The second place

An old house, large grounds surround it. The dogs stir at the sound of people passing. Inside, silence, half-light.
The housekeeper, by the window, talks to herself: What am I doing sitting here, lost in this house where I arrived at 16, from the countryside, with a little bundle of clothes, dreaming of the big city? How time flies! Life goes by. First the children, school, high school, university. Every triumph of theirs was mine, I rejoiced as if they were my own children. I forgot to live my own life.
I remember the delivery boy from the little market, who went out of his way to please me, how many times I turned down his invitations. "You're going to end up an old maid," he'd tell me, and I laughed, amused by the phrase. Then don Enrique's friend (my employer), an older man, serious, well-off. The lady would tell me: look, he's a good match, don't let him go. I thought about the children, about everything I'd have to leave behind, and I couldn't make up my mind. "You'll have your own children," they told me, but no, no. What was it that tied me to this big old house? Why was I afraid to change my life? Cowardice, insecurity, lack of confidence, all of that and much more.
The children got married, what joy! The grandchildren came and I was always there, unconditionally faithful. Then the terrible part, Mrs. Amelia's illness, her agony, her death, and I was there, giving her affection, understanding, and help. Now, after 2 years, here I am asking myself: what do I do? Don Enrique proposed marriage to me and I realize I spent my life chasing an impossible love, and that today it could become real, but I'm afraid, so afraid. What if the children take it badly and think I'm usurping a place that isn't mine, one that I know I earned but they don't.
They always told me: you're a second mother to us. But everything that comes second has no value. How much longer will I be second in life? Today I'm going to take my place, the one that's rightfully mine. She sighed, stood up, threw open all the windows and turned on all the lights.
Raquel Kacman