“I called the clinic,” I lied. I hadn’t, but I needed to see him crumble completely. “I told them I was the wife. I told them you were coming home to a house with a child. Do you know what the nurse told me? She said, ‘Tell him to stay away from everyone until he’s cleared.’ She sounded sorry for me, Diego. She sounded like she was talking to a widow.”
He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “Mariana, please. I’ll go to a hotel. I’ll get tested. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t… don’t tell my parents. Don’t let the office find out.”
I stared at him, genuinely amazed. Even now, with a life-altering contagion potentially coursing through his veins, he was worried about his reputation. He was worried about the “Vargas” name that he had let Camila drag through the dirt of a cheap Florida affair.
“The office?” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Diego, you don’t have an office anymore. I sent the photos to your boss yesterday. The ones of you and Camila at the beach bar while you were supposedly ‘closing the deal’ in Chicago. Embezzling company funds for a private vacation is a fireable offense, I believe.”
His jaw dropped. “You… you did what?”
“And your parents?” I continued, ignoring his shock. “They’re currently hosting Camila’s mother for tea. I sent them the medical files an hour ago. I figured they deserved to know why their son wouldn’t be coming to Sunday dinner for a very, very long time.”
Diego stood up, his chair screeching against the tile. “You’re destroying me! You’re systematically destroying my life!”
“No, Diego,” I said, standing up to meet him. I felt taller than I ever had in ten years of marriage. “You destroyed your life the moment you decided that my loyalty was a weakness to be exploited. You destroyed it when you brought her into our home and let her play ‘auntie’ to our girl while you were planning your next getaway.”
I picked up his expensive leather suitcase and threw it toward the door. It burst open, spilling out silk shirts, a pair of her lace underwear he’d tucked away like a trophy, and several bottles of high-end antibiotics he’d bought in a panic.
“Get out,” I said.
“Mariana, I have nowhere to go! Camila is in the hospital, my parents won’t answer their phone—”
“Go to the hotel, Mr. Vargas,” I spat. “Maybe they have a room for ‘Mrs. Vargas’ too. I hear she’s looking for company in the isolation ward.”
He moved toward me, a desperate look in his eyes, his hand reaching out as if to grab my arm. I stepped back, my eyes flashing with a warning that stopped him dead in his tracks.
“If you touch me, I will call the police and tell them you are knowingly attempting to infect me. In this state, that’s a felony. Do you want a prison cell on top of a clinic bed?”
He froze. The fear I had seen earlier—that raw, primal terror—doubled. He realized then that I wasn’t the wife he left behind. I wasn’t the woman who would cry and wait for an explanation. I was a stranger who held the keys to his entire existence, and I had already changed the locks.
He grabbed his phone and his ruined suitcase, his movements frantic and clumsy. He didn’t look back. He ran out the front door, leaving it wide open. I watched from the window as he scrambled into his car, the engine roaring to life as he sped away from the life he had so casually discarded.
I stood in the silence of my kitchen for a long time. The cold coffee was still leaking off the table. The yellow folder was still there, a silent witness to the carnage.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from a number I didn’t recognize.
“Is he gone?”
It was the private investigator I had hired the moment Diego’s credit card flagged a ‘Luxury Spa’ in Miami instead of a ‘Deep Dish Pizza’ in Chicago.
“He’s gone,” I typed back. “Send the rest of the files to the lawyers. We’re going for full custody. I have the medical endangerment clause ready.”
I walked to the hallway and looked at the framed photo of our wedding day. Camila was standing right next to us, her hand on Diego’s shoulder, that “sisterly” smile on her face. I took the frame off the wall and didn’t break it. I didn’t throw it. I simply took a pair of kitchen shears and cut her out. Then I cut him out.
I was left with a jagged piece of paper showing only me in a white dress, looking hopeful.
I went to the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. I stripped off my clothes and scrubbed my skin until it was red and raw. I scrubbed away the scent of his cologne, the memory of his “business trip” kiss, and the lingering shadow of the man who thought I was too weak to fight back.
When I stepped out, the mirrors were fogged. I wiped a circle in the steam and looked at myself. For 15 days, I had been the woman who was cheated on. For 15 days, I had been the victim of a cruel joke.
But as I looked at my reflection, I realized that Diego was right about one thing. It was a complicated business trip. Only, he wasn’t the one closing the deal.
I walked into my daughter’s room. she was sleeping soundly, her stuffed rabbit tucked under her arm. I sat on the edge of her bed and watched her breathe. She was safe. The house was clean. The bomb had been removed.
