Confessions

For weeks I’d been pretending everything was fine, until that night a man looked at me the way my husband had stopped looking at me, and I chose not to resist.

I was forty-four, had two daughters, and a recent divorce when the girl from across the street looked at me differently and said what I didn’t dare think.

I saw him in briefs only once and since then I can’t sleep without thinking about him. The fact that he’s my half-brother should be enough to stop me, but it isn’t.

I entered the office with a dry throat. I didn’t expect her to ask me to close my eyes and describe, word for word, what I had been hiding for months.

My wife came back from that visit with a different gleam in her eyes. Her cousin was the only witness, and she took months to tell me what really happened.

We were up in the cherry tree stealing fruit when Hugo confessed the obsession he’d carried since childhood. That same afternoon, his mother still had no idea what was coming.

For months I’d been pretending men didn’t interest me anymore. One voice on the phone and a promise of a gift were enough to drag me back in.

I never imagined that agreeing to partner swapping would end up revealing a secret my husband had kept since school.

I met her long before I met her sister, my wife. Ten years after that hotel, I saw her come out of the water at the beach and knew the story wasn’t over.

I saw the message at eleven at night and knew this time I wasn’t going to make excuses. Fifteen minutes later I was climbing into his car in an empty lot.

At three in the morning, Damián was still sunk into my sofa, shirt soaked with sweat and breathing heavy. And I was no longer thinking about anything else.

She was twenty-five and, on paper, his stepmother. Dinner began with seafood and white wine, and neither of them planned to end it at his place.

When I felt his cock against my ass in the darkness, I knew neither of us would sleep that night. Fifteen years later, I still think about it.

I thought the party was over when I closed the door. But she was still barefoot on my sofa, glass on her knee and another box in her hands.

I want to put on my wig, do my makeup, and surrender to a stranger who has read my stories. One night, no commitments, before it’s too late.

We had been flirting for months over the internal chat. When I suggested closing the office on a Saturday, I never thought you’d come. You did—trembling, but you came.

At three in the morning, two men knocked on the door. What neither of them knew was that Camila had been asking me for that night for weeks.

That afternoon I didn’t go to play soccer. I went to lose something I had already decided to lose, never imagining my mother would arrive too soon.

My friend finished his last drink, looked at me from the armchair, and began to tell me why he had left his wife one June morning without warning.

Lucía was the most proper girl in the school crowd. That night I saw her walk into the birthday party in a miniskirt and realized the Sunday-Mass girl was gone.