I put a laxative in my husband’s coffee before he went out to see his lover… but what happened next was worse than I imagined.

But he was already walking down the corridor.

The door closed.

Silence.

I looked at the clock.

One minute.

Two.

Five.

I sat quietly at the kitchen table, waiting.

Ten minutes.

Ten.

And then…

glory.

 

« DAMN IT! » came a shout from the car.

I smiled.

I went out onto the porch with the most innocent expression in the world.

My husband was getting out of the car doubled over, one hand clutching his stomach as if he were holding a bomb about to explode.

He was running towards the house.

« What did you give me, you crazy woman?! » she yelled. « I can’t make it to the bathroom! »

I put a hand to my chest, feigning concern.

—Love… aren’t you falling in love?

He stopped for a second, pale.

-That?

—They say that when you’re nervous about a date… your body shows it.

—I WON’T MAKE IT!

He tried to run up the stairs.

—Ah —I added gently—. And don’t even think about using the upstairs bathroom.

He froze on the first step.

-Because?

—I’m cleaning it.

What followed was a scene I will never forget.

My husband, the great executive full of “synergy”, climbing the stairs as best he could, with his pride wounded, his stomach in knots… and the “important meeting” clearly cancelled.

The bathroom door slammed shut.

Dramatic noises were heard from inside.

I sighed.

Then I grabbed my cell phone.

I opened the group chat with my friends.

I wrote:

—Girls, is the beer deal still on?

Three seconds later the answers arrived.

—Of course!
—We’ll be waiting for you!
—Today we toast to being single!

I put on lipstick in front of the hall mirror.

I grabbed my keys.

My bag.

My dignity.

As I was closing the door, I heard her desperate voice from the bathroom.

—Where are you going?!

I smiled.

—To a meeting—I replied.

I paused briefly before leaving.

—The important ones… you know.

And I closed the door.

But the story didn’t end there.

Two hours later, when I returned home laughing with my friends and with the smell of beer in my hair, I found him sitting on the sofa.

Pale.

Exhausted.

Humiliated.

The cell phone in his hand.

« Did you have fun? » he asked dryly.

« A lot, » I replied, putting my bag down on the table.

He picked up the phone.

« Carolina wrote to me, » he said.

I remained silent.

—I cancelled the appointment.