Page 70 of Please, Forgive Me
I pushed the door open quietly, and what I saw destroyed me in a way I’ve never admitted to anyone.
There she was—my wife at the time—with one of Amacel’s investors.
In our bed.
The sight hit like a punch to the gut. The betrayal burned like fire, scorching everything I’d ever felt for her.
I loved her—or at least I thought I did. She was the mother of my son, the woman who’d promised to stand by me. But there she was, shattering everything we’d built together—with a man who knew every detail of my business.
The shock froze me for a few seconds, but then anger took over.
I didn’t yell. I didn’t hit him. I didn’t make a scene. I just looked at her, disbelieving, before turning around and walking out without a single word.
And in that moment, something inside me broke for good.
It wasn’t just the end of a marriage. It was the death of any illusion I’d ever had about trust—especially in women.
From that day on, my heart turned as cold as steel. Any sign of weakness, any hint of emotion, became a threat—an open wound waiting to be exploited. So I cut everything that could make me vulnerable.
And then came Maria Gabriela.
She showed up in my life like a hurricane I never saw coming, tearing apart everything I’d kept so carefully controlled.
I liked provoking her—watching how she scrambled to keep her composure around me. But the truth was, beneath the teasing, I felt something else. Something I refused to acknowledge.
Maybe that’s why, when she said she was pregnant, my first instinct was to deny it—to reject even the possibility of being the father.
Because part of me simply couldn’t believe that something so significant could happen without some kind of betrayal hiding behind it.
I was trapped by the fear of history repeating itself—of becoming that same fool I’d been years ago.
I exhaled and ran a hand over my face. The truth was, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t just shut it all off.
I wanted to fight it, but the anger always won—anger at myself, at what had happened, and at her for making me feel things I didn’t want to feel.
The memories of that betrayal came back like sharp blades, each one cutting deeper than the last.
CHAPTER 29
“The ghosts of the past can be exorcised with love and patience…”
MARIA GABRIELA
The five months that followed were pure hell—but somehow, I managed to keep my sense of humor.
Maybe that’s what saved me. The fact that I was pregnant, that the baby was healthy—it gave me strength, even when Diego seemed hell-bent on turning the office into a battlefield.
As I walked through the halls of Amacel, I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on me, but I couldn’t let it break me.
The baby needed me steady and strong. And no matter what Diego thought—or refused to believe—I knew the truth. He could deny it all he wanted, but that didn’t change the facts.
The constant provocations at work had become routine. Diego set impossible deadlines, buried me in tasks, and whenever I pushed back, his responses were dry, sarcastic—sometimes even mocking.
I got used to it. Not that it was easy, but humor became my armor, my form of resistance.
I walked into the cafeteria, relieved to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the office, even if just for a few minutes. Nancy, my coworker, was already sitting at a table in the back, flipping through some papers and sipping her coffee.
She looked up when I approached, frowning slightly.
