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.

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.