But I never held it against him. In a marriage, what’s mine is also his… right?
“Be careful,” I told him. “Text me when you get to the hotel.”
He agreed, took the keys, and left. I watched him disappear behind the carved oak door and felt a slight, unsettling pang in my chest.
A warning I ignored. Perhaps it was just that guilty relief of having the house to myself for a few days.
That same afternoon, after several meetings at the office, I thought about Laura, my best friend since college.
She had sent me a message the day before telling me that she had been admitted to a hospital in Segovia with acute typhoid fever.
Laura lived alone in that city, so unfamiliar to me. I had always tried to help her. The small house where she lived was mine, and out of compassion I let her live there rent-free.
“Poor Laura,” I murmured. “She must be so lonely.”
I checked the time: two o’clock. Suddenly, the afternoon opened up before me, and an idea occurred to me: why not visit it? Segovia was only a couple of hours away if the traffic was good.
You could surprise her with her favorite stew and a basket of fresh fruit.
