“I let the pill rest on my tongue, then slid it under my cheek and forced a sleepy smile. ‘Goodnight, love,’ my husband whispered, kissing my forehead as always. Minutes later, I heard the bedroom door creak open again. ‘She’s asleep,’ he murmured. But when I cracked my eyes open and saw who was walking into the room behind him, my blood ran cold… and I realized the pills were the least scary part.”

I had to make a superhuman effort not to sit up abruptly. My heart was pounding so hard I thought they could hear it. I remained motionless, breathing slowly, while they continued rummaging through my things. Javier pulled a blue folder from the back of the closet and let out a short laugh.

“Here it is,” he said.

Lucia approached immediately. “Is that the deed?”

“No, but it’s better,” he replied. “An old power of attorney, a copy of the life insurance policy, and the bank statements. With these, we can make a lot of progress.”

I didn’t know what hurt more: the fear or the humiliation. Javier hadn’t just been drugging me; he’d been plotting to take everything from me for some time. And Lucía, whom I’d helped financially more than once, was in deep trouble. I remembered little things that had previously seemed insignificant: calls that would drop as soon as I got on, family gatherings I was told not to attend because I “needed to rest,” strange activity on the joint account, and that comment Javier had made two weeks earlier: “Sometimes you don’t know what you’re doing when you’re so tired.” It wasn’t an observation. It was a rehearsal for his alibi.

I waited until they left the room. When I heard their footsteps coming down the stairs, I took the pill out of my mouth and wrapped it in a tissue. Then, slowly, my hands trembling, I picked up my phone and turned on the recorder. I got out of bed and went to the door. From the hallway, I could hear better.

“We need Elena’s signature on the sale, and as soon as possible,” Lucia said.

“I can get it,” Javier replied. “Tomorrow I’ll tell her they’re insurance documents. If she’s half asleep, she’ll sign wherever I tell her to.”

“What if she suspects something?”

There was a silence. Then her voice sounded lower, drier.

“Then we’ll call a friend of Arturo’s. The psychiatrist. A report, a crisis, temporary admission. No one doubts a woman when they already call her unstable.”

I put my hand to my mouth to stifle my noise. It was all there: the plan, the manipulation, the way to leave me homeless, penniless, and without any credibility. I kept recording for several more minutes, until I heard the sound of glasses clinking and a printer turning on in the office.