The other thing was what Lucía had tried to hide. With the hospital's permission, and because I was listed as an emergency contact, I was able to speak to the social worker. Lucía wasn't just exhausted: she was devastated. She'd arrived with severe anxiety, dehydration, and a collapse that the doctors had called "prolonged stress collapse." But the stress wasn't "work-related," as Javier kept telling everyone.
The next morning, I checked Lucia's purse, which they'd given me at reception. Among receipts and business cards, I found a small notebook with notes: overdue payments, loans, and a sentence underlined three times: "I can't say anything. He's getting angry." There were also printed screenshots of bank transfers: large sums leaving the joint account and going to a company I didn't recognize.
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