After My Husband Locked Me Out For His Mistress

The flight was delayed, and it was late by the time I finally returned to the States from my training abroad. I tried calling my husband to pick me up, but all my attempts went unanswered. Frustrated, I ended up taking a cab. On the way, I stumbled across a Facebook post from one of his so-called "close friends."

The photo showed my husband, Ignacio, kneeling and holding her foot. She was wearing a loose, sheer blouse, her bare shoulder exposed, with a conspicuous love bite on her neck. The caption said, "Only a true friend is always there for you."

I commented, "If you like him so much, why not keep him close?"

Moments after posting the comment, Ignacio called me, furious.

"Elina, have you lost your mind? Delete that comment right now! Rhea Scott is just a single woman, and your nonsense will make everyone misunderstand."

"You know she sprained her ankle! I was just helping her out. We've been friends forever. Or did your time abroad warp your mind?"

I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. Who was really warped here? The picture was a blatant giveaway, and the notion of their innocence was ridiculous.

I had called him numerous times, only to be ignored, yet my single comment triggered an immediate call of reproach.

"I returned to the country today," I said coolly.

His voice grew anxious, "You're back already? You landed?"

I had already told him when I’d be back, and though the flight was delayed, it was still the same day. Clearly, his mind was consumed by thoughts of Rhea Scott, so I ended the call without responding.

When I arrived home, Ignacio showed up shortly after, sounding reproachful. "Why didn’t you remind me earlier?"

After a long day of flying and the cab ride, I was feeling nauseous and exhausted. I shot him a cold look. "If it mattered to you, you'd remember. I shouldn't have to remind you."

He stood there stunned, his words trailing off, then shuffled off to the kitchen. I entered the bedroom to change, only to find a pair of black stockings lying openly on the bed. No guessing needed; Ignacio certainly didn’t have a secret love of Victorian cosplay.

Oblivious to my growing anger, Ignacio returned and started talking. "Rhea hurt her leg. I was going to make her some pulled pork. You're a doctor, right? What herbs should I use?"

My temper flared. "Why don't you add the black stockings from the bed? They’d make quite a tonic! Besides, my expertise is in gynecology!"

Finally noticing the stockings, Ignacio hastily gathered them up, tripping over explanations, "She had a fight with her mom, then got into a car accident and hurt her leg. That's why I let her stay for a few days. Nothing happened; we just shared a bed."

"Don’t be upset. Come help me with the herbs," he persisted.

I replied icily, "How about adding some saffron? You say you’re like siblings; let's hope there's no need to wonder who the father is."

"Elina, stop being unreasonable! Rhea and I grew up together, like siblings sharing clothes. We've never seen each other as anything else. Can’t we, as good friends, take care of her?"

I stood firm, unmoved. I didn’t buy the idea of platonic friendships with someone like Rhea. To me, she was a classic opportunist.

Ignacio huffed, "Fine, I'll do it myself then!" before stomping into the kitchen and starting to follow a cooking video.

When I finished my shower, he was still there, doggedly attending to the pot. Soon, he filled a container with soup and headed to the door, glancing at me, "I won't hold tonight's antics against you. I left you some soup in the kitchen. Drink it while it's hot."

I walked into the kitchen to find a bowl of soup waiting for me, the surface swimming with grease, and the chicken reduced to just a neck.

I couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly at my predicament. Years of effort and this was what I got in return.