 Most of us live in naive ignorance. We live in an existence perpetuated by the modern world that has us believing everything can be rationally explained. Science, reason, and logic have for the most part appeared to have triumphed over superstition. I was once like this too, understanding with near certainty that if I could not touch or observe something myself, then it was likely to have no substance behind it and not exist. This all changed when I lost my wife. We had been together for years and our favorite thing to do was travel. The only issue was we had very different ideas of what constituted a vacation. She loved lounging on beaches, reading books and sipping fruity drinks as she relaxed and forgot about the hustle of the world back home. I, on the other hand, am a huge history buff. I love visiting ancient sites and walking in the footsteps of those who had lived hundreds or thousands of years before. Naturally, this meant that we took several trips to the Mediterranean as a compromise. Italy, Greece, Spain, and Egypt, to name a few. All places where you can easily find nice beaches and historical sites within a stone's throw. The pandemic, however, really put a stop to our plans for several months. As we were on lockdown and constantly working from home, the idea of an escape started to become more and more appealing. Unfortunately, no place in Europe would take us at the time, having closed off their borders to Americans. However, we did find a place which was accessible to us. Mexico. The more we looked into it, the more perfect it began to seem. Countless beaches and resorts, and if we chose the right region, we could easily take a day tour to some Maya ruins. We would both get what we wanted and also finally be able to get out of the house for a little while. I booked us the plane tickets and resort room, and in a few weeks we were packing and getting all ready for our trip. The flight there went smoothly, as did the first few days of our vacation. I hate to admit it, but my wife did have a point. It was nice to just lay there on a beach, having cocktails and not having to worry about a thing. The resort we were staying in was nice, with all our meals and drinks already included. Given how much the world had changed in just the last several months, it was nice to finally take a break from everything. The day of our booked tour came just a couple days before we were scheduled to fly home. A scheduled tour bus picked us up in a designated location, along with tens of other tourists. The tour guide, Miguel, laid out our schedule of the day as the bus began to drive. We would first be taken to the ancient Maya ruins, followed by a lunch at a local restaurant. After this, we would stop for a brief swim in a cenote, which is a sinkhole that exposes groundwater, after which we would be brought back to our hotel. I found walking the ruins very interesting. Miguel took us all on a guided tour of the site, explaining the ancient way of life of the Maya. He went into great depths about their gods, such as Itzam, who appeared to be the head honcho among all the gods. The rain god Chok, and Iketua, the god of human sacrifice. Although she wasn't nearly as intrigued as I was, I could tell my wife feigning fascination for my sake. I could tell she was very much looking forward to a swim in the cenote, as that appeared to be more in line with what she enjoyed to do, and of course would give her some pretty epic picture to put up on Instagram. Once we had finished touring and had finished eating our lunch, our tour bus took us to the cenote. I must admit it, it was very picturesque. The light coming in from the top of the sinkhole gave the water an exceptionally light blue appearance. The limestone surrounding the interior of the sinkhole gave it a much more surreal form. We were told we had an hour in the cenote, which was plenty of time to swim around and take pictures. True to his word, within an hour, Miguel had called us all back, saying that time was up and that we had to return to the tour bus. Of all the tourists, my wife and I had swum the farthest away from the crude ladder that was used to get into the water. We waited, as all the other tourists had gotten out of the water and started walking out of the cenote, and then we began to swim over to the ladder, jokingly making it into a race. The ecstatic that I'd won, I climbed up the ladder first with both of us laughing over the moment of fun that we'd had. As I made the transition from the last step of the ladder to the platform, I heard a splash and some air bubbles. I turned around, only to see that my wife was no longer there. I thought it was a joke at first. I just stood there with my arms crossed and a smug look on my face, waiting for my wife to breach the surface of the water, laughing. After a few seconds passed, I became worried. I jumped in to find her, but the cenote was too deep and the visibility under the water was not too great to begin with. I jumped out, barely noticing it had started to rain and frantically ran to Miguel, hysterically explaining everything that had happened. The Mexican authorities were called in and came with diving equipment. They frustratingly took their time, believing that after all the time had passed since my wife had gone missing, that this wasn't a rescue, but a body retrieval. They spent what seemed like hours diving, but couldn't find a trace of her. They appeared to want to just give up and go home. I pleaded with them in hysterics. I didn't know any Spanish and they knew very little English, most of the translation between us being done by Miguel. As I sank to the ground, about to break into tears, one of the officers padded me on the shoulder. I looked up at him. He was an older man, probably in his 50s or 60s, probably not too far from retirement. He had a look of pity on his face. I'm sorry, Mijo. He said, the old gods, they still take sometimes. With another pat on my shoulder, he walked to join his comrades in the police car. I was shuttled back to my hotel, sitting in a dumbstruck silence. All I could think about was what that officer had told me. The old gods, sometimes, they still take. Upon returning to our room, all I wanted to do was lay down and cry. Just 12 hours ago, I had my wife here with me. And now, I was alone. I couldn't, though, I couldn't just lay there and give up. I had this feeling that I had to do something, anything. I opened up my laptop and started digging through whatever information I could find on cenotes, on this particular region of Mexico, on the Maya, anything that was even remotely related, I read up on. I found out that within a reasonable drive of where I was staying, there was a region of Mexico that remains heavily populated by Maya, who still follow some of the old traditions and beliefs of their ancient ancestors. As soon as the sun rose, I rented a car and made my way in the direction of this area. About an hour in, the road ceased to be paved, and I was driving on dirt. I stopped at every village I could, I stopped to talk to everyone who was on the side of the road. I pleaded with them to help me. Unfortunately, this wasn't an area where English was known. I used hand gestures and every other form of communication I could possibly think of, but nothing was working for me. After what seemed like hours of trying to communicate with the local Maya, I was ready to just sink to my knees as I did near the cenote and give up. At that moment, a woman carrying a basket of corn passed by. I hear you. You speak to others. She said, I was dumbstruck. It was obvious her English was very rudimentary, but it was the most I heard out of anyone near here. Without another word, I simply went on about what had happened to my wife. She listened, probably only understanding less than half of what I was saying, but her eyes got wide when I mentioned the word cenote. God shock, very powerful, live in bottom of cenote. Who? I asked back. Chock, God of, of. She seemed to not have the words. She pointed to the sky and then made a gesture with her fingers coming down. Rain, I exclaimed. See? Rain, she answered back. In old time, before Spanish, our people push pretty girls in cenote. For chalk, he give rain. It was all making sense. The ancient Maya used to sacrifice young girls in cenote all over the Yucatan Peninsula. Cenote just like the one we were swimming in just the other day. I gave the woman a hundred dollars and in my haste without saying another word, I got back in the car. I drove back all the way on the dirt road past the tourist area that we were staying at and all the way back to the cenote. I noticed it was abandoned with no tourist, probably none of the other tour guides wanted to risk it after what had happened to my wife just the day before. I spoke to the water, feeling like an idiot, but not knowing what else to do. I pleaded with chalk. I begged him. Finally, I promised him. As soon as the last word left my lips, bubbles appeared at the surface. My wife breached the water, looking just as she had the last time I saw her. I helped her out of the cenote and embraced her harder than I ever had before. I told her that I loved her. She appeared confused as to why we were alone at the cenote at night and as I spoke more to her, she appeared to have no memory of the past day. I didn't press the subject any further, driving us back to the hotel. We only had a day left in our vacation after all that, and I let her enjoy every second of it, lounging on the beach, although my heart did drop every time she stepped in the water. Fortunately, nothing bad happened. We flew back home the next day with no problem, and just a couple months later, I was ecstatic when she told me that we would be expecting our first child soon. Just the other day, though, we learned something that made me far less excited, something that made me much more anxious, something that reminded me of the promise I had made to Chalk as I knelt next to the water of the cenote pleading for him to return my wife. It turns out that our baby is going to be a girl.