After dropping his lover off in front of her building, Bucín said goodbye with a tender kiss and headed home. Upon reaching the doorway, he hesitated for a moment, mentally going over the words he would say to his wife. He climbed the stairs and opened the door with his key.

“Hello,” Bucín said, trying to sound natural. “Vera, are you there?”

“Yes, here,” his wife replied in a calm, almost indifferent tone. “Do you want me to make some breaded steaks?”

Bucín took a deep breath. He had made a decision: to act decisively, without hesitation, like a man. It was time to put an end to his double life before routine dragged him back into it.

“Vera,” he cleared his throat. “I have to tell you something… we need to separate.”

Vera’s reaction was as cold as ever. Her composure had never surprised Bucín; in fact, he had once even nicknamed her “Vera the Cold.”

“What do you mean?” she asked from the kitchen. “That I shouldn’t make the steaks?”

“That’s up to you,” Bucín replied. “If you want, make them; if not, don’t. I’m leaving you for another woman.”

Faced with such a confession, most wives would have come at him with a frying pan or staged a dramatic scene. But Vera had never been like most women.

“What nonsense, what a trivial matter,” she murmured. “Did you bring my boots from the cobbler?”

“No,” he admitted, bewildered. “If it’s that important, I’ll go get them right now.”

“Oh, God…” Vera sighed. “You’re just the same as always, Bucín. Send a fool for boots, and he’ll bring you the old ones.”

The insult left him speechless. This conversation wasn’t going the way he had expected. Where were the shouts, the tears, the accusations? But then, what could he expect from a woman like Vera the Cold?

“Vera, I don’t think you’re listening to me!” he exclaimed. “I’m telling you I’m leaving you for another woman, that I’m abandoning you, and you’re talking about boots!”

“Of course,” she replied, unperturbed. “You can leave whenever you want. Your boots aren’t at the shop. What’s stopping you?”

They had been together for years, and Bucín still didn’t know when Vera was joking and when she was serious. At first, that serenity, that calm and practical nature, had attracted him. And, of course, her domestic skills and her well-kept figure.

Vera was loyal, unshakable, like a steel anchor. But now Bucín loved another. He loved her with passion, with madness, with sinful tenderness. It was time to cut ties completely.

“Look, Vera,” he said solemnly, almost with pity. “I’m grateful for everything, but I’m leaving because I love another woman. I don’t love you anymore.”

“Oh, my,” Vera laughed. “‘He doesn’t love me,’ says this fool. My mother loved the neighbor, and my father loved dominoes and orujo. And look how well I turned out!”

Bucín knew arguing with Vera was useless. Every word she spoke landed like a stone. His initial determination evaporated.

“Vera, you’re incredible,” he admitted bitterly. “But I love someone else. Truly. And I’m leaving with her, do you understand?”

“Who?” Vera asked, disinterested. “Natalia, the hairdresser?”

Bucín recoiled. A year ago, he’d had an affair with her, but how on earth did Vera know?

“How do you know her?” he stammered. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s not her.”

Vera yawned.

“Then it must be Silvia, from the office.”

A chill ran down his spine. Silvia had been a brief fling from the past. How did Vera know so much? Of course—she never said much, but she saw everything.

“No. It’s someone else,” he insisted. “A wonderful woman, the woman of my dreams. I can’t live without her.”

“Ah, then it’s Maite,” Vera concluded. “Oh, Bucín, how unoriginal. The ‘woman of your dreams’ is Maite Valentín. Thirty-five years old, one child, two miscarriages… Am I wrong?”

Bucín put his hands to his head. It was her!

“But how…?” he stammered. “Have you been spying on me?”

“Elementary, Bucín,” Vera said with a cold smile. “I’m a gynecologist, darling. I’ve seen more than you’ll ever touch. With just one look, I know where you’ve been, you fool.”

He tried to regain control.

“It doesn’t matter that you know!” he exclaimed. “I’m going with her.”

“You’re naïve,” Vera sighed. “You could have just asked me. And by the way, there’s nothing special about her — I say that as a doctor. Have you seen her medical history?”

“N-no,” he admitted.

“Of course not. First, take a shower. Then, tomorrow I’ll call the doctor so he can examine you. After that, we’ll talk. What a disgrace! The husband of a gynecologist, unable to find a healthy woman.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” he complained.

“I’m going to make the steaks,” Vera said, heading to the kitchen. “You do whatever you want. If you’re truly looking for the perfect woman with no surprises… you know where to ask.”