Cheating

He held my gaze at the bar for ten seconds, and I knew I would follow him to the bathroom. That morning I stopped being the perfect wife.

She only wanted to understand her body before getting married. She never imagined that therapy group would lead her to betray everything she believed about herself.

Three days without thinking about anything except the smell of hot rubber and his hands on me. And my husband, without knowing it, gave me the perfect excuse to go back.

She treated the workers like trash. They decided to teach her, bent over the immaculate kitchen sink, exactly where she belonged that afternoon.

My girlfriend had been out of town for a week and I could think of only one thing: text Mariana and meet her at our usual café for a little game.

Every morning she chose a different garment knowing it would end up torn on the living room floor. What she hadn’t accounted for was the day the door opened early.

I held her gaze while lying, my hand still remembering his skin as it trembled against the cup, praying she wouldn’t connect the dots.

I’ve spent years faking it in bed. That night, while he ordered another drink, I caught the eye of the man at the bar and knew I wouldn’t be coming back from the bathroom alone.

I told Andrés that therapy was helping me clear my head. I didn’t tell him that every session left my body shaking and my conscience split in two.

At three in the morning I sent the client my personal number. When her name appeared on my phone, I knew I’d crossed a point of no return.

I never dared tell her. But that afternoon, while she was having coffee with her friends, I typed the two words that set everything in motion: “then accept.”

Each excuse she gave my fiancé was more elaborate than the last. I left that office trembling, aching, and with a smile I couldn’t hide.

—I need you to sleep with my fiancée —he told me, as calmly as if he were asking the time. And I still didn’t know the trip would change me more than it changed them.

I climbed the fourteen stairs with the cold stuck to my clothes and the secret stuck to my skin: no one in the building imagined what was happening one floor below.

Marisol sat on the armchair in her robe. She had just filmed her revenge with the man her husband despised most, and there was no turning back.

Ten years of marriage collapsed with a gold ring forgotten on the passenger seat. Carla decided the divorce would not be the end, only the beginning.

I had promised Daniel I would never look at another man. And yet, when he closed that room’s door, I was the one who took the first step.

I agreed to therapy to understand my body before marriage. No one warned me I’d end up begging the wrong man not to stop.

She was filed away as inaccessible: the haughty bank director who kept freezing my mortgage. Until I saw her enter a couples’ club on her husband’s arm, ready for anything.

While he puts away the domino tiles and heads off to the club, she’s already feeling her body heat up, thinking of what awaits her in that student apartment.