Laura lived alone in that city, which was so foreign to me. I had always tried to help her. The small house where she lived was part of my property, and I let her stay there rent-free out of compassion.
“Poor Laura,” I murmured. “She must be so lonely.”
I checked the time—two o’clock. My afternoon suddenly opened up, and an idea struck me: why not visit her? Segovia was only a couple of hours away if the traffic was kind. I could surprise her with her favorite stew and a basket of fresh fruit.
I called my driver, José—then I remembered he’d called in sick. So I took my red Mercedes and drove myself, imagining Laura’s face lighting up when she saw me. I even planned to call Ricardo later and tell him what a wonderful wife he was. I could already hear him congratulating me.
At five o’clock I arrived at the parking lot of a very elegant private hospital in Segovia. Laura had told me I was in VIP suite 305.
VIP.
That alone made me blink. Laura didn’t work. How did she pay for a room like that? But my optimism quickly patched up my suspicion. Maybe she had savings. And if not—it didn’t matter. I would pay.
With the fruit basket in hand, I walked through hallways that smelled of antiseptic, even though everything looked immaculate and expensive. My footsteps echoed on the marble. My heart wasn’t afraid—it was anxious.
The elevator rang on the third floor. I found room 305 at the end of a quiet, slightly secluded hallway. And as I approached, I noticed that the door wasn’t completely closed—only ajar.
I raised my hand to knock… and froze.
