But little by little, we stopped sharing anything else.
First came the late nights.
Then the phone calls taken in the hallway.
Then his phone always face down.
Long showers the moment he got home.
None of it was proof.
So I stayed silent.
Like many women, I mistook patience for love… and routine for stability.
That afternoon, the minibus was packed. I gave up my seat to an elderly woman carrying bags and leaning on a cane.
Before getting off, she grabbed my wrist.
“When your husband gives you a necklace, leave it in a glass of water overnight.”
“Don’t trust what shines.”
I wanted to ask what she meant—but she was already gone.
By the time I got home, I had almost forgotten about it.
At 11:15 p.m., Mauricio walked in smiling—something I hadn’t seen in months.
He held a small blue box.
“This is for you,” he said.
I froze.
