When I returned from the trip, still carrying the smell of the airport on my clothes and my head full of plans to hug my husband, I found the house silent. On the table lay a note in his handwriting—along with my mother-in-law’s: “TAKE CARE OF THIS SENILE OLD WOMAN.”

The USB drive had a tiny label: “Recordings.”

I imagined Javier and Pilar’s voices, secretly captured.

A nurse approached.

“Family of Dolores Navarro?”

I nodded.

She led me to a small room. Dolores was connected to several machines, her face calmer but very pale. Javier and Pilar arrived shortly afterward, breathing hard—they had finally decided to show up.

“There’s not much more we can do,” the doctor said. “Her heart is very weak. There are palliative options…”

Pilar spoke quickly:

“It’s best not to prolong this, doctor. She doesn’t even understand anything anymore.”

“Yes, she does,” I said, looking at Dolores. Her half-open eyes seemed to flash for a moment.

Later, when we were alone, I leaned close to her.

“I read the envelope,” I whispered. “I know everything.”

Her lips curved slightly, the smallest smile.

“The key…” she murmured. “In my blue robe… inside pocket.”

I remembered the robe hanging behind her bedroom door.

“The key to what?”

“To the safe… where you’d never expect it. That’s where… what will destroy them… is.”