“Goodnight, darling,” my husband, Javier, whispered, kissing my forehead as always. I closed my eyes and waited. I’d suspected for almost three weeks that he was sedating me.
Every morning I woke up groggy, with a dry mouth, a headache, and the feeling that I’d wasted hours of my life. He always had an explanation: stress, anemia, exhaustion. He even insisted on going with me to the doctor and vouching for me.
Too attentive. Too proper.
Barely ten minutes had passed when I heard the bedroom door open again. “She’s asleep,” Javier murmured.
The mattress dipped slightly, as if someone else had entered. I opened my eyes just enough to see a silhouette behind him. It was my sister-in-law, Lucía.
A brutal chill ran through my body. I didn’t understand what she was doing there at midnight. I held my breath.
“Hurry up,” she said softly.
“We can’t keep doing this much longer.”
Javier went to my closet. I heard the clang of a box and the rustling of papers. “I just need to find the original document,” he replied.
“Without it, the house is still in both our names.”
It took me a few seconds to understand. They weren’t looking for hidden money. They weren’t having an affair right in front of me.
They were looking for my documents: the deed to the house I’d inherited from my father, my bank statements, my insurance file. The real reason for the pills hit me like a ton of bricks.
Lucía opened my bedside table and took out my laptop. “The password doesn’t work.”
“Try the date of your father’s death,” Javier said without hesitation.
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