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.

It should have rained that day, that very day, when I was minutes away from the church. Sebastian couldn't marry her if he loved me. I drove as fast as I could until I got stuck in a line of cars. There was no way out, no way back or forward. Even if I took the nearest exit, it would take a long time. I was about to leave the car in the middle and run; at that moment, a car moved, and I took advantage of it to pull over. Leaving the car unlocked, I ran with all my might.

A motorcycle braked when I suddenly crossed, and I was able to reach the sidewalk, but not before putting my feet in the puddles that lined the road.

Tears blurred my vision. My hands were shaking, my fingers stiff from gripping the steering wheel. Rage, pain, and emptiness were eating me up from the inside.

Squeezing into the crowd, I searched for him... desperately.

And then the memories flooded back: I saw him again, like the first time. Sebastian. A surgical resident, just like me. His impeccable gown, the confidence with which he walked through the hospital corridors, and that half-smile that seemed like a shared secret.

"Camila, I need you to help me," he asked one day, in that deep, confident voice that drove me crazy, as he handed me a folder. It wasn't what he said, but how he said it. As if he already knew me, when we had barely exchanged greetings in the past, as if, suddenly, I had stopped being invisible amidst the chaos of the ER.

Over time, the words I should never have heard arrived: half-promises, stolen walks, whispers during endless shifts, glances that burned hotter than any touch. Until one day, in a moment of weakness, he said it.

"I love you."

I had heard him, of course, without hesitation. I had loved him too, secretly, hopelessly. And I thought that had been enough. At that moment, as I ran up the stairs, through the hallways, tripping over pews, trying to make it in time to stop the wedding, that love had been the driving force.

I had left the hospital, determined, and because of my nerves, I had made a huge mistake. I should have gone straight to his house and not to the address indicated on the invitation card that someone had maliciously left in my locker. If it hadn't been for that time I'd wasted in traffic... I swear I would have convinced him to back out. At that time, he had been about to cancel, and all it would have taken was a push to back him out. But things hadn't happened that way. Señora Isabel, who had detested me from the moment she met me, had taken it upon herself to take him away from me to marry him off to the woman he liked.

"You old, traitorous woman! You traitorous, wretch! You took him away from me and my right to be his wife." What you don't know is that he loves me, he loves who I am, and you can't avoid that, even if you wanted to...

It was almost, very close, before I took him from your house to mine...

***

Sebastián, at that very moment, locked himself in his room and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the black tuxedo spread out in front of him. A beautiful memory had flashed through his mind: the day he gave Camila the ring and asked her to be his wife. He could feel the sweet kisses she had given him as she happily clung to his neck, shouting, "I do!"

His confusion increased with the pressure of the engagement, and he began to talk to himself.

"I don't want to marry Valentina. I love Camila, I gave her my word. I can't let her down."

Sebastián's tears soaked his shirt, while his gaze fell on the knot of his tie hanging on the same hook as his sash. The image had thrown him out of focus, and he was shaking, not knowing what to do.

"I have to escape this damn commitment. They can't force me. I'm not a child!"

He had thought about doing something crazy, thinking quickly, even trying to climb out the window, but downstairs were his father and sister, dressed and waiting impatiently.

He felt remorse, just thinking about causing them such grief.

"What the hell do I do?"

With restless hands, he reached for his phone, turned it on, and called Camila.

"Pick up!"

He tried two more times, but there was no answer.

"This can't be happening to me..."

The door trembled from his mother's pounding, as she called insistently, while he couldn't bring himself to open it.

"Sebastian, hurry up. We're all waiting for you. The Rivas family is already at the church! They've called me several times."

Doña Isabel's voice sounded more like a command than a plea. A crack in her voice betrayed her: she was nervous, trembling at her son's resistance.

He didn't respond. He stared into the mirror, observing a trapped man he didn't recognize. Forced to marry a woman he didn't love.

He closed his eyes, and in the darkness, she appeared: Camila. Her soft laugh, her eyes shining in the white hospital light, the way she listened to him as if every word mattered. And her voice, repeating that she loved him.

"How did we get here?" he thought, a pain tightening his chest. There was no answer. Only an imposed destiny.

Finally, he opened the door. As if accepting that fate was the only possible way out. There was his mother, her eyes brimming with tears, ready to take him to the ceremony. She hugged him tightly, asked him to change because everyone was waiting for him. And he, resigned, agreed.

***

In another part of the city, Valentina was adjusting the last details of her dress. She was surrounded by her family, who smiled proudly, celebrating the marriage as a triumph.

The bride looked at herself in the mirror. She looked impeccable: subtle makeup, her hair tied with precision, the white fabric hugging her silhouette like a symbol of perfection. There was no doubt on her face, only calm and certainty.

For Valentina, that day was the fulfillment of what she had hoped for. The consolidation of a name, of a life designed to never fail. She was blissful. Nothing disturbed her happiness.

The church filled with murmurs and perfumes. Large arrangements of white roses adorned the altar, and the stained-glass windows cast multicolored sparkles over the guests. The air smelled of fresh flowers mixed with incense.

The priest looked at them seriously: Sebastián and Valentina were standing in front of the altar.

Sebastián's heart pounded violently in his chest. When he heard the question: "Do you accept this woman as your lawful wife?" time stopped. He didn't know what to do: he ran a hand across his forehead to wipe away the sweat and then rubbed both hands against his pants. Restless, he looked away, not wanting to see any face, only fighting against himself. Seeing that he couldn't utter the words everyone was waiting to hear, Valentina grew nervous.

The groom saw Camila in his mind. He remembered her cold hands at the end of a shift, the way she silently sought his gaze, the taste of the forbidden turned into need. His soul screamed for her.

Valentina, on the other hand, turned pale. She noticed Sebastián's distant expression, his lost eyes, and although she didn't understand, she sensed that it wasn't happiness that filled him.

This time, in a softer tone, they repeated the question. "Do you accept this woman as your lawfully wedded wife?"

Now, his voice... his voice obeyed.

"Yes, I do," he pronounced through dry lips.

Applause erupted in the church. The guests stood, smiling, celebrating the union. The bride smiled with relief, and for the first time all morning, her eyes truly shone.

The contrast was evident: she radiated happiness, he conveyed emptiness.

The attendees-mostly doctors and colleagues of both-grouped in small circles, commenting on the ceremony and, as always, on clinical cases and recent surgeries. Everyone respected the bride and groom, but especially Valentina, whose social prestige grew with this marriage; Now I was Mrs. Herrera.

***

I arrived when it was already late. I remember everything; the images came to me out of time.

The car squealed as it braked in front of the church. I ran through the rain: my blue uniform clinging to my body, still smelling like the hospital, my hair damp, and my makeup crumbling. I crossed the entrance with my heart in my throat, tripping over everything in my path, only to find myself faced with the scene I never wanted to see: them, standing, holding hands, receiving congratulations from everyone.

The ring glittered on Sebastián's finger. The same man who had told me he loved me.

I felt my soul split in two. Tears flowed uncontrollably, mixing with the rainwater; I was soaked. I clutched the keys to my chest, trying to contain a pain too great to contain.

He looked up, and for a moment, our eyes met. But it didn't matter anymore. The decision was made. The future, sealed. I had lost it...

I was the ghost who arrived late. She, the perfect wife. And he... the man who had said "yes" with his lips, while perhaps remembering me in his heart.

No one noticed my arrival. No one saw me. Not the doctors, not the family, just him. As if I didn't exist.

As I left, I tripped over one of the large bouquets of flowers decorating the entrance. The white petals fell at my feet, wet, crushed against the ground. The sound of laughter and applause mingled with the pounding of the storm.

Then I ran, crying in the rain, splashing in my white shoes, to my old Volkswagen Beetle. I put the key in the ignition and turned it; it all happened so fast that I struggle to remember the details. The engine roared with a metallic whine, and I felt a sense of relief. I started the car, leaving it behind, saw it in the rearview mirror, and accelerated: I knew that would be the music of our farewell.

That day I understood that in love stories, sometimes the one who loves the most is the one who never appears in the picture.

***

Medical school was a luxury Sebastián's family could barely afford. His father, Ramón Herrera, would get up before dawn to light the bakery ovens, and Isabel, his mother, spent her mornings serving customers, faking smiles, even though business sank further each day.

Their efforts weren't enough. The bills mounted, the debts multiplied, and each semester of college loomed like an impossible wall to climb. Every time Sebastián finished a semester, the ordeal began: struggling to find the money for the tuition and expensive books for medical school.

One Sunday, as she left mass, Isabel couldn't take it anymore. She walked beside Teresa, Valentina's mother, and between sighs and rosaries, she blurted out what she had been silently chewing over for weeks:

"I don't know how we're going to make sure Sebastián finishes his degree," she confessed in a whisper. "We still have years to pay, and we have nowhere to get more." Her eyes watered, and she prayed her friend would take the bait. "It breaks my heart to think he's going to have to drop out; this problem has kept me awake at night."

Teresa looked at her silently. She knew what it meant to cut short such a big dream. That same afternoon, at the family dinner table, she spoke with her husband, Dr. Alejandro Rivas.

Valentina, who was leafing through an anatomy textbook at the head of the table, intervened firmly:

"Dad, lend them the money. I want Sebastián to finish what he started."

Dr. Alejandro raised his eyebrows.

"It's a lot of money, daughter. Let me think about it. I have to talk to your brother and explain; he's the one who handles the company's accounts."

Julio Rivas was the CEO of the family-owned pharmacy chain FarmaHoy. Stubborn and meticulous, he didn't miss a thing. His management was so successful that they went from one pharmacy to twenty branches across the country. They had three in Margarita alone.

"That's a definite no. Julio can't know, Alejandro. You know how he is..."

Alejandro crossed his arms.

"You take care of it. Don't ask me for things I don't have. Our son pays for everything; I don't even know how much I have in the bank; he's been managing the accounts for a long time."

"So what does it matter?" she replied without hesitation. "We can't let her life be ruined. We have to put ourselves in Señora Isabel's shoes. If she was able to say that, it's because they can't find any other way out. The poor people must be desperate."

Alejandro waved his hands and got up from the table. Valentina bit her nails when she saw that they couldn't agree.

"Resolve that, because that's why you're the owner of the house and Isabel's best friend. After all, they're her children," she said, glancing sideways at Valentina.

The Rivas couple gave in. They handed over, without witnesses or fanfare, the equivalent in gold to cover the remaining years of tuition. A silent act, sealed by the complicit gaze of both mothers. Sebastián never knew. Neither did Julio. The moral debt was buried like an invisible secret that, over time, would turn into chains.

***

The ties between both families grew even closer. Isabel welcomed Valentina into her home with tenderness, hugged her like a daughter, and repeated:

"You'll always have a home here. You're such a good girl; you don't know how much I pray to God that one day my son and you will form a home."

Valentina believed it. Her mother and mother-in-law repeated it to her every time they had the opportunity to bring up the subject.

Soon after, Valentina graduated and began working at the hospital. Sebastián, on the other hand, continued studying. Valentina always visited that house, and now, with increasing frequency, she felt as if it were her second home. And little by little, a little more began to grow in her heart for Sebastián.

Over time, Isabel began to press the issue. During a visit to the Rivas home, she blurted out a confession:

"Last night, I dreamed you were marrying my son. I was so happy, Valentina... You would be the perfect wife for him."

Valentina smiled shyly, although she knew that behind the dream lay something deeper: the weight of a secret. A debt never repaid with their parents. Although neither she nor Sebastián knew the details, their mothers had already woven a destiny for both of them.