Confessions

When I opened the door for him, I felt his eyes lock onto the black strap peeking over my jeans. He smiled before pushing me inside.

When I opened my eyes in that black marble suite, she was there, naked, looking at me like she’d known me forever. And maybe death was my best accident.

We had been married for years when she confessed that her greatest fantasy wasn’t with another man. It was me and another woman—and she had the perfect candidate waiting.

When Ricardo explained what he wanted to do with me and his five friends at the country house, I should have said no. I thought about it for six days before saying yes.

We’d been in a comfortable rut for months. That afternoon in the pine grove, with another couple three meters away, my girlfriend decided she was done waiting for me to do everything.

I had gone three days without sleeping properly, replaying every detail of that night with him in my head. That morning, with my coffee growing cold, I picked up the phone.

I was only going to try on some jeans. She was on the other side of the curtain, with a smile unlike the one she gave any ordinary customer.

When she turned her head on the summit, I knew it was her. The girl from that party. Seven years later, her gaze was still claiming what I never finished.

She climbed three floors to a door with no sign, thinking she knew what she was there for. What she found in that room wasn’t in any ad.

I was thirty-two and still had never let myself think about another woman without feeling ashamed. That night I turned off the light, breathed deeply, and stopped running.

It started like any other night in front of the screen, but when I hit send on that message, I knew there was no turning back.

She’d been dimmed for years by a deep pain, until that grave voice filled the room and I saw her eyes shine again like when I first met her.

I was looking for something temporary while I studied. But that night, when he left the avatar and called me with the camera on, I knew I could never go back.

When the wooden door of my cell creaked open after midnight, I knew it was him. I closed my eyes. I didn’t come to the convent fleeing the world: I came fleeing what I felt for that man.

I closed my eyes on the wall and spread my legs a little farther. The wind did the rest. I knew they were watching me, and that was exactly what I wanted.

I’d promised myself a quick one before getting back to work. We came twice, with his taste still in my mouth when I went downstairs for coffee.

I walked in wearing only a red velvet cape and nothing underneath. The rule was clear: nobody knew who anyone was, and that changed everything that night.

I left it on the table, next to the keys, and sat down on the living-room sofa to wait. I wanted to see how long it took him to realize his life had just split in two.

When he parted the willow branches and pushed me against the trunk, I knew we weren’t going back to the café for the things we’d forgotten.