The Love That Waited
It started in autumn, freshman year, in environmental science.
The classroom always smelled faintly of old computers and the early morning sunlight barely made it through the blinds. I was half-paying attention to the teacher when I noticed him—the new kid.
Mom sat quietly at one of the computers because there were no other seats available. He looked out of place, like he hadn’t quite figured out where he belonged yet. There was something about the loneliness in his posture that made me walk over without thinking.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m princess .”
He looked up and smiled.
And just like that, everything changed.
At first, he was just someone I noticed in class. Then I started seeing him everywhere—other classes, passing periods, lunch. Slowly, naturally, we became part of each other’s lives.
There was no grand moment when it happened.
It was built in small things: inside jokes, casual conversations, the kind of easy laughter that makes time disappear.
By sophomore year, we ended up in environmental science together again, this time paired for a project with our friend Daniela.
That project changed everything.
We spent afternoons together at his house, spread across the living room floor with supplies scattered everywhere. One day, we drove to Family Dollar to grab project materials, laughing and playing around in the aisles like little kids. On the way back, he locked his keys in the car.
Instead of panicking, he grabbed tools and somehow managed to pry the car open while I stood there recording and laughing so hard I could barely breathe.
When we finally made it back inside, we sat on the living room floor and finished our project together, still laughing.
It was pure friendship.
Nothing more.
Because Mpm had a girlfriend.
And because of that, we never let ourselves cross any lines.
When they broke up, the flirting started.
It was casual at first—little comments, longer eye contact, smiles that lingered too long.
Everyone knew us as “princess and Mpm.”
We were always together. I was always at his house. We spent more time with each other than with anyone else.
But neither of us knew how to say what we felt.
And every time he got into a relationship, he would quietly disappear from my life without warning.
No explanation.
No goodbye.
Just distance.
It hurt more than I ever admitted.
Then I started dating Leonardo —one of our mutual friends.
We lasted six months.
When it ended, Mpm and I found our way back to each other.
This time, we were both single.
And still, neither of us made a move.
Until I finally did.
I told him I liked him.
I asked him out.
He turned me down.
And somehow… nothing changed.
We kept flirting.
Kept talking.
Kept going to each other’s houses.
Kept driving around after summer school, grabbing food and wasting hours just existing together.
That summer, he walked all the way from his house to mine, past the school, just so he could walk back to summer school with me.
It was such a small thing.
But I memorized it.
The date.
The feeling.
The quiet happiness of knowing someone wanted to spend that much time with me.
Then one day, he told me he was leaving.
He was dropping out and moving back to Vegas to live with his mom.
I was happy for him.
And heartbroken for myself.
For a year, we didn’t speak.
No texts.
No calls.
Nothing.
Then after graduation, I bought plane tickets for myself and my mom, rented a hotel room and a car, and flew to Vegas.
Officially, it was a trip.
But really, I went to see him.
The second I saw Mauricio again, it felt like no time had passed.
We laughed.
Played.
Talked for hours.
And somehow, as adults, we got to know each other deeper than we ever had in high school.
Then I had to leave.
And once again, we stopped talking.
Life kept moving.
I moved to Kansas
I met my husband.
He was kind, stable, good to me.
When he joined the military and asked me to marry him, I said yes without hesitation.
I believed we could build a life together.
And we did.
Then I found out I was pregnant.
The first person I wanted to tell was my mom.
The second was Mpm.
When I told him, he was genuinely happy for me.
After that, we started talking regularly again.
Goofy Snapchats.
Daily check-ins.
Little moments that became routine.
Then my daughter was born.
That December , I brought her to Vegas so he could meet her.
The moment he held her, she went completely calm.
A peace she hadn’t even shown with her own father.
Watching him hold her made my heart flutter.
He looked at her and smiled.
“She’s beautiful. She looks just like you.”
From then on, it became tradition.
Every year, once or twice, my daughter and I would visit Vegas.
Then everything changed.
My husband cheated on me.
Not just cheated—he brought another woman into our home.
The betrayal shattered something in me.
We separated.
I took my daughter and drove to Vegas with my mom.
Mpm stayed on the phone with me almost the entire drive, making sure I stayed awake and got there safely.
When I arrived and finally fell asleep, he was the first person to call when I woke up.
That trip felt different.
He took me and my daughter to the mall.
We wandered through perfume stores, smelling everything.
No man—not even my father—had ever bought me perfume before.
When I asked him to pick one out for me, planning to pay for it myself, he bought it without hesitation.
Then he asked me to pick one for him.
I chose a scent called King.
He loved it and bought it too.
Then he took me to eat.
Then to a little old-school arcade called Game One.
We played Pac-Man and Tetris, had drinks, laughed like kids, and afterward he took me for tacos from a food truck because I’d never had them before.
It felt like a date.
A real one.
That night, back at the hotel, my daughter fell asleep on the other bed while a movie played on the projector.
He held me while we watched.
And the tension between us was undeniable.
The next night, after another day together, we set the projector up again.
Before the movie started, he looked at me and asked:
“Can I kiss you?”
My heart nearly stopped.
I said yes.
He stood, walked over, and kissed me.
When he pulled back, he smiled nervously.
“Was that okay?”
I couldn’t even breathe.
I was too happy to answer.
The next time I visited, still separated from my husband, we let ourselves explore what being together might feel like.
We went to church together.
Ate together.
Walked everywhere together.
Anytime I left the hotel, he was with me.
It felt like a fairytale.
On the last night, when we were finally alone, he picked me up in his arms and asked:
“Do you want to figure out what we could be… if you want us to be anything at all?”
No man had ever picked me up before.
The feeling sent shivers down my spine.
I buried my face, blushing so hard I thought I’d faint.
Then I told him yes.
I wanted to try.
He admitted he hadn’t dated me in high school because he hadn’t been ready—he wanted to become the kind of man who could fully commit before asking for that kind of love.
Still in his arms, I looked into his eyes and whispered:
“I’ll wait for you.”
He smiled.
“I’m glad to hear that. Hopefully, you won’t have to wait long.”
On the drive home to California, he texted:
“So what are you going to do? Stay with him or leave?”
For one second, I thought:
Leave.
Then another text came:
“I think you should stay with him. For your daughter’s sake.”
I panicked.
I tried asking if, if I divorced my husband completely, there would be a chance for us.
But I said it wrong.
He thought I meant I didn’t want to leave.
He stepped back.
And before I could explain, the damage was done.
Soon after, he got a girlfriend.
She didn’t want him talking to me.
She texted my phone herself, trying to start an argument.
We fought.
Harsh words were said.
And just like that, Mpm was gone again.
Now, we don’t speak.
I’m still married.
Not because everything is fixed.
Not because everything is perfect.
But because my daughter deserves every chance to know her father, and because sometimes love means trying even when you don’t know if it will work.
Mpm seems happy.
I’m still close with his family.
And somewhere deep down, I still hope that one day—whether as friends or maybe something more—we’ll find our way back to each other.
But for now, he is my greatest what if.
And I am learning how to live with that kind of love—
the kind that never fully leaves,
even when life asks you to let it go.