It was close to eight in the evening, and I was still sitting in my glass office in Santa Fe, watching the city lights while the last employees headed home. None of them knew my life was about to split open.
That afternoon I had just finalized the biggest acquisition of the year, a deal that would expand our company across Latin America and bring in bonuses large enough to support another year of my husband’s expensive habits.
For years I had worked relentlessly to maintain what people called our lifestyle. In truth, it was entirely mine—built through sleepless nights, calculated risks, and responsibilities he never bothered to understand.
My husband, Gabriel Ortega, charming and endlessly ambitious, had grown used to luxury as if it were something he deserved rather than something funded entirely by my work.
That evening he was supposedly in Hong Kong for a business conference he never spoke about in much detail. He always promised souvenirs and affectionate apologies when he returned.
Despite my exhaustion, I picked up my phone and sent him a message that now feels painfully naïve.
Take care. I miss you.
The message delivered immediately.
No reply came.