It seeped into the room the way dampness creeps into walls—quietly, patiently, until one day it is everywhere and you can no longer remember what the air used to feel like before it changed.

And a sheet folded in four, handwritten.

I immediately recognized Alejandro’s handwriting.

I opened it.

The first lines made the cold rise up to the back of my neck.

“Mariana, if you’re reading this, it’s because something went wrong. I couldn’t keep supporting both lives much longer. Lucía started to get suspicious. The smell won’t go away, no matter how hard I try. I thought that wrapping everything up and putting it in the mattress would buy me a few days…”

I had to stop reading.

My hands were sweating.

My heart was beating so hard I could hardly see.

I refocused my vision and continued.

“I know you told me to take those things out of the house, but I couldn’t take them in the truck. I’ve had enough trouble cleaning the seat and the trunk. When I sort out the Guadalajara situation, I’ll go with you. I just need time so no one puts two and two together.”

Nobody connects the dots.

That sentence left me speechless.

She didn’t say “separate.”

It didn’t say “divorce”.

He didn’t say “explain the truth to her.”

He said that nobody should connect the dots.

I continued reading, my breath catching in my throat.