My husband kissed our son and me goodbye and said he had to leave early for a business trip. I drove him to the airport; everything seemed perfectly normal, until my five-year-old son tugged on my sleeve and whispered, “Mom… you should keep an eye on Dad.”

I offered to drive him to the airport myself because Mateo insisted on saying goodbye again. During the drive, we talked about school, traffic, and a TV series we wanted to watch together over the weekend. Javier was smiling, but now I know it was a rehearsed smile.

When we arrived, I helped him with his suitcase.
He bent down to hug Mateo, and that’s when my son gently tugged on my sleeve. His voice was barely a whisper: “Mom, you should keep an eye on Dad.” I laughed reflexively, trying not to scare him, but I felt a strange knot in my chest. Children don’t usually say things like that for no reason. Javier said goodbye, walked toward the entrance, and raised his hand. I stood there for a few more seconds, watching.

Barely five minutes passed. Instead of going into the boarding area, I saw Javier come out the same door, glancing around. He headed to the taxi stand and got in quickly, as if he were in a hurry to disappear. My heart started pounding. Without thinking twice, I got into my car and followed the taxi at a distance, trying not to lose it in the traffic.

The ride wasn’t long. The taxi stopped in front of an inconspicuous building, far from the city center and with no visible sign. Javier paid, took his suitcase out, and rang the bell. The door opened almost immediately. A woman in her forties hugged him familiarly, and behind her, a little girl appeared and ran toward him shouting, “Daddy!”

I felt the air leave my lungs. In that instant, I understood that the business trip had never happened. I remained motionless in the car, my hands trembling on the steering wheel, watching the three of them get in without looking back. I thought about Mateo, his warning, every excuse I had accepted without question. I knew nothing would ever be the same and that I was about to face the hardest truth of my life.

I waited several minutes before daring to get out of the car. Fear mingled with a silent rage that kept me on edge. I jotted down the address, took a picture of the building, and went home with my head full of questions. I barely slept that night. Javier didn’t call, didn’t text, and his phone was off. The next morning, I dropped Mateo off at school and called in sick. I needed answers, not guesses.

I went back to the building mid-morning.
I pretended to be a delivery person and asked for Javier on the intercom. The same woman answered. She said her name was Clara and, without realizing it, confirmed my suspicions by saying that Javier was “unavailable.” Her tone was protective, intimate. I walked away before he recognized me and called a lawyer friend, Sofia, who advised me to stay calm and gather evidence before confronting him.

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