PART 1
—Sign the divorce papers and get out today. There’s no room for a kept woman in this house.
Rodrigo threw the folder at my feet while Camila, his own brother’s wife, smiled, leaning on his shoulder. My children, Mateo and Renata, were still inside the SUV, a few feet away, thinking their father was waiting for us for dinner. I had just returned from Mexico City with news that could change our lives: I had inherited a fortune and an office tower on Paseo de la Reforma.
But they didn’t know it.
Until that afternoon, for seven years, Rodrigo Salgado had made me feel like an unwelcome guest in my own family. We lived in a house in San Pedro Garza García, and he was the finance director of Grupo Altavista. I worked from home as a crisis management consultant, attended to clients, took care of the children, and organized every detail of the household. However, for Rodrigo, my job was “playing at sending emails.”
He would check the supermarket receipts, question every expense, and give me a fixed amount for the house.
“I generate the real money,” he would repeat. “You just manage what I give you.”
The only person who celebrated him more than he did was Camila. She was married to Andrés, Rodrigo’s older brother, and ran a luxury real estate agency. At every family meal, she showed off watches, handbags, and commissions, and found ways to remind me that I didn’t belong in her world.
Two weeks before the divorce, during a barbecue, Camila humiliated me in front of Rodrigo’s partners.
“How comfortable it must be to live like that,” she said, raising her glass. “You babysit, turn on the computer for a while, and a successful man pays for everything.”
I waited for Rodrigo to stop her.
He laughed.
—As long as I keep the house nice and the children don’t interrupt me, I can continue to sponsor their hobby.
