On my wedding night, I hid under the bed to play with my husband, but it was he who entered the room, and what I heard over the speaker made my world collapse in seconds…
I never imagined that a stupid joke would destroy my marriage before it even started. It was supposed to be the perfect night, after months of stress, preparations and anticipation.
When the last guests left and the door to the hotel suite closed behind us, I finally felt I could breathe.
I wanted to do something light, just for us. I hid under the bed to scare Daniel when he came in. Useless, I know, but that’s precisely why I did it: a simple, intimate, and fun gesture.
But he was.
Instead, I heard the firm tap of heels on the wooden floor. A woman entered the room with the certainty that she had every right to be there. I didn’t recognize her voice or her perfume. She put her cell phone on speaker and made a call.
When I heard what he answered, my whole body froze.
It was Daпiel.
“Have you gotten rid of her yet?” she asked impatiently. “She must have fallen asleep. I just need this night. After the honeymoon, everything will be sorted out.”
My heart was beating so hard that I thought she could hear it.
Did you get rid of it? Fixed? What did that mean?
The woman laughed, a mocking laugh that made my stomach churn.
I can’t believe it. Marrying her just for the investment money… And she still thinks you’re in love.
And then everything made sense.
The two hundred thousand reales of my investment fund, the same money that I transferred to our joint account two days before the wedding, because Daniel insisted that it was a “gesture of kindness”.
The argument that the money would be “safer” with him because it was “secured”.
Under the bed, with dust stuck to my mouth and hair, I had to cover my lips with my hand to avoid screaming.
Siguiero spoke as if I were a disposable object.
“I’ll see the apartment tomorrow,” the woman said. “Take your share and disappear. He’ll never know.”
“I know,” replied Daniel. “He trusts too much. That makes everything easier.”
At that moment, something inside me changed.
The pain turned into rage.
The rage into clarity.
The clarity into strength.
A part of me died right there.
But another part, one that didn’t even know it existed, awoke.
With trembling hands, I crept out from under the bed. The woman had her back to me, searching for something in her bag. I approached, took a deep breath, and said:
“How curious… I also thought I trusted too much.”
He turned slowly, pale. The cell phone fell from his hand, still on speakerphone.
On the other side of the line, Daniel remained silent for a few seconds… and then whispered:
“My God… love, let me explain…”
—Don’t call me love. —My voice came out firm, even though my eyes burned with tears.
I grabbed his cell phone, hung up the call and pointed to the door.
“Out. Now.”
She doubted.
I moved closer.
“If you don’t go out alone, you go out with the police.”
He left without looking back.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t cry.
I didn’t break anything.
I used the same weapon he was planning to use against me: coldness.
I gathered my things, called a car, and went straight to the police station. I documented everything: the speakerphone recording, the scam attempt, the fraudulent plan to sell my apartment.
Then I went to the bank. I got the joint account. I blocked the cards. I notified my manager. Then I called a lawyer—at three in the morning—and told him everything.
I didn’t sleep that night.
But I was devastated.
I was at war.
When Daniel finally returned to the hotel, I was informed that he tried to talk to me, but it was too late.
I never imagined I would leave first.
Much less that I would leave stronger.
In the divorce, he received nothing.
The investigation for financial fraud continues.
And the woman he was with left everything, probably upon realizing the magnitude of the problem.
Me too?
I thought that night would be the end of my love life.
But it was the beginning of my freedom.
I learned that trust is precious and that when someone destroys it, the person who rises from the ashes is deceived again in the same way.
Yes, sir.
