The great Marshal is a Mother

They say that the one who is a whore... always comes back.

Well, I just don't know how to let go, and I happen to enjoy sex, so according to the premise and statistics: I'm a whore. This internet revolution hasn't been all bad—it's given me a career, a successful business, and financial independence. Ninety-eight percent of my sales happen online, through my Instagram account or gossip magazines that seem obsessed with knowing who the toxic person of the month is. Well, relax, it's official—I've left you all.

There are four men in my life: Octavio, Maximiliano, Drake, and Leopoldo.

Octavio is my aunt's half-brother and the forbidden love of my life. Among his toxic traits is the fact that he's much older, married to another woman, and has found two thousand different ways to hurt me. But I love him. He's the first man I fell in love with, and for some reason, I'm not ready to let go. Our relationship is officially and unofficially unsustainable.

The second man in my life is Maximilian. Max is an incomparable politician, the oldest son of a family rich in oil and gold. He's also a spectacular businessman and the most handsome man ever. Let me describe him: tall, with green eyes, a sexy smile, blonde hair, and a well-worked body. He's perfect in so many ways and taught me that love can be better than I imagined. However, his career always comes first, and that not only ruined our courtship but our engagement. Marrying him would have meant marrying his career and, by extension, the town of Mainvillage.

Drake is the person who made me feel like I found the love of my life. Headstrong, romantic, funny, carefree—he felt like my equal and my cheerleader. But he values hockey more than anything. Being the girlfriend of a high-performance athlete is exhausting. There are matches, the press, and if they lose, it's your fault. But it's the blows, the defeats, the sadness that really mark the person with whom you have a relationship.

Finally, we have to talk about Leopoldo. He's my best friend, my partner, my partner in crime, and the man with whom I spend a good time not just shopping. If we don't alleviate the ills of love, sex is good for us, and we don't lose friendship—it becomes stronger. If he didn't like to be gay 89% of the time and wasn't madly in love with Philip, we could just be happy—the couple of the century. Because Leopoldo has everything, physically with those Filipino characteristics—dark, slanted eyes, tall, thin, and loves fashion. What else do I need?

Things are as they are, and I don't have to choose them because I know only one thing—I love them, and I always will. But they are not mine, nor were they.

My friends have stuck with me for life, so I go for one of those huge glasses of wine and a bottle of the same size. I order pizza at home and prepare a tub with all the salts, oils, and candles. After a few minutes, I get my order and go to the water, set my phone in the tub, and look up funny videos on YouTube. After spending about forty minutes laughing my head off and choking on my pizza, I decide to start meditating to see what I'm going to do with my life—my love life specifically. I see a video that says: 'Do you want to know if your ecological condoms are good?'

The young man begins by commenting that saving the whales and turtles could increase the pregnancy rate in Mainvillage. I listened to him for a couple of seconds before getting out of my tub and going to get my box of condoms. I find one open in the bathroom cabinet, check the expiration date, which is scheduled for six months, open them slowly, and go to the kitchen half naked and half wet.

I look for an egg because, according to the guy on the internet, it has a texture similar to semen. I throw it away, tie it up and rub it, and then sweat appears. I remain silent, observing how after a few seconds it turns into drops of imaginary semen.

I go to my dressing room and put on the first thing I find to go to the store. I run from one place to another until I find the car keys. After an hour and all the tests that are in three different drugstores, the result is always fast and strong—they are positive. I'm pregnant.

I'm going to be a mom!

My mom. It's not that she has a sexual phobia because she has four children, all by natural insemination, with the man she loves, her husband. She is a sexually active and healthy woman, so she gave me advice to prevent unwanted pregnancies and diseases. The most important advice she gave me was: 'No matter how much you love him, wear a condom. Not the one that he says he just bought—use the one you have inspected and are 100% sure is of good quality.'

God, how upset are you on a scale of one to ten with me?

I am the queen of denial, so I waited until I had any pregnancy symptoms and I faked it. Pretending that I'm fine is my passion, and no... no... nothing changed. I'm still pregnant.

Everything obviously has a moment. However, when one is faking it, there comes a time when the weight of the actions collapses you—it's as if you couldn't carry the load. It happened to me today, on my birthday. To begin with, my parents have invited the whole family, my best friends, my uncles, my brothers—everyone is here. And of course, my brothers invited Drake and Maximiliano, so the four possible parents of my children are here.

With all my brothers, stepfathers, my adoptive parents looking at me pleased and talking about my life being a source of light, love, and pride for all of them—I can't take it anymore, and I start to cry.