The day of the divorce. He married his lover, and his pregnant wife left smiling, carrying a secret. Barcelona, 9:30 a.m. First Instance Court.
Cristina Montalvo tightened her seatbelt around her eight-month-pregnant belly as she gazed at the imposing courthouse through the fogged-up windshield. The October raindrops slid across the glass like tears she refused to shed.
Today wasn’t the day for tears. Today was the day she would regain her dignity, even if no one else knew it yet. “Are you sure you want to do this alone, darling?” her mother, Sonia, asked her from the driver’s seat.
Her hands gripping the steering wheel betrayed the tension she was trying to hide. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, Mom.” Cristina’s voice sounded strangely calm for a woman about to divorce her child’s father, but there was something in her eyes.
Olive green, a spark of determination Sonia hadn’t seen in months. Since discovering Damian’s infidelity, her daughter had changed. She was no longer the naive physical therapist who believed in fairy tales.
She was a different woman, a woman with a plan. Cristina’s phone vibrated. A message from her lawyer. “I’m already inside. Everything is ready, as we agreed. Trust me.” Cristina smiled faintly.
Trust. What a strange word after everything she’d been through. “Give me five more minutes,” she murmured, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Memories of the past few months flooded her mind: the day she’d found the receipts for the apartment on Diagonal Avenue, the lies about late meetings with clients, the whispered phone calls that Damian would abruptly interrupt when she entered the room.
And finally, that April afternoon, when she saw Ruth Díaz walk out the door of that same apartment, straightening her blouse and smiling contentedly—Ruth, her classmate from the School of Architecture, who had always envied everything Cristina had—her job at the Grácia Health Center, her stable marriage, her house in Emple—now belonged to her husband, but she had no idea what she’d truly lost in the process. A tap on the window distracted her from her thoughts.
It was Damian, in his impeccable charcoal gray suit, with that arrogant smile he’d been using lately like armor. Beside him, Ru wore a burgundy dress that probably cost more than Cristina’s monthly salary, and heels that rang on the wet asphalt like hammer blows.
Cristina rolled down the window a few inches. “Shall we go?” Damian asked with feigned politeness. “The judge is expecting us at 10:00 sharp.” “Of course. I wouldn’t want to keep the judge waiting on the most important day of your life,” Cristina replied, opening the car door.
Ruth approached with that venomous smile she’d perfected over the past few months. “Cristina, darling, I hope there are no hard feelings. After all, this is the best thing for everyone.”
Damian needed a woman who was his professional equal. His eyes lingered deliberately on Cristina’s swollen belly. “And you, well, you have other priorities now.” The words floated in the air like daggers wrapped in velvet.
Sonia started to get out of the car, but Cristina discreetly motioned for her to stay. “You’re right, Ru!” Cristina said with a calmness that surprised even Damian.
Priorities change, and today you’ll find out exactly what mine are. Something in her tone made Ru frown, but Damian was already heading toward the courthouse entrance, nervously checking his phone.
That afternoon, he had an important video call with some German investors and wanted to wrap things up as quickly as possible. “Come on, we’ll be late,” he shouted without turning around. As they climbed the building’s marble stairs, Cristina felt her son shift restlessly in her lap, as if…
She also knew that that day would mark the beginning of a new life, a life in which she would no longer have to pretend not to see the knowing glances exchanged between her husband and his lover, a life in which she would finally be able to sleep soundly.
Ruth walked a few steps ahead, swaying like a model on a catwalk. Every step was calculated to mark her territory, every gesture calculated to humiliate. But what Ruth didn’t know was that Cristina had long since stopped feeling humiliated.
In the elevator, as the numbers slowly lit up until they reached the fifth floor, Damian checked the documents in his Italian leather briefcase one last time. Everything in order?
“Sure, in an hour it’ll all be over and we can start our new life without complications,” Ruth asked, placing her hand possessively on Cristina’s arm. Cristina remained silent, her gaze fixed on the elevator numbers.
