They have been married for nineteen years. They had one child.

On a spring morning, the husband filed for divorce. Confessed to have another partner who he got along well and wanted to live together.

The wife was shocked, but instead of the scandal he expected, she simply asked him to wait thirty days.

And, as a rider to let him follow his life, she demanded that, during that period, each morning, he transported her in his arms from the room to the dining room.

What are thirty days for those who could enjoy the freedom then?

In the next day, he transported her from the bedroom to the dining room and then left for work. When he returned at night, she was by the table, writing.

And that was like in the second day and so on. In the twenty-first day, when he caught her in his arms, she laid her head on his shoulder.

That made him remember the first few days of their marriage union. A sweet delight seemed to surround him, but he threw away the thoughts.

In the twenty-fifth day, when he was taking her to the dining room, the child surprised them. Looked at them both, smile and said:

Look at the young couple dating... Cool, huh, Dad!

That messed with him. There were only five days left to freedom.

But he began to feel something strange inside. He was no longer sure if he wanted to stay with the other partner, leaving this one.

The days of courtship, the romance of the first years, began, so insistent, to appear on the screen of his mind.

He started to realize that, each day, his wife was leaner. He thought it was because he was used to that morning ritual.

In the thirtieth day, he broke up with the other partner. She got really angry and said the wife had used subterfuge to seduce him again.

Angrily she let him go.

He bought flowers on the way home. Followed his path singing. But the wife was not in the room as usual.

He went to the bedroom. She was lying in bed. He approached, bent down to kiss her. Felt her cold. She was dead.

On the table, an envelope addressed to him. He opened it and started reading. It was a long letter, the one he had seen her writing, day after day.

Tearfully read that on the day he asked her divorce, she had prepared herself to tell him the diagnosis she had received.

She would have only thirty days of life. So, for him not to feel guilty and stay truly free, she asked that period and attention every morning.

Now he was free to go after the love he wanted. She was gone.

The man cried and cried. He cried the loss of his great love. A love that, even if no longer being loved, thought of him, of his happiness.

An immense love like few others...