I Discovered My Marriage Was a Fraud novel · Chapter 1 of 16
Chapter 1: The Call
My husband called me for the first time in four months when he realized I hadn't asked him for a single sol for the household expenses.
I was in the penthouse living room, sitting on the edge of the white sofa, a leather folder on my lap.
Inside the folder were eleven pages.
The divorce paperwork, printed three days ago, with my signature already at the bottom.
The phone vibrated on the glass table.
Flavio.
I watched it ring.
Once. Twice. Five times.
On the sixth, I answered.
"Lucila."
His voice was the same as always.
Soft, patient, the voice of a man who's never had to raise it to be obeyed.
The voice he used to dominate me.
"Hi, Flavio."
"Finally you answer."
"I was busy."
"I know." A brief pause, the kind a man makes when he's smiling. "Giannina told me you haven't asked for anything in weeks. Not the card, not the cash, not the driver. I thought it was strange and wanted to know what was going on."
"Nothing's going on."
"Then let me give you some good news. I already sorted out the clinic."
I closed my eyes.
"What clinic?"
"The one for your checkups. Giannina told me you'd requested an advance and it wasn't approved. You were very upset." He laughed, low. "I already took care of it. You're a priority again, love. See? When you stop making things complicated and learn how this family works, I make sure you're taken care of."
He always sounded kinder when he was reminding me who held the power.
I stared out at the city through the floor-to-ceiling window.
Thirty-one floors below, the cars of San Isidro moved like ants.
Four days earlier, at that same hour, I'd been on a stretcher.
"Flavio," I said.
"Tell me."
"Do you know what day it is today?"
"Thursday."
"And do you know where I was on Sunday?"
A silence.
"At home. Giannina told me."
"On Sunday afternoon, I was rushed to the Santa Teresa Clinic in Miraflores."
"They told me it was a checkup."
"It wasn't a checkup."
"Lucila."
"I was pregnant."
On the other end of the line, there was nothing.
Not even breathing.
Not even the slam of a door.
"Thirteen weeks," I went on, in a voice I didn't recognize. "I found out a month and a half ago. I was going to tell you when you got back. I wanted to see your face."
"Lucila."
"On Sunday, I started bleeding at two in the afternoon."
"Lucila, wait."
"At four, a doctor told me there was still a chance to save it. That they needed an emergency deposit."
"Lucila..."
"I called your phone until my hands were shaking."
I felt my eyes burn.
I didn't cry.
I had no tears left for that.
"You didn't answer. I called Giannina. She told me she didn't have authorization. Then, that the amount was too high. Then, that you were in a meeting in Milan and couldn't be interrupted for something that might not even be serious."
"Tell me that's not true."
"The money arrived at eleven at night."
There was a muffled sound.
A dull thud, like a fist hitting a table.
"It was too late," I said.
"No."
"I lost our child, Flavio."
"No."
"Four days ago."
"No, Lucila. No, no, no..."
His voice, for the first time, cracked.
The voice he'd used to dominate me through three years of marriage dissolved into a single broken syllable.
I waited.
I thought I'd feel something.
Satisfaction.
Relief.
I felt nothing.
"I stayed with you for two reasons," I said, slowly. "Because I loved you. And because I believed you'd choose me above everything else."
"I choose you. I swear it."
"I was wrong on both counts."
"I'm coming there. I'll take the first flight."
"There's no need."
"Lucila, please..."
"Goodbye, Flavio."
I hung up.
I turned off the phone.
I left it on the glass table, face down, next to a vase of white roses that someone replaced every morning without me ever asking.
I stood up.
With the folder under my arm, I walked to the walk-in closet.
I took out my brown leather bag, the one I'd carried to university, the only one they hadn't bought for me.
I put in my passport, my ID, my mother's necklace, and a charger.
Nothing else.
When I came out to the living room, Giannina was standing by the service door.
Tall, thin, in her usual gray tailored suit, her black hair pulled back in a low knot.
Her hands were clasped at her waist.
A calm, proper smile that didn't move.
"Señora Lucila," she said. "The señor just called me. He says you're not feeling well."
"I'm perfectly fine."
"You should rest."
"I'm leaving."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"I wasn't asking."
Her smile didn't change.
Behind her, from the kitchen, two maids appeared.
Then the butler.
Then another one, holding a rag.
All four were staring at the floor.
I walked to the elevator and pressed the button.
The doors opened.
I stepped in.
Before they closed, Giannina took a step forward and pressed two fingers against the metal door.
"Señora Lucila," she said, in that same sweet voice. "If you go down, the guards have orders."
I lifted my gaze.
"Orders from whom?"
Giannina smiled a little wider.
"From me."
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