I took a deep breath. And for the first time in six years, I said my name with all my might.
"I'm safe."
Diego tried to approach, but the man in the vest stopped him with an arm.
"Don't touch her."
Diego laughed, exasperated.
"This is ridiculous! She's confused! She's old! She's making things up!"
And I, without raising my voice, picked up the small jar I had been saving. I placed it on the table, next to the lukewarm glass.
"Confused?" I said. "Then explain this to me." Explain what you put in my drink. Explain why you wanted power of attorney to sell my house. Explain why you've been giving me "my little glass" for six years like it's some kind of ritual.
Diego opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
His eyes searched for the notary. The notary avoided his gaze.
The woman in the vest took the bottle with gloves.
"This will be secured."
Diego started talking fast, like a trapped child.
"It was to make her sleep! She doesn't sleep! I just wanted to help her! She's—"
"Shut up!" I heard myself say, and my voice filled the room without shouting, but with a sharpness I didn't know I possessed. "Don't say it was for me. If it were for me, you would have asked me. You wouldn't have medicated me like an old dog."
The words came out as if they finally had a way of escaping.
The man in the vest asked Diego for his ID. He was trembling.
"Laura…" he whispered, changing his tone, "my love… my little wife… can we talk, I—"
I looked at him the way you look at something dangerous that no longer inspires fear, only disgust.
"Don't ever call me that again."
My lawyer stepped forward.
"Mr. Ríos, you are hereby notified of a restraining order: you may not approach Mrs. Hernández or enter this property. Your belongings will be collected by a third party and under supervision."
Diego let out a broken laugh.
"And where am I supposed to go?!"
My answer was simple.
"Where those who use affection to steal go."
The scene unfolded quickly afterward. The officers took the jar, recorded information, and requested the glass as evidence. The "notary" practically ran off, muttering excuses.
Diego, on the other hand, stood frozen in the middle of the room as if he still couldn't believe the world didn't belong to him.
Before leaving, he glared at me with hatred.
"I took care of you," he spat. "No one will ever love you like I did."
I smiled, calm, tired, and free.
"I hope so."
When the door closed behind them, I didn't feel immediate joy. I felt emptiness. I felt the weight of all those years crashing down on me.
I sat down on the couch and looked at my hands again. This time they were truly mine.
That night I slept for the first time without honey, without chamomile tea, without “my little wife.”
I slept with plain water, in an ordinary glass, poured by me.
In the following weeks, everything came out. Diego wasn't just “a yoga instructor in love.” He had debts, a history of minor lawsuits, and “friendships” with people who knew how to navigate shady dealings.
His plan wasn't to kill me immediately, no… it was slower, dirtier: to make me seem fragile, to make me seem “unstable,” to gain power, to sell properties “for my own good,” and, eventually, to trap me in a narrative where I no longer had any say.
But what he hadn't counted on was my silence.
