Six years drinking that lukewarm glass of honey while he called me “my little wife” in a velvety voice.
And the worst part wasn’t imagining him adding drops to the glass.
The worst part was thinking about all the nights I woke up dizzy, confused, with a dry mouth… and Diego, so sweet, saying to me:
“Oh, my love, it’s age. Your body doesn’t respond the same way anymore. I’ll take care of you.”
The house in Providencia welcomed me with its impeccable silence. Diego was in the living room, stretching on a mat, as always, as if the world were orderly and clean.
"How did it go, my little wife?" he asked with that serene smile that used to disarm me.
I forced myself to meet his gaze.
"Good. Just… a checkup."
He stood up and kissed my forehead.
"I told you. Taking care of you is the most important thing."
I felt nauseous, but I smiled. I smiled like someone putting on a helmet before going into battle.
That night, when he brought me the glass, I already had a plan.
