"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.
