Chapter 1

I met my husband, Tommy, in college. It was a quick romance, driven more by necessity than overwhelming passion. Two broke kids, sharing not just dreams, but also the little food we could afford. It was the lean times, and if I’m honest today, I admit without shame: he basically supported me.

His parents helped whenever they could, while mine barely had enough for themselves. My mom, a hardworking housemaid, never could have afforded to put a daughter through university. I was the first in my family to earn that right, and there was no room for failure.

After graduation, life took its course. Opportunities came up, and with my hard work, things started to get better. Everything… except the marriage. He was always complacent, never knew what it was like to fight for what he wanted. Used to having everything handed to him, he didn’t feel the urgency to chase his own future. Me, on the other hand, I dove headfirst into work, putting in 14 hours a day to build something. And I was rewarded for my effort.

The sex? It just stopped existing. He complained all the time, but how could I want someone who spent the day doing nothing? I’d come home exhausted, drained, and still have to listen to his demands. He wouldn’t lift a finger around the house, but he had energy to criticize everything. Everything bothered him, there was always a complaint ready, a look of disdain, an impatient sigh.

What I felt for him turned into irritation. Desire? Nothing left. Sometimes, I’d give in to sex just to avoid a fight, because it was less effort than masturbating or dealing with his constant whining. I hoped he’d change, that he’d wake up to life, that he’d finally become a real man. But hope doesn’t sustain relationships.

And so, after two years of a marriage sinking into stagnation and frustration, I finally did what I should have done much earlier: I ended it.

There was a breakup, but no hatred. Understand… I loved him, but it wasn’t passion. It was a quiet affection, a care built over time, by habit, by our shared history. Deep down, no matter how everything was falling apart, the hope never completely died.

I owed him a debt. It wasn’t just about years of living together; it was a commitment, a sense of responsibility that kept me from just kicking him out. Since we moved to the new apartment, he’d never managed a decent income, and get this… I supported everything. Every bill, every meal, his clothes, his online games. I wasn’t his wife anymore. I was his mom.

Kicking him out would be like dumping him on the street, and that guilt I couldn’t carry. His parents had already made it clear they didn’t want him back, so I was straightforward:

“You’ve got three months to find a place to go, because I want to hand over this apartment and get on with my life. If you need it, I’ll help you financially.”

It wasn’t generosity. It was commitment.

But maybe you’re wondering: what, after all, was the final straw? What sealed the definitive end and brought us to this agreement?

I confess it embarrasses me to remember… But to explain, I need to go back a bit in time. A month and a half before the breakup, to be exact.

It was May. The weather was mild, the days flowed lightly. We’d just delivered a big project, the kind that brings not just recognition, but also warm praise. Talks, trips to visit the client, important meetings… It was the type of win any professional dreams of.

And by my side, sharing every achievement, was Fernando.

Fernando was a hurricane of ideas. A man of unlikely solutions, always one step ahead. Tall, strong, with a body sculpted by the gym. But what really caught attention was the magnetic energy he carried. He didn’t just solve problems; he seduced while doing it. He was one of those men with a dominant presence, the kind you have to be careful not to fall for… because they’re dangerous.

We worked in the same office, and Fernando was never the most politically correct type. Without a shred of shame, he called our office a harem. Out of the four desks, three were occupied by women: me, as manager, and two project coordinators, Clara and Manuela. He was a manager like me.

My desk and his were in cubicles separated by glass walls, while the two of them had a sort of antechamber, set up like executive secretaries. The partitions didn’t go all the way to the ceiling, which meant, in practice, we could talk to everyone without even raising our voices.

“Feisty!”

I went quiet.

“Headache girl!”

This time, it wasn’t for me.

“Troublemaker!”

A paper ball flew right on target, hitting my face.

“I’m talking to you.”

I rolled my eyes, letting out an impatient sigh.

“Fuck, Fernando, you act like a kid! What is it?”

He grinned, in that sly, teasing way that could make any woman lose her patience or burst out laughing.

“Let’s grab some sushi after work?”

I thought for a second, picking up my phone.

“Sure… I’ll check with Tommy if he wants to come.”

For a second, I noticed a subtle shift in his gaze. But it was so quick I thought I’d imagined it.

I sent a quick message, but I already knew the answer. Tommy wouldn’t want to go. He got uncomfortable around Fernando, badmouthed him whenever he could, and criticized him excessively. It wasn’t jealousy — Tommy was never the jealous type — but according to him, Fernando was a sleazy opportunist who climbed the company ladder on my back.

“You girls in?” I asked, turning to Clara and Manuela.

“You buying?” Manuela raised an eyebrow with a mischievous smile. “You never pay for us, boss!”

“Fernando’s paying!” I shot back, tossing the jab at him.

He laughed, crossing his arms with that look of someone who loved a challenge.

“I’ll cover this shit. Three hot chicks in my company? When am I gonna get that again?”

“Sexual harassment…” Clara sang out in a cynical tone, making everyone crack up.

The day flew by, the workday ended, and we went to grab some food. It was just a dinner among colleagues, no ulterior motives. At least, that’s what I thought.