Shanti
If someone asked me what marriage means to me, I would say it's like when the universe gives you stones and you try to make orange juice. Exactly— that phrase doesn't exist because one thing has absolutely nothing to do with the other. But that's exactly what marriage is like: a roller coaster of emotions where every day is unpredictable, where the only certainty is that everything can spiral out of control in a matter of seconds.
Like today.
I asked the universe for at least a few hours alone with my wife, without the little troublemakers, but apparently I need to explain—almost with apples—exactly what I'm asking for.
Because I didn't ask to spend time alone with my wife… in prison.
When I married Paulina, I believed this would never happen. First, because I promised not to do crazy things like I used to with my friends, and second because—please—I was married to Paulina, the most level‑headed woman on planet Earth. The woman with zero problems. Or at least that's what I thought… until tonight.
"Love, don't you even know Gisell's number?" Paulina asked anxiously, interrupting my thoughts.
"No, love, I don't," I replied, trying to forget that we were here because of her.
"Love, you should know it," she said, frustrated.
I had my head resting against the bars of the cell, but after hearing my wife blame me for not knowing my friend's number by heart, I pulled away and stared at her.
"How am I supposed to know the number, Paulina? I have hundreds of important things to remember, and you think I'm going to memorize my friends' phone numbers," I said indignantly.
Paulina lowered her head slightly, embarrassed, and almost in a whisper she said:
"I thought you knew it," she replied, distressed.
I wanted to hug her so she wouldn't feel bad, but I stopped myself. It was her fault we were locked up here, so my arms stayed still, crossed over my chest.
"No, I don't know it," I repeated. "And hypothetically, even if I did know it, none of them are in the city—they wouldn't be able to help us," I reminded her. "Besides, I only know your number," I added with a tired sigh.
Paulina lifted her head and looked at me with eyes full of emotion, as if I had just declared my love to her for the first time. I didn't understand why she was so surprised; she and our children were the most important thing to me.
"We should call someone. I don't want you to spend the night in this cell," I said, exhausted. "I'll ask the officer, please, to lend us his charger so we can charge your phone, get the number, and make the call."
Paulina just nodded. Then I shouted, with the little dignity I still had left, for the officer to come over. When he arrived, I asked him as humbly and politely as possible if he could please lend us his charger and help us charge the phone.
The officer hesitated and reminded me that my wife had headbutted him when she was brought into the cell.
I apologized on Paulina's behalf while giving her a warning look so she wouldn't say anything, since she looked like she was about to respond rudely.
After thinking it over for several minutes—and after I practically begged him—the officer agreed. At that moment, I felt that our way out of here was finally one step closer.
When the officer left, I heard Paulina suggest who to call, as if she had suddenly received a divine revelation inside a damp‑smelling cell.
"Love, we should call Gina."
"Excuse me, love," I said, incredulous. "We're calling my dear mother," I corrected her firmly.
"No, love, my mother will kill me if she finds out I'm here," Paulina replied, terrified, as if talking about her mom were worse than facing a judge.
"And do you think that if I call my sister she won't want to kill me?" I reminded her, raising an eyebrow.
"Love, I'll tell Gina how things happened. She won't do anything; it was my fault," she assured me, her tone almost hopeful.
"And you think my sister will believe you? Come on, love! My sister is going to think you're just saying that to cover for me. And in the end, she's still going to scold me because we're in a cell," I said, as reasonably as the situation allowed.
Paulina couldn't keep contradicting me because deep down, she knew I was right. My sister would never believe that she was at fault. It had always been me: the mischievous one of the group, the one who got into trouble, the one who annoyed everyone. Paulina, on the other hand, was the perfect daughter, the level-headed woman who had never caused a single headache in her life.Who would blame her? No one.
"What if we call my other sister-in-law?" Paulina suggested, embarrassed.
"Johanna? Really, love? Do you think my sister will stay quiet when she finds out? She might even post on all her social media that you and I are here," I dismissed her idea immediately.
Paulina fell silent, just like me, thinking about who could get us out of this monumental embarrassment. Not even two minutes passed before she spoke again, with a calmness that worried me a little.
"Alright, love. We're adults, right?" she began, her voice determined and surprisingly confident. "We're married, we're mothers, we have a family… and this was just a mistake. So we shouldn't be afraid of my mother or my sister-in-law. I'll call my mother and tell her to come for us."
Her words surprised me. There was such pure determination in her eyes that for a second, I thought she wasn't my wife but a heroic version of her, ready to face any storm… even her mother.
About ten minutes later, the officer returned and informed us that the phone had enough charge to get a family member's number. One of us could make the call. Paulina, without hesitation, said she would do it. The officer took her out of the cell so she could call from his desk.
Several minutes passed—minutes full of anxiety, awkward silences, and my catastrophic thoughts imagining my mother-in-law's reactions—until Paulina returned. She approached the bars and simply said:
"I called."
And just like that, without any more drama, she went back into the cell to wait with me…
After almost an hour, the officer called us to inform that our bail had been paid and we could leave. He said it in a serious tone, full of authority, though the warning was clearly directed at my wife.
"Don't get into trouble again, Mrs. Scott, and don't assault a law enforcement officer again."
"Officer?" my wife repeated sarcastically. "I don't think you should call yourself an officer, since you're not at all fi…"
I had to cover her mouth before she could finish. Apparently, Paulina had a deep desire to spend the night in that cell today. I didn't understand what was going on with her; she wasn't like that. She was always respectful, kind, polite. But with this officer… she seemed to hate him from the bottom of her soul. Even more than those who arrested us.
"Thank you, officer. I appreciate your kindness," I said quickly, taking my wife by the arm and leading her toward the exit.
The officer, frowning and clearly holding back from responding, let us go without further argument.
Once we were far enough away, I looked at her, annoyed.
"What do you think you're doing, Paulina? Do you want to sleep here?" I scolded her in a tight whisper.
"That idiot is one of the officers who came to see you at the hospital. One of the ones who made you believe I was Lucifer's sister. Thanks to that, you were afraid of me…" she huffed, indignant.
"I'm still a little afraid," I murmured jokingly.
Paulina gave me an annoyed look, the one that said, "I'm not in the mood," but she still looked adorable. I was about to go over and kiss her to change her expression, to soften the frown on her forehead, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alejandra approaching us with quick and determined steps, as if she had crossed an entire desert without taking a breath.
My heart stopped for a second.
"I thought you had called my mother-in-law," I exclaimed at Paulina, incredulous.
Paulina just turned her face, changing her expression to a completely neutral one, as if she were examining a crack in the wall. Clearly, she was avoiding my gaze, my question… and my growing indignation.
Then I understood: she hadn't called her mother. She had called my niece.
"Hi, aunties," Alejandra greeted us with a nervous smile.She approached quickly.
Before my niece could say anything else, I saw two silhouettes I recognized all too well: my sister… and my mother-in-law.I felt my blood run cold. Only one of them was supposed to find out, not both. Paulina saw them too and froze just like me, as if our shoes had suddenly glued to the ground.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Paulina," said Alejandra, trying to sound calm, "when you called, I was at Grandma's house."
Apparently, my wife had completely forgotten one small detail: my nieces were at my in-laws' house this weekend. Everything now fit together like a cruel joke of fate.
"I tried to leave without being discovered, but Mom heard me and I couldn't lie. You know, Aunt Shanti, when she goes into investigative mode, she's scary," she said, almost out of breath.
I knew it well. My sister's looks could pierce your soul. She had that intense stare that caused nerves, guilt, and the feeling that your secrets were written on your forehead. For years, every time we did something wrong, it was enough for her to raise an eyebrow the same way my mother did for us to end up confessing everything.
Over time, I learned to avoid that look… well, almost always.
"Shanti Vega!" my sister half-shouted, standing right in front of me.
"And Paulina Scott," repeated my mother-in-law with the same intensity, as if she were taking roll call at a military barracks.
"I hope you have an explanation for this," my sister said, annoyed, with her "get ready for the sermon of the century" tone.
"The same goes for you, Paulina," my mother-in-law crossed her arms, looking at her with disappointment. "Follow the car," she ordered.
Without resisting, we obeyed like two girls who had just been caught in their mischief.We walked to the car in complete silence.
"I'm sorry, auntie," Alejandra apologized, walking behind us, "but still, if I ever need you to get me out of jail, you have to come for me. I just did it for you…"
"Oh, of course, I'll come for you," I said. "And I'll take your mother with me… just like you did now."
"That's not fair," she complained. "Alright, I'll tell Aunt Paulina then."
"I don't think Aunt Paulina will want to cover for you after today," I commented, stepping a little closer to my wife. "Whatever happened to 'we're adults'?"
Paulina let out a guilty little sigh.
"I'm sorry, love, but you see… my mother is furious. And I haven't even told her what happened yet," she whispered.
The whisper didn't help. My mother-in-law was so close that she heard every word.
"Don't worry, dear," she said in a cold voice, so cold that it sent a chill down my spine. "At home, you can tell me in full detail what happened."
We got in the car, still wearing the shame like a second skin. I greeted my father-in-law in the softest voice I could and apologized for making them come at this hour of the night.
My father-in-law, always so calm and curious, didn't take long to ask what had happened. As soon as my mother-in-law mentioned that we had been arrested for disturbing the peace, verbal and physical assault on a police officer, his eyes widened as if we had confessed to a crime worthy of a movie. And he still didn't know that all those charges were only for Paulina. I had been arrested only for trying to separate my wife from the other woman she had been fighting with.
"I thought they were just going to have dinner and go dancing," my father-in-law said, still incredulous.
And that was exactly the plan. When we asked my in-laws to watch the kids just for Saturday night, all I wanted was a romantic evening with my wife: dancing, laughing, enjoying a couple of drinks… going home and making love without hurry, without interruptions, without some little one knocking on the door asking for water or wanting to sleep with us.
That was what I wanted: a special night with my wife. But I forgot that Paulina's jealousy was an obstacle capable of ruining even the most perfect date.
It all started in the morning. Between playful moments in bed, I suggested having a date that night and leaving the kids with my in-laws. Paulina immediately agreed, excited. She also needed a moment for us, since ever since the twins were born, almost a year and a half ago, we hadn't had a single minute of privacy.
Twenty minutes later—when our children had invaded the room, running and shouting like they were in a park—Paulina went out to call her mother and ask for the favor. My mother-in-law happily agreed: she always said the house felt more alive when her grandchildren filled it with noise and chaos.
The children were happy; they knew they would be spoiled. And they were right.When we arrived at my in-laws' house, my sister Gina called to say she wanted to visit us. I told her where we were, and without hesitation, she came over. She arrived with my brother-in-law and told us that Alejandra and Sofía were shopping because they wanted to prepare a family barbecue at their house. That was also the reason for her visit: to invite us.
We gladly accepted. My mother-in-law even joked:
"Don't drink too much tonight, okay? I don't want you coming tomorrow with a hangover or no appetite."
That was when Gina found out that Paulina and I were going out that night. She then suggested that, so we could sleep a little longer and not have to pick up the kids early, we have the barbecue at my in-laws' house.
The idea seemed perfect to us. My in-laws agreed as well, so Gina called Alejandra and told her to bring everything to my in-laws' house.Nothing could go wrong.Or so I naively thought… before the nighttime catastrophe.
In the morning, it seemed as if the universe was conspiring in our favor to make the night perfect. We had enjoyed a romantic dinner at my wife's favorite restaurant; everything had gone as in those nights you wish you could treasure forever. No one had interrupted us, the food was delicious, and Paulina hadn't stopped looking at me with those eyes that always make me feel special.
Later, we arrived at the club, had a few drinks, and danced together, enjoying our night without hurry or worries. Everything was going so well that it seemed impossible for anything to ruin it. However, just as we were about to leave, a girl shamelessly approached me and, without any modesty, grabbed my butt.
Paulina noticed immediately, and when she was about to confront her, the brat moved even closer, invading my personal space with a daring smile.
"Want to come to the bathroom with me? I promise you won't regret it," she said brazenly, as if I were some prize she could take at will.
My wife exploded in jealousy and stood in front of me, fury burning in her eyes.
"Are you an idiot? How dare you flirt with my wife?" she shouted, completely out of her mind.
"Your wife?" the girl replied disdainfully. "Apparently, you don't please your wife, because she's been looking at me for a while now."
"I've never looked at you," I defended myself immediately, outraged by her audacity.
I didn't understand what that brat was thinking or why she was lying so shamelessly. Maybe she was one of those girls who look for trouble for fun, or maybe she was just crazy. The atmosphere began to tense, and I felt that if we didn't leave immediately, this could end worse than I imagined.
I took my wife's hand and told her we should go; after all, we were leaving anyway. I started walking, leaving behind the crazy girl and the tense atmosphere she had created. But as soon as we stepped outside, Paulina let go of my hand.
"Were you really looking at her?" she asked, a mix of insecurity and anger in her voice.
I felt my patience snap at hearing those words.
"Are you serious, Paulina? Are you accusing me of looking at some brat? For God's sake, if you even hear yourself…" I spoke, annoyed.
I saw Paulina realize her mistake. Sometimes her jealousy escaped her control, though I already knew how to soothe it.Still, the damage had been done, and my anger was still burning.
"I'm sorry, love," she apologized, embarrassed.
Even with her apology, I still couldn't calm down.
"It's incredible that you think I could be interested in someone younger than me," I replied, indignantly.
"Love," Paulina called softly, "I'm younger than you," she reminded me.
I looked at her… of course, I knew. I had always known. But this was not an age difference like the one she was implying with that brat, who couldn't be older than twenty-one.
"Paulina, our age difference doesn't compare to hers. She could be my daughter," I said, not hiding my annoyance.
Paulina approached me, trying to calm me with a hug while softening her voice.
"Love, don't exaggerate. You're not fifty," she reminded me, attempting to joke. "I'm sorry, love…" she apologized again, this time clinging to me as if she feared her slip would ruin the night.
And although I was still upset, her hug, her scent, and the way she sought comfort began to slowly dismantle the anger that the situation had caused.
My wife wrapped her arms tighter around my neck and began to seduce me with that ease she always had to disarm me.
"I promise that when we get home, I'll make you forget this bad moment," she whispered seductively, brushing her lips against mine.
I smiled like an idiot; in reality, Paulina didn't even have to try to seduce me, because I had already fallen from the first second she touched me.
I was about to continue the flirting, letting myself get carried away by the heat of her closeness, when I don't know at what moment that brat appeared again. Suddenly, I felt her hand on my butt once more, with the same shamelessness as before. In that exact moment, I knew my wife wasn't going to let it slide again. Paulina lunged at her without thinking twice, starting the fight.
I tried to pull her away so she wouldn't keep hitting the girl, but in the struggle, I got scratched on the arm. That simple gesture ignited my wife's fury even more, and now she was completely out of control, as if defending me was her only mission in life.
Suddenly, another girl—apparently a friend of the brat—came looking for her. Seeing her friend fighting, she intended to join, but I managed to notice her movement.
"Help me separate them!" I begged desperately.
At least she listened. She tried to hold back her friend, preventing her from lunging at Paulina, but the situation was already out of control. Just then, a patrol car passed by, and the officers, seeing the scene, quickly got out.
"Paulina, let the girl go! They're going to arrest us!" I pleaded.But she didn't listen.
The police arrived, separated all of us, and that's when I noticed the brat probably had more than alcohol in her system; her behavior was completely erratic.
The officers pulled out their handcuffs to arrest us. I tried to speak to them, explain what had happened, but they refused to listen. Paulina, on the other hand, started telling them that we were just defending ourselves from a harasser.The mistake the officers made was not listening to her; feeling ignored, she exploded and yelled at them that they were incompetent fools, insisting that was why we ended up in the patrol car.
My wife just had to keep her beautiful mouth shut, but apparently, that was impossible.
When we arrived at the station, they took us to a different cell than the other two. On the way, my wife struggled with the guard, but this time with an even greater anger than before. It was clear she was outraged, in pain, and full of adrenaline.
The officer removed our handcuffs and grabbed Paulina's arm to put her in the cell. However, Paulina warned him not to touch her. The officer's mistake was ignoring her. As soon as he grabbed her, she reacted and headbutted him squarely in the forehead.
I was stunned by her action.
"I told you not to touch me!" she repeated, still upset.
"You just earned yourself another charge for assaulting an authority figure," the officer warned, furious.
"I told you…" Paulina tried to reply.
"Paulina, calm down, please," I pleaded as I entered the cell with her. "What are you doing?" I asked, both annoyed and bewildered.
The cell door slammed shut behind us, leaving us in tension and heavy breathing. We could hear the officer's footsteps fading away.
It took several minutes for Paulina to calm down; curiously, almost at the same time, another officer—different from the one she had hit—arrived to inform us that we were entitled to a phone call.
I went out to make it. However, I remembered I had left my phone in the car, so I asked if I could get the number from my wife's phone to make the call. The officer agreed and accompanied me to the phone.
But when I took Paulina's phone and tried to turn it on… it wouldn't start.It was dead.
For a moment, I thought it had to be a joke. A really bad one.
Now everything was going wrong, completely different from how things had been just a few hours earlier. The night that had started so perfectly had turned into a monumental disaster.
I went back to the cell to give my wife the bad news. When Paulina heard what had happened with the phone, her expression transformed into a mix of frustration, exhaustion, and resignation. She covered her face with her hands and muttered something I couldn't quite make out, but it was clearly not a compliment to anyone.
Later, when we finally got out and arrived at my in-laws' house, Paulina—somehow finding the courage or energy—told them everything. I expected her to sugarcoat the story a little, but no, she let it all out: the fight, the insults, the headbutt, and the cell included.
Everyone was incredulous. My sister couldn't believe that Paulina had done all that and not me. My mother-in-law was also bewildered; she knew her daughter was peaceful, but she also knew those jealous streaks that could cloud her judgment. For that reason, she didn't hesitate to scold her.
My sister, meanwhile, scolded me, though I didn't understand why. According to her, I had "allowed" her favorite sister-in-law to end up in jail. I couldn't see how that was my fault, since it had been my wife who had dragged us into that mess.
Alejandra just chuckled quietly throughout the entire explanation. In the end, she went to her room to tell her fiancé "the gossip about her aunts," in her own words, practically excited to have new material to tease us about for months.
My mother-in-law made us promise that we wouldn't get into trouble again. She said that when Gina called her to tell her we were in jail, she felt her heart stop; she didn't know if we were hurt or what had really happened. Of course, both of us promised not to worry her again.
My sister, dramatic as always, threatened me, saying that if I ever made her sister-in-law end up in jail again, she would rip my ear off. With that warning, we prepared to sleep. Or at least we tried, because we ended up on the floor of the study: all the bedrooms were already occupied.
The next day, the story of our arrest spread through the entire family like wildfire. Everyone was dying of laughter and kept insisting that I must have been the one insulting and hitting the officers, because "they couldn't imagine Paulina like that." Of course, because apparently, I always look suspicious.
That night, we returned to our home, although without our children. Paulina asked my mother-in-law to watch them for two more days so she could "make it up to me," and my mother-in-law happily agreed… though she reminded her of her promise not to call her again from a police station. My wife, embarrassed, simply nodded.
And I must admit, Paulina really did make it up to me. She didn't give me a moment of rest for two days; she left me completely exhausted, without even the strength to go get a glass of water. It was as if she wanted to erase every second of the previous night with sheer passion.
If the reward for spending a few hours in prison was two whole days alone with my wife, watching her behave like an insatiable wildcat… honestly, I could happily go back to prison again.