“Goodnight, darling,” my husband, Javier, whispered, kissing my forehead as he always did. 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 heavy feeling that I’d wasted hours of my life. He always had an explanation ready: stress, anemia, exhaustion. He even insisted on accompanying me to the doctor to vouch for my symptoms. He was too attentive. Too proper.
That night, I decided to find out the truth.
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 the room. I opened my eyes just enough to see a silhouette standing behind him. It was my sister-in-law, Lucía. A brutal chill ran through my body. I couldn’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 metallic 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 process what was happening. They weren’t looking for hidden cash. They weren’t having an affair right in front of me. They were hunting for my documents: the deed to the house I’d inherited from my father, my bank statements, and my insurance file. The real reason for the pills hit me like a ton of bricks.
Lucía opened my bedside table and grabbed my laptop. “The password doesn’t work.”
“Try the date of your father’s death,” Javier said without hesitation.
