Because even if he’d genuinely believed I betrayed him, normal people don’t accidentally have another household waiting before the suitcase is packed.
“Were you already sleeping with Paula?”
His face changed.
I knew.
“How long?”
“It’s complicated.”
“How long?”
“Three months.”
The hallway seemed to tilt beneath me.
Three months.
His vasectomy had been two months ago.
I almost laughed at the cruelty of it.
He had been cheating before the procedure.
He accused me because betrayal was already living inside his own head.
“You didn’t leave me because I was pregnant,” I whispered.
He said nothing.
“You used my pregnancy as permission to do openly what you were already doing secretly.”
“That isn’t fair.”
I looked at him.
“You’re right.”
He seemed surprised.
“None of this is fair.”
Then I walked away.
PART 4 — THE TEST HE NEVER TOOK
I hired an attorney the next morning.
Her name was
Gabriela Torres.
She was in her fifties, wore rectangular glasses, and had the remarkable ability to make terrifying situations sound manageable.
She read Diego’s proposed divorce agreement.
Then she looked over the top of her glasses.
“He drafted this himself?”
“With Paula’s cousin, apparently. He’s studying law.”
“Studying?”
“Yes.”
She closed the folder.
“That explains several things.”
For the first time in weeks, I laughed.
Then Gabriela became serious.
“Do not sign anything Diego gives you.”
“I won’t.”
“Save every text. Screenshot his posts. Save the messages from his mother. Don’t argue online.”
I nodded.
“And we need financial records.”
That became important sooner than I expected.
Because when Gabriela requested disclosures, we discovered something else.
For six months, money had been disappearing from our joint account.
Restaurants.
Hotels.
Jewelry.
Weekend trips.
A deposit on an apartment.
Paula’s apartment.
My husband had been financing his affair with marital money while
