too, and called me on the phone once a week.
I told him I was still not sure if I could make it, and that I wasn�t going to be able give him my blessing to have me as his wife.
But he was so supportive of me, and so excited about the prospects for the baby.
I could not understand why he wasn�ts so happy about the situation, but I felt that it was his duty to tell me the truth.
In April 2019, we moved into our new home, and at the same time, we started dating.
We met through our mutual friends, who also happened to be my family.
I met him through a mutual friend, and after we had been together for five years, we decided to get together.
I didn�ve met my boyfriend before, but we started to see each other regularly, and this time I was in love with him.
I loved him very much, and his commitment was incredible.
And we really didn�tt have to do anything at all.
The only thing we had to do was to have sex, because Javy wasn�te going to tell my family that I was dating someone who was dead.
And so we went to our room at home and had sex. I�