The Wife He Betrayed

Chapter 3

The city feels different when you step outside knowing your life has just ended.

New York is still loud. Cars still move through the street in steady streams. Somewhere down the block a group of people are laughing too loudly as they leave a bar. A taxi honks impatiently. The wind carries the smell of pavement that cooled too quickly after a warm day.

Everything looks exactly the same.

Only I am different.

I walk away from the restaurant without looking back. My heels strike the sidewalk in a steady rhythm that feels almost comforting. My body knows how to move forward even while my mind is still trying to rearrange the pieces of what just happened.

Inside my purse, my phone vibrates again.

I do not check it.

I already know who it is.

Victor.

He will have realized by now that I was serious when I walked out.

He will be calling because he wants an explanation.

Because Victor Diaz always expects explanations.

I keep walking.

The cool night air presses against my face. It is late enough that the sidewalks are less crowded, but the city never sleeps completely. A couple passes me holding hands. A delivery bike speeds past, the rider focused only on the next address.

For a moment I feel like I am moving through a world where no one understands that something enormous has just collapsed.

My phone vibrates again.

Then again.

Then it stops.

I stop walking at the corner and raise my hand to flag down a taxi.

The driver pulls over quickly.

I slide into the back seat and give him the address.

He nods without looking at me and pulls back into traffic.

Only then do I take my phone out of my purse.

Victor has called four times.

There are two messages waiting.

I open the first one.

"Leticia, what's going on? You just left."

His voice sounds confused more than angry.

The second message arrives a few minutes later.

"Call me. I'm serious."

I stare at the screen for a moment before locking the phone again.

There is nothing I want to say to him tonight.

Nothing that would change anything.

The taxi moves smoothly through the city. Buildings slide past the windows in tall dark shapes broken by glowing windows and bright signs.

I lean my head back against the seat.

Nine months.

The number echoes quietly in my mind.

Eva carried his child for nine months.

Nine months while I sat in fertility clinics listening to doctors explain why my body kept failing.

Nine months while Victor held my hand and told me we would get through it together.

The taxi stops at a red light.

The driver glances at me briefly through the mirror.

"Long night?" he asks.

His voice is casual, the kind people use when they want to make small talk without expecting much in return.

"Yes," I reply.

"Work?"

"Something like that."

He nods.

"Looks like you came from somewhere fancy."

"Dinner."

"Anniversary maybe?"

The question catches me slightly off guard.

"Why would you think that?"

"Just a guess. You look like someone who was celebrating something."

I watch the traffic light change.

"Not anymore," I say quietly.

The driver does not ask anything else.

The rest of the ride passes in silence.

When we pull up in front of the building Victor and I have called home for the last four years, I pay the driver and step out onto the sidewalk.

The doorman greets me immediately.

"Good evening, Mrs. Diaz."

"Good evening, Michael."

He glances behind me.

"Mr. Diaz isn't with you tonight?"

"No. He stayed behind."

Michael nods politely.

"I'll let him know you arrived when he returns."

"That won't be necessary."

He studies my face briefly as if noticing something unusual in my tone, but he says nothing else and opens the door for me.

The lobby is quiet at this hour. The marble floors reflect the soft lighting overhead, and the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers fills the air.

I cross the space slowly and step into the elevator.

When the doors close, the silence becomes complete.

The elevator begins its smooth climb upward.

I watch the numbers light up one by one.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Twenty.

The penthouse floor arrives with a soft chime.

The doors slide open.

I step into the hallway and walk to our door.

For a moment I simply stand there.

This apartment was Victor's idea.

Too large, too expensive, too extravagant for what I originally wanted. He insisted it would feel like a reward for everything we had worked toward.

He told me it would be the place where we raised our children.

I unlock the door.

The apartment is dark except for the faint light coming from the windows that overlook the city.

I step inside and close the door behind me.

For a moment I remain standing in the entrance, listening to the quiet.

It feels strange to be here alone.

Victor is usually home before me.

Tonight he will return to an empty apartment.

I set my purse down on the console table and remove my shoes.

The silence wraps around me as I walk through the living room.

Everything is exactly the way we left it earlier in the evening.

Two wine glasses on the kitchen counter from when Victor insisted we toast before leaving for dinner.

A file of legal documents I was reviewing this morning still sits neatly on the coffee table.

My phone vibrates again.

I glance down at it.

Victor.

This time I answer.

"Hello."

His voice comes immediately.

"Where are you?"

"At home."

"You just left me sitting at the table."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I told you I was tired."

"That's not the reason."

I walk slowly toward the bedroom.

"Victor."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pretend nothing happened."

"I'm not pretending."

"Yes you are. Something upset you."

I push the bedroom door open.

The room looks calm and untouched. The bed is neatly made. My side table still holds the book I was reading last night.

"Leticia," Victor says again.

"What?"

"Talk to me."

"I will."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

His frustration is beginning to show.

"That's not good enough."

"It will have to be."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I need the night."

"For what?"

"To think."

Victor exhales sharply.

"You're acting like something terrible happened."

I walk toward the closet.

"Maybe something did."

"What does that mean?"

"You'll understand tomorrow."

There is a long pause.

Then Victor speaks again, slower this time.

"Did someone say something to you tonight?"

"No."

"Did Eva tell you something?"

My hand pauses on the closet door.

"Yes."

"What?"

"We'll discuss it tomorrow."

"Leticia."

"Yes."

"Don't do this."

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're shutting me out."

"I'm going to sleep."

"It's not even midnight."

"I'm still tired."

Victor's voice softens slightly.

"Do you want me to come home?"

"That's your decision."

"Of course I'm coming home."

"You don't have to rush."

"I'm already leaving."

I close my eyes briefly.

"That's fine."

"Don't go to sleep yet."

"Why?"

"So we can talk when I get there."

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"I mean we will talk tomorrow."

"Leticia."

"Goodnight, Victor."

I end the call before he can respond.

The silence in the room returns immediately.

I open the closet and pull a suitcase from the top shelf.

It is smaller than the ones we use for vacations.

I place it on the bed and unzip it.

For a moment I simply look at the empty space inside.

Five years of marriage.

Five years of shared life.

It takes surprisingly little space to walk away from it.

I begin selecting clothes carefully.

Not many.

Just enough.

A few dresses.

A pair of jeans.

Comfortable shoes.

Important documents from the small safe in Victor's office.

My passport.

My work files.

Every movement is calm.

Precise.

There is no rush.

By the time I finish packing the suitcase, the clock beside the bed reads three forty in the morning.

Victor has not returned yet.

My phone has stopped ringing.

I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the dark window.

Then I pick up my phone again and scroll through my contacts.

There is one number I know by memory.

I press call.

The line rings twice before a tired voice answers.

"Leticia?"

"Yes."

"You do realize it's almost four in the morning."

"I know."

There is a pause.

"Is everything alright?"

"No."

The sleep leaves his voice immediately.

"What happened?"

"I need you to file for divorce."

Another pause follows.

"From Victor?"

"Yes."

"Are you serious?"

"I wouldn't call you at this hour if I wasn't."

My lawyer sighs softly.

"Leticia. Tell me what happened."

"My sister had a baby tonight."

"And?"

"The father is my husband."

The silence on the other end becomes heavy.

"Victor?"

"Yes."

"Your sister?"

"Yes."

He exhales slowly.

"Alright."

"You believe me?"

"I believe you wouldn't say something like that unless it was true."

"I want the papers filed as soon as possible."

"We can start the process in the morning."

"Not morning."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean when your office opens."

"That's in four hours."

"I know."

Another quiet moment passes.

"You sound very calm," he says.

"I am."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Because most people in your position would be throwing things right now."

"I don't throw things."

"No. You plan."

"Yes."

"Well then," he says carefully. "Let's start planning."

I look at the suitcase on the bed.

"Good."

"Get some rest," he tells me. "We'll talk again in a few hours."

"I'll be ready."

I end the call and sit there in the quiet room.

Outside, the first faint light of morning begins to touch the skyline.

My life as Victor Diaz's wife will end today.

And for the first time since I saw that photograph, I allow myself one honest thought.

He has no idea what is coming.