“Honey,” he said, as if nothing had happened. “Let’s have breakfast, and then you can sign some papers for me, okay?”
I looked up at him with the best expression of weariness I could muster. “Of course,” I murmured, bringing a hand to my temple. “I didn’t sleep well.” Javier smiled, looking satisfied. He poured me coffee, appearing too kind and too calm, as if the night before he hadn’t rummaged through my things with his sister to steal my life away. The white folder remained on the table, just a few inches from my hand.
“It’s just a formality,” he said. “To reorganize some accounts and expedite the sale of the house.”
“The sale?” I asked, looking at the paper without touching it.
“We already talked about it,” he replied quickly. “You don’t remember because you’ve been very distracted lately.”
That phrase confirmed that he would continue using my “confusion” until it destroyed me. I slowly opened the folder. There were several documents mixed together: a bank authorization, a draft power of attorney, and an application related to the property. My signature was already forged on one of the pages—a crude imitation, but enough to show his intent. I felt rage finally overcome my fear.
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
Javier frowned. “Are you waiting for someone?”
I shook my head. He went to open the door. I first heard Marta’s voice and, almost simultaneously, another, firmer voice: “Civil Guard. Don’t close the door.” My whole body went limp with relief. Javier froze in the doorway. Lucía appeared from the hallway, pale, clutching her cell phone.
Everything happened very quickly after that. Marta came straight to me and hugged me. One of the officers asked that no one touch anything. I handed over the small bag with the pill, the tissue, the forwarded email, and the phone recording. Then I pointed to the folder on the table. Javier tried to smile, to talk about a misunderstanding, to say that I was upset and had been emotionally unstable for months. But it didn’t work. His own tone from the night before buried him: “If she doesn’t sign willingly tomorrow, we’ll make it look like a breakdown.”
