My Husband Asked Me to Spend the Night with Another Man
The envelope arrived on a Tuesday night. Thick paper, my name written by hand, an offer that should never have tempted me as much as it did.
The envelope arrived on a Tuesday night. Thick paper, my name written by hand, an offer that should never have tempted me as much as it did.
When she locked her office door, I understood that the folders of documents were just an excuse neither of us wanted to call out.
Her husband’s phone was on the bedside table. She knew she shouldn’t open it. She did anyway—and what she found broke her in two different ways.
I went downstairs to help him with some paperwork. He had big hands, smelled of the shop, and had a way of looking at me that had made me nervous since we arrived.
She got into the bathtub without intending to wash herself. She only wanted to relive every second of that afternoon before her husband walked through the door.
What began as a shared game became something neither of us had foreseen: a man who arrived as a guest and stayed with everything.
She doesn’t know that when I go out “to see a friend,” I come back smelling like another man. I’ve been living like this for three months, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.
When she shouted my name in front of everyone and told me to drive her home, I knew Sunday wouldn’t end with a simple goodbye in the parking lot.
We’d been together for ten years and I fantasized about sharing her. When she moved for work, someone else fulfilled that fantasy without my knowing.
He was older than my father, had the hands of a man used to getting what he wanted, and looked at me as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.
Andrés used to tell me the neighbor watched us too much. He was right. But that August afternoon, when the doorbell rang and I went to open it, I was glad he wasn’t home.
I had been locked in the cage for three weeks when Valeria invited her friends to dinner. I was going to be the entertainment.
When the candle went out, I thought it was my husband touching me. When the light came back, I realized it had all been planned long before that night.
The candle burned out. The darkness was absolute. And then I felt a hand moving up my thigh that wasn't my husband's. It was only a second, but it changed everything.
As soon as we left the parking lot, she slipped her hand down and closed her eyes. I looked for a dead-end road. We’d spent a whole week unable to touch each other.
As soon as we left the parking lot, she undid her trouser button and whispered: find an empty lot, an alley, anything. I can’t get home like this.
I pressed my ear to my mother’s bedroom door, and from that night on I couldn’t stop watching. What I discovered changed me forever.
Valentina put on the black dress at midnight. Two strangers rang the doorbell. Marcos knew what was going to happen and, even so, opened the door.
We had talked about it for months, as a fantasy. That night it stopped being fantasy. And sitting in that chair, I couldn’t look away for even a second.
Sergio left and Marcos took me to the pool. There was something in his look that wasn’t for Sofía. It was for me, and I shouldn’t have let it be that way.