My husband said he was “on a business trip” — but when I went to the hospital to visit my sick friend, I suddenly heard his voice behind the door… and what I heard chilled me to the bone.
That morning, Madrid seemed grayer than usual—and yet, my mood was strangely bright. My name is Sofia, and I was smoothing my husband Ricardo’s tie as he stood erect in front of the enormous mirror in our suite. Our luxurious house in La Moraleja had been the silent witness to five years of what I thought was happiness. At least… that’s what I thought until that day.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to pack you anything for the drive?” I asked gently, patting his broad chest.
“Valencia is far away.”
Ricardo smiled—that smile that always melted away my worries. He placed a slow kiss on my forehead.
“No, love. I’m in a hurry. The client in Valencia wants an urgent meeting tonight. This project is important for my portfolio. I want to show your father that I can succeed without hiding behind your name.”
I nodded, proud of him. Ricardo was a “hard-working” husband… when the truth was that his company’s money, the Mitsubishi Montero he drove, and the designer suits he wore all came from me—from the dividends of the company I inherited and now ran. But I never held it against him. In a marriage, what’s mine is his too… right?
“Be careful,” I said. “Text me when you get to the hotel.”
He agreed, took his keys, and left. I watched him disappear behind the carved oak door—and felt a slight, unsettling tug in my chest. A warning I brushed aside. Maybe it was just that guilty relief of having the house to myself for a few days.
Later that afternoon, after several meetings at the office, my thoughts drifted to Laura—my best friend since college. She had texted me the day before saying she’d been admitted to a hospital in Segovia with acute typhoid fever.
Laura lived alone in that city, which was so foreign to me. I had always tried to help her. The small house where she lived was part of my property, and I let her stay there rent-free out of compassion.
“Poor Laura,” I murmured. “She must be so lonely.”
I checked the time—two o’clock. My afternoon suddenly opened up, and an idea struck me: why not visit her? Segovia was only a couple of hours away if the traffic was kind. I could surprise her with her favorite stew and a basket of fresh fruit.
I called my driver, José—then I remembered he’d called in sick. So I took my red Mercedes and drove myself, imagining Laura’s face lighting up when she saw me. I even planned to call Ricardo later and tell him what a wonderful wife he was. I could already hear him congratulating me.
At five o’clock I arrived at the parking lot of a very elegant private hospital in Segovia. Laura had told me I was in VIP suite 305.
VIP.
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