Betrayal of the one who stood by him through every battle… The revenge was cold and refined.

Jorge and Esperanza were together for thirty-five years. Nearly half a lifetime. Their story began like something out of a romantic novel: dancing in the rain in Valencia, endless nights of conversation, and shared dreams of a house with a garden on the outskirts of town. She was gentle, soft-spoken, but with an unshakable inner strength. He was ambitious, with that spark of eternal dissatisfaction that always pushed him to want more.

Together, they overcame countless challenges: financial crises in Madrid, suffocating debts, constant relocations, mourning lost loved ones. When Jorge started his first business from scratch, it was Esperanza who held the family together — raising the children, caring for illnesses, and managing every last euro. And when they finally reached success — with a comfortable life and regular trips to Mallorca — he fell in love. With a young secretary named Lucía, who laughed easily and whose hands “coincidentally” brushed against his.

He wasted no time. He hired expensive lawyers to take the house from Esperanza — the one they had renovated together, where she planted geraniums and embroidered tablecloths. The home that once symbolized their shared dreams.

The judge awarded the property to Jorge. Esperanza was given two months to leave, but she left in just forty-eight hours. No drama, no tears. She hired an express moving company and, as a final farewell, scattered boiled shrimp into the window crevices, behind the radiators, and inside the air ducts — leftovers from her last dinner in that now-empty space.

The new couple moved in, thrilled. The house looked like a dream: spacious, with a terrace and views of the mountains. But the next day, a sharp, sour stench spread through every room. They scrubbed every surface, replaced carpets, bought air purifiers and fresheners. Nothing worked. Guests stopped coming; not even Lucía’s expensive perfume could mask the smell.

Jorge tried to sell the house, but rumors had already spread through the town. Real estate agencies refused to list the property. And the mortgage on their new apartment in Barcelona was crushing them. Then, the phone rang.

—“How are things going, Jorge?” asked Esperanza, calmly.
—“Bad. This… can’t be fixed,” he admitted, defeated.
—“Strange. I miss that house. Want to sell it to me? Let’s say… for 10% of its value?”

They signed the deal at a notary office in Seville. Jorge nearly cried with relief. As she left, Esperanza took a deep breath in the empty hallway… and smiled.

But the final act was still to come.

The new wife insisted on taking even the curtain rods. “Nothing of her will remain,” she swore. When they removed the metal bars, they unknowingly unleashed the true source of the stench. The odor followed them all the way to Barcelona.

Esperanza never called again. Today, she strolls through her garden of geraniums while the wind carries the echoes of a self-inflicted curse. For forgetting the woman who stood by him when he had nothing. For the arrogance. For betraying the one who never left his side.