The CEO's unfaithful husband

Today I reacted badly and, without thinking, I asked for a divorce. Yes, I've been the weaker one in the relationship; my priority has been to save the marriage, but I got tired of waiting for him to change and reciprocate.

My intention wasn't to start another fight. I barely asked him where he was because I hadn't been able to sleep waiting for him. And he yelled at me with all his might. I've lost count of how many times he yelled at me... like that, as if I were worthless and he disliked seeing me too much. He yelled in my face to leave him, to get a divorce. And the worst part is that I haven't given him any reason. I'm so careful with the tone of voice I use, and I've never once reproached him or even made a rude gesture toward him.

I know he didn't want to marry me, but her, and despite that, I've endured my misfortune with the certainty in my heart that he was going to leave her.

When I arrived at the hospital this morning, I saw her get out of Sebastián's car and kiss him goodbye: the smile on her face was one of satisfaction. I know my husband keeps her hopeful and says sweet words to keep her willing to wait. To wait for him to break his commitment to me. I know he proposed to her out of love, and her mother forced him to break it off so he could marry me. Perhaps that's why she hates me, despises me, because I'm the reason for her unhappiness.

My husband's lover, Camila-that's her name-is a resident physician at Rivas Hospital, where my husband and I also work. I serve as General Manager, a position that ties me down, keeps me in control of my actions. I suffer in silence, I watch them, and I refrain from making any comments; I feign normalcy when inside I'm dying of jealousy and helplessness.

I stayed a while longer in the parking lot before entering the covered area, where the positions assigned to the managers are located: mine was the one closest to the elevator, labeled in yellow, General Manager. A position that, in the past, had always been held by men. The board of directors didn't appoint me for my career, although it's obvious I'm an excellent professional, but I'm barely thirty years old. It was motivated by the fact that I'm the granddaughter of the institution's founding doctor: a man who, like my parents, performed prominently during his tenure.

I walked briskly toward my office so as not to bump into them. I took my lab coat off the hanger and put it on, adjusting my collar and hair while the computer turned on. I stared at the screen and took a deep breath, relaxing my back.

"Good morning, Valentina, are you nervous?" The spontaneous smile of my best friend, María Fernanda, was what I needed to bring me back down to earth. She made me laugh when she curiously stared at my high heels playing with the base of the swivel chair.

"Happy day, honey. I'm here swallowing hard, I just found them: so much so that I've told her to keep up appearances in public, and she doesn't listen!" Anyway, sorry for coming on like this, but I don't have anyone to vent to. I'm stressed. After I spilled all that venom, I felt ashamed.

María Fernanda looked at me compassionately and hugged me. "You have to put up with it. What else do you have? That bitch has to get tired and leave him. Don't think it's that easy to be the other girl. She must cry as much as you, if not more." She stroked my hair. "He has to be working every day, cheering her up: promising to leave you, so she'll endure and wait for him."

"Who knows what he'll say to her? This is all my sister-in-law's fault, Lucía. She shouldn't have introduced them. She knew full well that our families have been talking about engagement for years. That irresponsible, party-loving girl: of course! They're friends, that's where it all comes down to."

"You didn't tell me that detail. So you didn't meet here at the hospital?"

"No, he told me himself during an argument that got out of hand. He went to a party with Lucía and met Camila. They're friends."

"So, you were already dating when she started as a resident here?"

"It seems like you liked each other, but it didn't go any further. Then you met again at work, and that's where you fell in love. But I don't think he loves her like he says. The thing is, she's the opposite of me: relaxed, sexy. That kind of woman always catches men's attention."

"What will he say to her? Have you wondered? Because she met him when he was single, it was a very different situation. Now he's a married man."

"What men say: that we don't sleep together and that he loves her, not me."

"She's an idiot," María Fernanda bursts out laughing.

"Of course he does. He undervalues ​​himself. He married me, and I'm not going to get a divorce."

"You bastard! Well, I'll agree with you, but I don't know what I'd do if I were you. You're so good, my friend. So noble. You give him so many opportunities..."

We remained silent, thinking, and we didn't realize...

"Look at the time! Go to the operating room right now. I'm sure they're preparing for the procedure scheduled for 10:00 a.m. Let me know what they do or say; you're my eyes and ears there."

"Oh, my friend. Sometimes I feel happy about the appointment you gave me. Other times, I think you made me head of the operating room just to inconvenience those two."

"Don't be silly! I did it because you're the most qualified and because I trust you. Stop thinking nonsense."

"I'm leaving! I'm writing to you..."

María Fernanda closed the door, and I stood there for a few minutes doing nothing, barely looking at my computer keyboard.

I looked at the photo on my desk: our wedding photo. I remember that day; in that image, my eyes said it all: pure excitement. Next to me, Sebastián: serious, placing his hand on mine. Not on her own initiative, but because she followed the photographer's instructions. How time flies! We're almost married for our first year.

We got married during the day, in the oldest church in the city of Porlamar, located in Plaza Bolívar. A very crowded place and difficult to access, even if you're driving. It was amidst the hustle and bustle: street vendors, bugles blaring, and infernal traffic. Family and friends waited for the groom to show up: that was a bad sign; he never arrived. But my mother and my best friend made sure I didn't notice. They didn't answer when I asked the time, and they wouldn't let me leave the room where I was patiently waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Later, I learned about all the calls they made to Mrs. Isabel, my mother-in-law, asking why they were taking so long to arrive. The poor woman was like crazy trying to convince her son, who apparently had a last-minute bout of indecision.

It turned out everyone was ready, except for the groom, who decided to lock himself in his room and turn off his cell phone, just minutes before the scheduled time for our wedding.

I took the picture frame in my hands and stared at that memory in detail. For a moment, I wondered: what would have become of my life if we hadn't gotten married? I knew the answer with certainty: I would have cried, at least two days straight; I would have torn up all his photos; and, perhaps, on this day I would be alone, but peaceful, doing what I love most: working.

I'd been in the office for an hour, and my hand was gripping and releasing the mouse. I still couldn't decide which file to review to start the day. Anyway, sometimes I wished I could get inside his head to find out what he was thinking: what was his version of events? Because Sebastián simply told lies or refused to talk, and when I pressed him hard, he would remind me that he didn't want to get married, as if he'd done me a favor by being with me. It depressed me to know that he didn't want me or love me, even a little, while I was falling more and more in love with him. Our last argument was last night. We yelled at each other, and he asked me to leave him alone, that he didn't want me interfering in his life. The shouting could be heard outside, and it became increasingly difficult to hide it and pretend to others that we were a happy couple.