“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 went back to the bedroom and carefully closed the door. I had to act immediately, but without letting them know I already knew. I opened my phone and sent three quick messages: one to Marta, my best friend; another to Sergio, my father’s lawyer; and another to my cousin Raquel, a Civil Guard officer stationed in another city, but always on the lookout. I simply wrote: “I’m in danger. Javier is drugging me. I have a recording. If I don’t answer before 10 a.m. tomorrow, come to my house or call the police.”

Then I hid the recording in the cloud, forwarded the files to an email address Javier didn’t know about, and put the pill in a small bag inside the lining of my purse. The hardest part was still to come: surviving breakfast and pretending I was still the docile, confused wife he thought he controlled.

At seven in the morning, Javier entered the spotless kitchen, smiling, with freshly made coffee and a white folder in his hand.

“Honey,” she said, as if nothing had happened. “Then we’ll have breakfast and you can sign some papers for me, okay?”

Part 3