The next day, Daniel asked Mariana for something strange: “If anything happens to me, don’t sign anything. Not medical leave, not powers of attorney, not company papers. Nothing.”
Three days later, he fell down the workshop stairs.
The foreman told Mariana that Daniel had drunk a smoothie that one of Mauricio’s drivers had brought “on behalf of his mother.” Half an hour later, he felt dizzy, lost his balance, and hit his head.
At the hospital, Mauricio didn’t ask if his brother would wake up. He asked about the insurance policy.
Don Ernesto arrived with a medical document supposedly signed by Daniel, authorizing him to control his decisions. Then the private doctor, Dr. Fabián Rivas, appeared, saying that Daniel had “minimal brain activity” and that the best thing to do was take him home.
Mariana objected, but no one listened to her.
Now, six days later, the Urrutias were leaving for Madrid, leaving her alone with a man who might never wake up, a camera on the wall, a nurse recording his every move, and a notebook already filled with future predictions.
Mariana saw it by accident.
“7:30 p.m. Mariana administered a strong sedative.”
It was barely six in the evening.
“This isn’t over yet,” she told Brenda.
The nurse slammed the notebook shut.
Mauricio appeared behind her with a crooked smile. “How dramatic you are. You look like a woman searching for a conspiracy in a notebook.”
Before leaving for the airport, Don Ernesto placed several papers on the table.
“Sign every page of the registration. If anything happens to Daniel, everyone will know you were solely responsible.”
Mariana stared at her motionless husband.
Rebeca brought the bottle of pills closer. “Take them tonight. They’ll make you sleep. A tired widow makes mistakes.”
When the door closed and the SUVs disappeared, Mariana was left alone in that white mansion, with a camera recording her, a notebook accusing her, and a husband who seemed further from life with every breath.
