That morning, Madrid looked grayer than usual. The sky hung low over the city, dull and heavy, yet my mood felt oddly bright.
My name is Sofia.
Standing in our luxurious suite in La Moraleja, I carefully smoothed the tie around my husband Ricardo’s neck while he stood straight before the enormous mirror.
For five years, that house had witnessed what I believed was a happy marriage.
At least… that was the illusion I lived in until that day.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to prepare anything for the trip?” I asked gently, patting his chest.
“Valencia is quite far.”
Ricardo gave me the reassuring smile I had always trusted—the one that could instantly quiet any doubt in my mind. Then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on my forehead.
“No, darling,” he said warmly.
“I’m already running late. The client in Valencia needs an urgent meeting tonight.”
He adjusted his jacket and looked at himself proudly in the mirror.
“This project is important for my portfolio. I want to prove to your father that I can succeed without hiding behind your name.”
I nodded, feeling proud of him.
Ricardo was a hardworking husband.
Or at least… that’s what I believed.
In reality, the company he claimed to be building was funded entirely by me.
The Mitsubishi Montero he drove?
Mine.
The designer suits he wore so confidently? Also paid for with my money.
All of it came from the dividends of the company I had inherited—and now managed myself.
But I never complained.
Because in my mind, marriage meant sharing everything.
What belonged to me also belonged to him.
Right?
“Be careful,” I told him softly as he picked up his keys. “Text me when you arrive at the hotel.”
“Of course,” he replied.
Then he walked out the door.
I stood there watching him disappear behind the heavy carved oak entrance.
For a brief moment, a strange tightness formed in my chest.
A quiet warning.
But I brushed it aside.
Maybe it was just the slightly guilty relief of knowing I’d have the house to myself for a few days.
Later that afternoon, after finishing several meetings at the office, my thoughts drifted to Laura—my best friend since college.
The day before, she had sent me a message.
She had been admitted to a hospital in Segovia with acute typhoid fever.
Laura lived alone in that city, far from family or close friends. Over the years, I had tried to support her however I could.
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