“Who is Claudia Monteiro, Jorge?” I asked.
My voice sounded strange, almost unfamiliar.
Jorge slowly stood.
“Elena… I can explain.”
“Then explain.”
He ran his hand through his gray hair nervously.
“It’s not what you think.”
I laughed softly, bitterly.
“A guard downstairs just called another woman ‘Mrs. Monteiro’… and you’re telling me that’s not what I think.”
Silence filled the room.
Jorge avoided my eyes.
“I met Claudia… fifteen years ago.”
The air left my lungs.
“Fifteen years,” I repeated.
Fifteen years of lies.
Fifteen years living a double life.
“Do you have children with her?” I asked quietly.
Jorge closed his eyes.
“A daughter.”
My legs nearly gave way.
“She’s fourteen.”
Fourteen.
Which meant that while I was celebrating our twenty-sixth anniversary… he had already started another family.
Another home.
Another wife.
“Elena, I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered.
But just then the office door opened.
We both turned.
The woman from the elevator stood there.
Claudia.
She looked at the two of us.
Then her eyes rested on me.
Her expression showed no surprise.
No guilt.
No shame.
