"You said you weren't pregnant," Carlos speaks, breaking the silence that settled between us."And you said you wouldn't go back to Portugal," I say, turning and walking in the opposite direction."I know what I said," Carlos affirms, following me to the living room. "But things are more complicated than they seem... Anyway, are you sure you're pregnant? 100% certain?""Yes, I am, just as I am certain that you assured me Portugal was in the past. Besides, you made me sign a post-nuptial agreement."I turn towards my husband and toss the images of my examination onto his chest. It wasn't exactly how I imagined I would reveal our second pregnancy, but I also didn't expect my husband to reveal that he was going back to Portugal. Life, definitely, never goes as planned. I sit on the couch and run my hand through my hair, frustrated. Carlos comes closer, sitting beside me. He loosens his tie and looks at me, saying:"Dália, please, let's talk rationally. We are no longer the same people, w
The days went by... turning into weeks... which became my two trimesters of pregnancy. I can safely say that this pregnancy is very different from the previous one. Since the first trimester, I've been getting all possible exams, including identifying any anomalies in our baby. A normal prenatal has a monthly consultation, starting as early as possible until the 32nd week. However, in the beginning, I had weekly check-ups. Now that I've entered the second trimester, my obstetrician said we could switch to biweekly appointments.During this pregnancy, I experienced much less morning sickness. When I reached the tenth week, the nausea subsided and was replaced by some strange cravings, but nothing impossible. My cravings included lasagna with Nutella at 2 a.m. on a Monday or bologna with strawberry jam. I even had white chocolate with soy sauce as part of my diet. Carlos patiently indulged all my whims, being with me every step of the pregnancy journey. After everything we've been throu
No, I wasn't satisfied with just that one time. The truth is, that time was the opening door to all the others, even though my husband didn't want to vary positions too much. Until the seventh month, we only used the pregnancy pillow, but after that, my belly grew bigger, and the position became uncomfortable for me. So, we tried other positions, but we engaged in each one at different times – it may sound strange, but let me explain. In my eighth month of pregnancy, I practically created the "Rule of Three" with my husband.In the morning, before getting up, it was a must that Carlos made love to me from the side while my belly rested on my pregnancy pillow. It was a wonderful position that gave me a delightful sense of relaxation, making me fall asleep shortly after. However, during lunchtime, I needed something more intense, and since I still had to work, I would rush to my husband's office and sit on top of him on the floor of his room. There, my orgasms were intense, and I moaned
We get into the car, and Carlos starts going over the entire route: First, he needs to inform my parents to head to the hospital since they insisted on being there for the birth. He calls my parents, who get ready and also let us know that Valéria will accompany us and stay with Juan."You know, there's a silver lining to your whole family showing up today," Carlos says as he drives."Oh really? And what would that be?" I ask, seriously."Your sister will stay with Juan, your mom will go with you to the delivery room, and your dad will take me to the airport.""Seriously? When did you think of all this?""Love, it's the only way. Of course, if Marisol is born in two hours and thirty-five minutes, I can make it to the delivery," my husband says, looking at his wristwatch. I look at him incredulously."Do you really think I have control over that?" I ask, annoyed."I know I don't, love, but it doesn't hurt to try.""Oh sure, and you want her to start crying at what time? Should we time
I am wheeled through the hospital in a wheelchair to the shared room, which is currently empty. I lie down on the bed and start timing my contractions, which have rapidly progressed to every five minutes. Carlos places the suitcase in a corner, helps me change into a hospital gown, and then sits at the edge of the bed as if he's afraid to come closer. I decided to let Carlos stay for as long as he could, and then my mother would be with me. We didn't speak to each other until Rúbia appeared, surprisingly on duty at the hospital. She approaches me and performs a pelvic exam to check my dilation."So, while one child is more relaxed about being born, the other one is practically in a hurry to come out," Rúbia jokes, breaking the ice between us."Well, each child took after one of us in terms of personality," Carlos responds, awkwardly."Which one of you do you think this little girl took after?" Rúbia asks, winking in my direction. She then adjusts herself and starts the exam. She stops
I slowly open my eyes, blinking for a moment as I try to orient myself. I look around and realize that I am no longer in the shared room; there's only my bed, a chair, machines around my headboard, one of which is connected to the electrodes on my body, and a breathing apparatus in my nose. On the other side of my bed, there's a small crib. I try to raise my body, but my arm is tangled in the IV, or whatever I believe it to be. I attempt to get up and walk towards the crib where my daughter could be, but to my disappointment, I can't.As I slide my hand to remove all those wires, I hear the door open, and my husband walks in... without Marisol. Something doesn't feel right to me."Hi, love, how are you?" my husband asks, approaching me."Where's Marisol?" I manage to ask him."The nurse will be here soon," my husband replies, helping me lie back on the bed."With our daughter, right?" I inquire, concerned about my husband's evasive response."Yes, of course," my husband says. "But Rúb
Two days later, Carlos managed to schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist specializing in postpartum depression. Yes, I was diagnosed with postpartum depression, and I was already very ill. I still had a few months of maternity leave from work, but the psychiatrist, me, thought it would be best for me to return to work to occupy my mind and shift the focus away from the situation. My daughter started spending more time with my husband, as the psychiatrist believed it would be better for me to step back from full-time caregiving until I could cope with myself, take care of myself, get better, and become the mother my daughter deserved. I also started running in the morning, taking care of my diet, and taking the medications prescribed by the psychiatrist.Then, on a beautiful Tuesday, after my morning run, I arrived home and noticed that my husband was still asleep, probably having spent the night with Marisol. I could hear her crying in the distance, so I waited for some time, but
"... This financial crisis is being compared to the one in 2008 that erupted in Spain almost in the same way and for the same reasons as in the United States: the burst of the real estate bubble, which artificially leveraged wealth. At that time, one-third of Spanish workers had temporary contracts. They were massively laid off."That's what the economic commentator invited to the news program Carlos was watching in our living room explained when I got home from work. I left my bag on the hall table, hung my coat in the closet, and then entered the room, stopping behind the sofa where my husband was, turning his head to give me a quick kiss."Can you believe it?" my husband asks, turning back to the television, where the commentator continued elucidating the subject, answering the journalists' questions:"Well, the difference between these crises is that this one is caused by two economic problems that afflict the country the most: unemployment and public deficit. Unemployment jumped
BRAZIL, MARCH 31, 2015.I'm engrossed in my phone, just a few lines away from finishing the book I'm reading, which, as incredible as it may seem, resonates with many aspects of my marriage. I'm so engrossed in the plot that I disconnect from everything else:"Dália!" my husband calls, drawing my attention. I look towards the wooden door from which he emerges with his charming smile. "Come see."I put down my phone and walk to the door, stepping outside where my husband stands on the sidewalk, looking at the facade. I join him and also start to admire the bold letters:Carlos's Delicacies"It's perfect!" I compliment, admiring the front of our restaurant.Yes, a lot has changed in my life... in our lives. After flying to Paris, we made some decisions. The first was Carlos quitting his job. He insisted on throwing his phone from the top of the Eiffel Tower when he finished his call with Rubens. I did the same with the real estate agency. However, I didn't throw my phone because we need
"Passengers of flight 357 to Lisbon, boarding will take place at gate C... Attention, passengers of flight 357, bound for Lisbon, boarding will take place at gate C..."This was what the announcement was saying when I arrived at the airport just a few minutes before my husband's flight was due to depart. Unlike what you see in movies, buying a ticket to enter the departure area isn't as difficult as it seems, because there wasn't a huge line in front of me, to begin with for buying a ticket."Good morning, ma'am, how can I assist you?""I need a ticket for any international flight departing right now.""Right now? Ah, well..." the young man starts, opening his screen.However, the clerk who attended to me wasn't very fast."Young man, I need to enter the departure area in thirty minutes," I say, looking at the departure and arrival display screen.Knowing my husband, it was unlikely he bought a first-class ticket or even a VIP one. As he always used to argue: at the moment of death, t
After leaving my children with the nanny and taking a shower, I head to the address of the summons, which happens to be Elson's office address. I press the elevator button that takes me to the penultimate floor in a matter of seconds. The panoramic view of the city welcomes me, and then I approach the receptionist:"Good morning, I'm Dália Penedo Salazar and I received a summons for today.""Good morning, Mrs. Salazar. Just a moment to inform Dr. Elson that you're here" says the receptionist.She smiles in my direction, raises her index finger, and then turns to speak on the phone. The receptionist exchanges a few words amid fake giggles and hair tosses, then turns to me, saying:"Dr. Elson is waiting for you in the conference room. Please follow me."She stands up from her seat, adjusting her tight but elegant purple dress, making me question my choice of wearing wide-legged pants and a white shirt. The receptionist says a few things, but I don't retain anything in my mind because al
X...As always, the night with you was wonderful and unforgettable. Your touch, your scent, your kiss, and the way you make love to me will always be etched in my mind. As well as your words...You were very important in my life. I tried to fight the desire I felt for you all these years, and lost the battle several times. You are a part of me; my life didn't make much sense until you appeared, and I'm grateful to you for being my friend, confidant, my lover...It's undeniable that we are perfect for each other, that we have harmony and chemistry... in bed.Our relationship boils down to the bed, to sex, and it has always been that way...A few years ago, I would have given anything to live this relationship beyond the bedroom door, but today I understand that it's not possible, and I know you will understand that too.When you said that you wanted me and couldn't live without me... I didn't feel what I wanted to feel when I heard those words. I know the first thing that came to your
My eyes search X's face for any trace of falsehood. His jaw is relaxed, and his eyes are serene... He turns towards the table where he tossed the envelope and retrieves it. Then he turns towards me, holding it up in my direction.“Open it, so you can confirm what I'm telling you,” he says.I take the envelope while taking a deep breath. My trembling hands struggle to tear the paper... or some greater force didn't want me to discover the truth. I press harder, and finally, it gives way, allowing me to see the report that I unfold calmly. There it is: according to the examination conducted using Carlos's blood, Juan was his son. I breathe a sigh of relief, but then the feeling of regret hits me. I could have avoided the dinner with Carlos if I had opened that damned envelope.“So? Am I right or not?” X asks.“You are,” I whisper as I let my body slide into one of the chairs. I stare at X and then ask what came to my mind. “How is that possible?”“I was born with a lack of reproductive d
Carlos wipes away his tears as he looks at the paternity test. His hands smooth the paper before he places it back on the table, taking a deep breath. His brown eyes lock onto mine, and then he says:“I don't want to know.”“Carlos, please,” I whisper.“Juan will always be my son, and no piece of paper will say otherwise,” Carlos says, pressing his index finger against the paper repeatedly. He hands me back the envelope, wiping his face. “He has been my son for four years, and he always will be. Juan Carlos is my son, he is a Salazar, and he always will be.”“Whatever you say,” I agree, putting the envelope away once again.“Does he know?” Carlos asks, looking at me seriously. His gaze is a sea of disappointment that I can't bear to meet.“No,” I reply, wiping my face. “He has no idea.”“If I were in his shoes, I'd want to know if I have a child out there,” Carlos claims.“Carlos, please...”“He has the right to know, Dália,” Carlos argues. “Tell him.”“Alright, I'll do that,” I affir
“What? How? When?”The sommelier approaches with our waters, pouring them into our glasses while pretending not to notice my tear-streaked face and the tense atmosphere. How did my husband know everything? How? I couldn't comprehend...“Africa,” Carlos reveals, withdrawing his hand from mine and then sliding his fingers through the cutlery without looking at me. “You always had the terrible habit of leaving your things open. When you traveled, I decided to use the home computer for work... I saw it all. Your conversations, your emails, you're asking him to call you...”“Why didn't you...?”“Why didn't I tell you? Or why didn't I leave you when I found out?” Carlos questions, thoughtful. “Simple, I loved you, Dália. When I read everything, I felt guilty. I threw you into his arms, but I wasn't ready to lose you... Give up on you. I was sincere when I showed up in Africa. I really wanted to be the husband you deserved, because if I could manage that, I knew I'd forget that man once and
La Barca looked as beautiful as that day when we came for the first time; that's what I was thinking as the concierge led me to the reserved table on the terrace. He pulls out a chair for me, and I sit down promptly. He steps away, and I find myself admiring the nighttime view of Barcelona while my mind wandered, considering the possibilities. There were chances Carlos might not come or might come with someone else. Even the possibility of being followed, and X showing up there. Regardless, I tried to convince myself to see it through. I place my hands in front of my face, repeating to myself: I needed to put an end to this, I needed to...“Dália?” Carlos calls, standing in front of me. “Is everything okay?”“Hi, Carlos,” I say, adjusting my hands on the table. “Yes, it is.”“Would you like something to drink before choosing your dishes?” the sommelier asks.“Just water, please,” I say, nervously unable to look at the young man.“Wow...”“What?” I ask quickly.“For you to order water,
I spun the envelope in my hands. I had buried that desire to know who Juan's father was many years ago, even now with everything that's happening. However, as they say, the truth always comes out. My fingers would glide over the edges in a simple gesture, and everything would be revealed. All it would take is my fingers coming together and tearing open the edge, and that's it. Simple... easy... Yet, I didn't feel like I was the one who should open the envelope. I didn't feel entitled to do so. I take a deep breath and then place it on my coffee table. Furthermore, I stand up and walk to the hallway, where I grab my purse, open it, and take out my cell phone. I scroll through my call list until I reach a specific number—the number of the person I believe has the right to know. After a few rings, the line is answered.“Hello?”“Hi, Carlos,” I say calmly.“Is something wrong?” Carlos asks, concerned.“We need to talk...”“Dália, if it's about the summons, know that it's for the best this