“Give me that,” she snapped.
Julia moved faster.
The police officer stepped between them, and Renata froze with her hand in the air, her pretty mask finally cracking in front of everyone.
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
Emiliano handed Julia the folded paper.
You remembered writing it.
You had done it late at night at the kitchen table while Darío showered upstairs. Your hands had trembled then, not because you were certain he would hurt you, but because you were terrified you had finally become the kind of woman who needed escape plans. You had written down bank accounts, document locations, and one sentence you hoped nobody would ever need.
If I am injured, missing, or declared incapable, do not trust Darío or Renata.
Julia unfolded the paper.
She read it once.
Then she looked at Darío.
“Security, nobody leaves this room until the officer takes statements.”
Darío’s face darkened.
“You cannot hold me here.”
“No,” Julia said. “But he can ask why you requested withdrawal of medical support less than twenty-four hours after your wife showed signs of neurological response.”
The officer took out a notebook.
Renata pressed a hand to her throat.
“What neurological response?”
Doctor Herrera entered at that moment, his white coat open, his expression tight with controlled anger.
“Isabel’s brain activity improved yesterday evening,” he said. “We informed Mr. Darío that continued care was medically justified. He became aggressive and demanded another opinion.”
Your mind flashed back.
Yesterday evening.
You had heard voices, distant and underwater, but you had not understood. You remembered Darío swearing somewhere near the doorway. You remembered Renata telling him to calm down because “the papers mattered more than the machines.”
Now Julia knew.
Everyone knew.
Darío suddenly looked toward your bed.
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