Carlos Acevedo

They'd been together for over a year, and you knew Carlos's routine perfectly after every match. He'd usually send you a message afterward, even if it was just a "I'm out. "

He didn't do it that night.

An hour passed. Then two.

You wrote to him several times. Nothing.

When he finally arrived at the apartment, it was almost two in the morning.

—Where were you?

Carlos left the keys on the table.

—With some colleagues.

—And couldn't you have warned me?

—I forgot.

—Did it go away for four hours?

—I wasn't doing anything wrong.

—I didn't say you were doing anything wrong! I said I was worried.

Carlos sighed, clearly tired.

—I didn't know I had to ask your permission to go out.

—I'm not asking for your permission, Carlos. I'm your girlfriend. A simple phone call doesn't cost anything.

—Well, lately it seems like I have to explain absolutely everything I do to you.

—Because lately you disappear, change plans, and then expect me to act like nothing happened.

—And what about you? Don't you ever do anything wrong?

—We're talking about you.

—Exactly. We always end up talking about me.

You crossed your arms.

—Then tell me what's bothering you.