Page 24 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
It didn’t matter.
“I would like to understand,” Rafael began, his voice measured and thoughtful, as though settling into a subject worth examining.
“How do you manage entirely on your own?” he asked at last, his voice quieter now, touched with something that sounded dangerously close to genuine curiosity. “Do you have someone who comes by? Friends, perhaps? A relative? Anyone who assists you with... daily matters?”
I lowered my gaze instinctively, though my blind eyes could not truly meet his.
“No,” I answered softly. “There’s no one.”
The words felt heavier spoken aloud.
“My family is... elsewhere. And friends were never something I learned how to keep.”
A faint breath escaped me. “So I manage on my own.”
For a moment, he did not speak.
I could almost picture the look on his face without needing sight to confirm it—the faint disbelief, the subtle narrowing of aristocratic eyes accustomed to privilege and dependence being outsourced to servants and assistants.
To men like him, blindness was likely synonymous with helplessness.
When he finally spoke again, there was no trace of ridicule in his tone.
“I’ve heard reports about the new intern at my company,” he murmured. “Exceptionally efficient. Meticulous. Apparently half the department is terrified of being outperformed by you.” A pause. “I paid little attention to the gossip at the time.”
His voice lowered slightly.
“But now... I find it difficult not to.”
The compliment settled awkwardly between us.
“Despite your condition,” he continued carefully, choosing the words with more tact this time, “you function with a level of precision most people with perfect eyesight never achieve.” Another brief silence. “You must possess a rather extraordinary mind.”
I released a slow breath, forcing my expression into something composed and unreadable.
“I simply adapted,” I replied calmly. “When one sense is taken away, the others learn to compensate.”
My fingers rested lightly against my lap. “I trained myself to pay attention to details most people overlook. Footsteps. Breathing patterns. Changes in air pressure. The direction of sound.”
A faint smile touched my lips, restrained and elegant.
“The world does not become smaller because I cannot see it, Mr. Pérez. I merely learned how to navigate it differently.”
He said nothing immediately.
But for the first time since he entered my apartment, the oppressive weight of his presence shifted into something else entirely.
Respect.
So I continued.
“Touch. Hearing. Smell. Memory.” My fingers moved slightly as I spoke, grounding the words in something tangible. “They sharpen when you rely on them.”
I turned my face a fraction toward where he sat, aligning myself with the weight of his presence.
“Being blind isn’t the end of the world, sir,” I added calmly. “It’s just a different way of living.”
“Were you born this way?”
