Acolhi uma mendiga com um bebé porque ela me lembrava a minha falecida filha – O que ela fez na minha casa chocou-me profundamente
A noite caía pesadamente sobre Lisboa, trazendo consigo uma brisa fria que me fazia encolher dentro do meu casaco. Tinha acabado de sair do cemitério, onde visitara o jazigo da minha Sofia. Um ano. Um ano desde que a doença a levara, deixando um vazio imenso no meu peito. Enquanto caminhava pelas ruas movimentadas, com o coração apertado, vi-a.
Estava sentada num banco de jardim, debaixo de um candeeiro fraco, aninhada contra o frio. Nos seus braços, um embrulho pequeno – um bebé. Os seus cabelos, claros e despenteados, emolduravam um rosto magro e pálido, e os seus olhos… ah, os seus olhos! Eram da mesma tonalidade de verde-água que os da minha Sofia, cheios de uma tristeza que me trespassou a alma. Foi como se o tempo parasse. Naquele momento, não vi uma mendiga; vi a minha filha, com um filho ao colo, perdida e desamparada.
Sem hesitar, aproximei-me. “Senhora, está tudo bem? Precisa de ajuda?” A sua voz, quando respondeu, era fraca, quase inaudível. “Não, obrigada. Estamos bem.” Mas os seus olhos denunciavam a sua mentira. O bebé começou a chorar baixinho, e ela tentou acalmá-lo, mas as suas mãos tremiam.
Não suportei a ideia de vê-los ali, na rua, naquelas condições. A memória de Sofia aterrorizava-me, a urgência de ajudar, de proteger, apoderou-se de mim. “Por favor, venha para minha casa”, propus, surpreendendo-me com a minha própria impulsividade. “Tenho um quarto vazio, comida quente. Não podem passar a noite aqui.”
Ela hesitou, desconfiada, mas o choro do bebé intensificou-se, e o desespero nos seus olhos deu lugar a uma relutância em aceitar a ajuda. Acabou por anuir, e juntas, na fria escuridão da noite, caminhámos para a minha casa.
Em casa, tratei de lhes dar o que comer e um banho quente. O bebé, uma menina de poucos meses, era adorável. Dei-lhe umas roupinhas que tinham sido da Sofia quando era bebé, guardadas com carinho. A jovem, que se chamava Mariana, agradeceu com um sorriso fraco, mas os seus olhos continuavam a expressar uma profunda dor e cansaço.
Os dias que se seguiram foram estranhos. Mariana era calada, mas gentil. Ajudava nas tarefas domésticas, e eu observava-a a cuidar da sua filha, que ela chamava de Clara, com um amor incondicional. Quanto mais eu a via, mais forte ficava a semelhança com a minha Sofia. Os mesmos gestos delicados, a mesma forma de rir, a mesma doçura no olhar. Era como ter um pedaço da minha filha de volta.
Comecei a sentir um afeto profundo por Mariana e Clara. A solidão que me consumia desde a morte da Sofia parecia diminuir. A casa, antes tão silenciosa, encheu-se de vida com o choro e as risadas da Clara. Eu sonhava em dar-lhes uma nova vida, em ser uma avó para a Clara, em preencher o vazio que a perda da Sofia tinha deixado.
Uma tarde, decidi ir às compras. Antes de sair, comentei com Mariana que estaria de volta em uma hora. “Não se preocupe com nada, Mariana. Sintam-se em casa”, disse, com um sorriso. Deixei a carteira e o telemóvel na sala, sobre a mesa de centro, sem preocupações. Confiava nelas.
Quando regressei, uma hora depois, a casa estava estranhamente silenciosa. Chamei por Mariana e Clara, mas não houve resposta. O meu coração começou a acelerar. Percorri os quartos, a cozinha, a sala de estar. Ninguém.
Foi então que o meu olhar recaiu sobre a mesa de centro. A carteira estava lá, mas aberta. O meu telemóvel… tinha desaparecido. Fui ao meu quarto, e o pequeno cofre onde guardava as joias da família e algumas economias estava aberto, vazio.
O choque foi avassalador. Não era apenas o dinheiro, as joias. Era a traição. A pessoa em quem eu tinha depositado a minha confiança, que eu tinha acolhido com o coração aberto, tinha-me roubado e fugido. A imagem de Sofia, que eu tinha projetado em Mariana, desmoronou-se. Senti uma dor lancinante, mais profunda do que a dor do roubo. Era a dor da desilusão, a sensação de que, mais uma vez, a vida me pregava uma partida cruel.
Sentei-me no sofá, as lágrimas a escorrerem-me pelo rosto. A casa, antes cheia de uma nova esperança, voltou a ser um lugar de silêncio e vazio. A minha generosidade, nascida da minha dor e do meu amor pela minha filha, tinha sido explorada. E a chocante verdade era que, no fundo, eu não tinha acolhido Mariana por ela, mas pela minha Sofia. E a mendiga, com os olhos da minha filha, tinha-me roubado o que me restava: a fé na bondade humana.
I Walked up to My Groom at the Altar – All of a Sudden, a Woman in White Dress Appeared behind His Back
After six months of dating, Chris proposes to Beth. His enthusiastic family runs with the wedding planning — only to include unorthodox items on the program, causing Beth to leave her wedding.
For my 25th birthday this year, my boyfriend, Chris, whisked me off to Hawaii.
It was a fairytale because we had only been dating for six months, and I wasn’t expecting anything. But then, Chris proposed to me on the beach — I said yes, swept away by the enchantment of the moment, although I knew that six months of knowing someone was not enough before marrying them.
Little did I know that fairytale was about to unravel into more drama than I had signed up for.
Beach proposal | Source: Pexels
I wasn’t one of those girls who spent hours dreaming up their wedding. So when Chris’s family, fueled by their eagerness and involvement, took complete control over every detail of the wedding, even offering to foot the bill — I allowed it.
I’ll admit that there were moments when I felt sidelined, especially when I said that shades of blue for the color scheme weren’t my cup of tea.
But contributing to their enthusiasm was the better option than fighting with them.
Then, the big day arrived, and I was completely calm about everything — knowing that Chris’s Mom and sister had sorted everything out. I wasn’t close to my family, so other than my father, they didn’t play any big roles.
Blue wedding decor | Source: Pexels
“Beth,” his Mom, Leeanne, said, fixing my hair. “I want you to walk down the aisle with your eyes closed.”
“What? Why?” I exclaimed, already thinking about tripping over something while walking.
“I can barely walk properly in these heels with my eyes open,” I chuckled.
“It’s just tradition,” Leeanne said. “I did it, too. The whole thing is about seeing your husband first — the first thing out of the darkness.”
“He’s supposed to be the light,” Chris’s sister, Maggie, giggled.
The whole thing sounded strange. It wasn’t anything I had heard of before, but I also knew that people always came up with superstitions and stories.
“I wouldn’t have to wear a blindfold and mess up my make-up, right?” I asked.
“No, just close your eyes and hold onto your father’s hand tightly,” Leeanne said.
When I told my Dad what I needed to do, he laughed, thinking I was joking.
Pair of glittery Jimmy Choo heels | Source: Unsplash
It was absurd, of course. But my wedding only got worse from there.
At the altar, I opened my eyes, expecting the loving gaze of my fiancé, but I got way more than I bargained for.
Chris smiled at me, and after a second, another sight sent shockwaves through me — a woman in a white dress stood behind him.
I couldn’t tell whether he knew she was there from his expression. I wondered who she was, but the murmurs around me revealed her identity — Julia, Chris’s first wife.
“Chris, what’s happening?” I whispered, pointing to Julia. My voice was barely audible amidst the collective gasps.
Woman standing in white dress | Source: Pexels
But before either Chris or I could process this bizarre twist in the ceremony, Leeanne walked down the aisle, holding onto a little boy’s hand. Every face turned to look toward them.
Then, Julia stepped forward and held her arms open for the boy, ready for him to walk in.
“This is Eli,” she said, looking at me. “He’s six years old, and he is autistic. He’s the best part of me, but he’s also part of Chris. Elizabeth, this is our son.”
“But he wouldn’t tell you that,” Maggie chimed in from next to me — she was one of my bridesmaids.
“Did you know about Eli?” Maggie asked.
Boy covering his face | Source: Pexels
I shook my head. The air had become dense with emotion. The crowd’s eyes were on me, but my gaze was fixed on Chris, desperate for an explanation, an excuse, a denial, anything.
But there was none. Instead, he fingered his watch nervously, guilt undeniable on his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, my voice shaking.
“I didn’t know how,” he stammered, avoiding eye contact.
I turned to look at Eli, who was holding tightly onto Julia’s hand and looking around the room. I could clearly see Chris’s features all over his face.
“You let me believe that your divorce was admirable and that there were no ties to Julia,” I said. “But you abandoned your family. You abandoned your son.”
“He abandoned Eli when he found out that he was autistic,” Maggie said loudly.
My heart sank. How could I have almost married a man who was so thoughtless and cold? He left his son behind because of something that he was born with.
As the truth unfolded, I felt I was drowning in the weight of everything. Leeanne, upon discovering that Chris wanted to remarry, had orchestrated this dramatic revelation.
Man holding his tie | Source: Pexels
“You’re too young, Elizabeth,” she said. “You’re too young to be caught up in his mess. He couldn’t care for Julia, so she cared for herself and Eli. Chris has disappointed me in many ways, but nothing will make up for the neglect of his own child.”
It turned out that my wedding was just a harsh, public lesson aimed at a man who had turned his back on his responsibilities.
I kicked off my heels, handed them to Maggie, and walked away from the altar — not as a bride but as a woman who had narrowly escaped a life bound to deceit.
The experience was painful — sure, it had only been six months of knowing Chris, but I knew what I had felt for him was real. That’s why it hurt so much when I found out the truth.
People holding passports | Source: Pexels
In the aftermath, I took time to focus on myself. I decided I needed to travel and live life while still young. I needed more bad romances and horrible dates before figuring out who I wanted to be with.
I just knew one thing for sure — I didn’t want to be with someone like Chris. A man who lied about having a son — a son that was rendered invisible to him because he was autistic.
I’m just grateful that the only thing I had to pay for was my wedding dress — which had been returned three days after the so-called wedding.
Even now, when I think about the entire episode, I admit I’m not mad about it all. Leeanne did what she needed to do. And she did it to protect me and that sweet little boy.
Little boy with red hair | Source: Pexels
Has anything unreal happened to you?
Here’s another story for you | Fred is about to get married to Julia when five other women dressed as brides show up and spoil his plans. Julia loves him, and Fred is very convincing. Even after the can of worms is forcefully opened, Julia can’t help but wonder if he is a changed man.
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