En el funeral de mi esposo, contraté a una chica para que llore y diga que era su amante

At my husband's funeral, I hired a girl to cry and say she was his mistress, so his family would see that he'd been unfaithful to me too. The problem is, three more girls showed up besides the one I hired. How dare he cheat on me? The priest hadn't even finished his sentence when I saw that belly stride down the aisle as if it owned the place. The whole room turned its head, and I felt my mourning clothes fall away from my face because my scene was no longer just mine. And that's when I understood that the dead man hadn't just left me; he'd left me with competition. I'm not just any woman who sits around crying in a corner. I maintain an image, a reputation, a standard, and Alberto Rodrigo always knew that with me, you either live with elegance or you don't live at all. We met at one of those events where nobody goes for the cause, they go to be seen, and he arrived with that "good man" smile that opens doors effortlessly. I, on the other hand, had to carefully consider every glance, every greeting, every measured gesture so I wouldn't be pigeonholed as just a decorative wife. I liked that he was proper, but it irritated me that his properity became a spectacle, as if his kindness were a suit he put on for everyone's applause. From the beginning, I knew that this popularity was going to be a problem, because people always need a saint to idolize and a witch to fear. Our dynamic always had one clear point: I maintained the facade, and he was responsible for shining within it—and don't tell me that's superficial. I was careful with appearances because appearances are the language of important people. At every charity dinner, every family gathering, I was the one who thought about what to say, how to say it, and in front of whom, because a mistake is punished with gossip that lasts for years. Alberto, on the other hand, indulged himself by being spontaneous, by laughing loudly, by helping anyone, and in the end, he came away with the title of "wonderful man." I was left with the role of the cold woman, the one who looks you up and down, the one who doesn't show emotion, as if I felt nothing inside. How easy it is to be "good" when perfection isn't demanded of you. Alberto's family also contributed to that, because for them he was the perfect son who could never make a mistake. 0:00 Main Story 8:09 Main Story Comments 9:21 Update 1 15:41 Update 1 Comments 16:46 Update 2 22:01 Update 2 Comments 23:11 Update 3 32:21 Update 3 Comments 33:30 Update 4 41:16 Update 4 Comments