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Her family suspected her romantic partner, but there was not enough evidence.
The police continued their investigation.
I felt the ground disappear beneath my feet.
Alejandro wasn’t cheating on me with a living woman who was waiting for him to leave his wife.
No.
Alejandro had hidden from me, literally under my body, the dirty remains of a story that smelled of crime.
And then I understood where that sour smell was coming from.
It wasn’t just humidity.
It wasn’t dirt.
It was clothing that had been stored wet for weeks.
Clothes with old blood on them.
Clothes with fear.
Clothing of a missing woman.
I got up as best I could.
I had to get out of that room.
I had to call the police.
I picked up the phone from the small table, but just then the screen lit up.
**Alejandro calling.**
I froze.
The phone vibrated in my hand like a trapped animal.
I didn’t answer.
The call was cut off.
A second later a message came in.
**“The meeting was canceled. I’m going back. I’ll be back in two hours.”**
Two hours.
I looked at the open mattress.
The packages.
The photos.
The letter.
Everything was scattered on the floor as if the truth had exploded inside my house.
I panicked.
I dialed 911 with clumsy fingers.
When an operator finally answered, my words got all jumbled up.
I gave him my name.
The address.
I said I had found evidence related to a missing woman.
I said the name Alejandro.
I said Monterrey.
I said blood.
The woman on the other end of the line asked me not to touch anything else.
That she leave the room.
That a patrol car was on its way.
“Don’t stay alone with him if he arrives early,” she repeated. “Do you understand? Don’t go near your husband.”
Yeah.
I understood.
Too late.
I put my phone away and wanted to run into the street, but I stopped dead in my tracks.
My purse was on the dresser.
And inside the bag, the car keys.
I took them.
That’s when I heard something that emptied my soul.
The sound of an engine entering the street.
I approached the window, barely parting the curtain.
Alejandro’s truck turned and stopped in front of the house.
Not two hours later.
Now.
Now.
I didn’t even have time to breathe.
The car door swung open.
Alejandro came down wearing the same clothes he had left in.
The suitcase was gone.
He looked up at our window.
And although I hid immediately, I knew something was wrong.
He knew.
I don’t know how.
But I knew it.
I heard his hurried footsteps at the entrance.
The key turned in the lock.
My body reacted before my mind.
I ran to the bedroom and put the letter inside my blouse.
I took Mariana’s ID and put it in my pants pocket.
I didn’t think.
I just did it.
The front door swung open.
“Lucía!” she shouted from the living room.
I didn’t answer.
My breathing was so heavy it gave me away.
I heard his footsteps approaching.
A.
Of the.
Three.
They stopped just on the other side of the bedroom door.
—Lucía—he said this time in a low voice—. Open up.
I looked around for something to defend myself with.
There was nothing.
Just the cutter on the floor.
I picked it up with a trembling hand.
The door opened slowly.
Alejandro appeared in the frame.
And for the first time in eight years I didn’t see my husband.
I saw a stranger.
Her eyes showed no fear.
They showed calculation.
He looked at the ripped mattress.
The open packages.
The photos were thrown away.
And then he looked at me.
He didn’t scream.
He wasn’t faking it.
He didn’t ask what that meant.
He just closed the door behind him.
With insurance.
That click pierced my chest.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said.
I took a step back, pointing the box cutter at him.
—Don’t come any closer.
He looked down at the box cutter and let out a short, almost sad laugh.
—Lucía, listen. It didn’t happen the way you think.
“Shut up!” I yelled, my voice breaking. “Who was Mariana? What did you do to her?”
For the first time, something moved on her face.
Irritation.
Fatigue.
Perhaps anger.
“She was my wife before you,” he said. “And she still was legally. I was going to fix it.”
I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
Before me.
Legally.
Eight years.
Eight years living with a married man.
But that wasn’t even the worst part.
“The news report says she disappeared,” I whispered. “The letter mentions a road. Blood. An ambulance.”
Her lips pressed together.
He took a step towards me.
—It was an accident.
I gave another one backwards.
-I don’t believe you.
“It was an accident!” he repeated, louder. “We argued in the truck. She wanted to get out. It had been raining. She slipped. She hit her head. There was blood everywhere. I… I panicked.”
I stared at him without being able to blink.
—And you let her die.
His silence answered first.
Then he spoke.
—He wasn’t breathing.
—Did you call anyone?
He didn’t answer.
—Did you call someone?!
—No.
The word fell like a stone.
No.
He didn’t call.
He didn’t ask for help.
He didn’t give any warning.
He only cleaned.
He hid.
He traveled.
He lied.
And she lay down beside me every night while I breathed in the scent of another dead woman.
Then the sound of a siren was heard in the distance.
Very weak.
But real.
Alejandro heard it too.
He turned his head for barely a second.
And at that moment I knew that everything was about to break down once and for all.
Because when he looked at me again, there was no explanation in his eyes.
There was a decision.
And he took another step towards me.