I washed the sheets seven times and the strange smell of my husband persisted… but when I tore the mattress apart with my own hands, the truth that was there

Alejandro came down wearing the same clothes he had kept on when he left.

The suitcase had disappeared.

He looked up towards our window.

And even though I hid immediately, I knew something was wrong.

He knew it.

I don't know how.

But I knew that.

I heard his hurried footsteps at the entrance.

The key turned in the lock.

My body reacted before my mind.

I ran into the room and slipped the letter into my blouse.

I took Mariana's identity card and put it in my pants pocket.

I didn't think of that.

I just did it.

The front door opened suddenly.

"Lucía!" she shouted from the living room.

I didn't reply.

My breathing was so heavy that it betrayed me.

I heard his footsteps approaching.

A.

From there.

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 there.

Just the cutter on the ground.

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 betrayed no fear.

They demonstrated calculation.

He looked at the torn mattress.

The packages were opened.

The photos were thrown away.

Then he looked at me.

He didn't shout.

He wasn't pretending.

He didn't ask what that meant.

He simply closed the door behind him.

With confidence.

That click pierced my chest.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said.

I took a step back, pointing the box cutter at him.

—Do not approach.

He lowered his eyes to the cutter and let out a small, almost sad laugh.

—Lucía, listen. It didn't happen the way you think.

"Shut up!" I shouted, my voice breaking. "Who was Mariana? What did you do to her?"

For the first time, something moved on his face.

Irritation.

Fatigue.

Perhaps anger.

"She was my wife before you," he said. "And she still was legally. I was going to sort it out."

I felt like I couldn't breathe anymore.

In front of me.

Legally.

Eight years.

Eight years of living together with a married man.

But that wasn't even the worst part.

"The news report says she's disappeared," I whispered. "The letter mentions a road. Blood. An ambulance."

Her lips pressed tightly together.

He took a step towards me.

—It was an accident.

I gave another one upside down.

-I don't believe you.

"It was an accident!" he repeated, his voice louder. "We had an argument in the truck. She wanted to get out. It was raining. She slipped. She hit her head. There was blood everywhere. I... I panicked."

I stared at him, unable to blink.

—And you let her die.

His silence was the first response.

Then he spoke.

—He was no longer breathing.

—Did you call anyone?

He did not reply.

—Did you call anyone?!

-No.

The word fell like a stone.

No.

He didn't call.

He did not ask for help.

He gave no warning.

He was just cleaning.

He hid.

He traveled.

He lied.

And every night, she would lie down next to me while I breathed in the scent of another dead woman.

Then, in the distance, the sound of a siren could be heard.

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 going to collapse once and for all.

Because when he looked at me again, there was no explanation in his eyes.