At 8:17 PM on a Friday, Renata Solís understood that the worst enemy doesn't always enter through the front door.

Sometimes they are already sitting at your table.

Doña Elvira had prepared a "special" dinner in her apartment in the Narvarte neighborhood of Mexico City. Chicken in dark sauce, red rice, salad, freshly warmed bolillos, and pot coffee.

Everything seemed normal.

A soccer game played in the background, and neighbors chatted behind open windows.

Until Renata brought her fork to her mouth and detected a smell she had known since childhood.

Peanut.

She froze.

Her allergy was severe. It wasn't an inconvenience or a "fussy habit," as her mother-in-law often claimed. A tiny amount could close her throat in a matter of minutes.

"Does this have peanut?" she asked.

Elvira smiled without looking up.

"Oh, dear, here you go again."

Renata looked at Mauricio, her husband.

He knew the risk perfectly well. He also knew the epinephrine auto-injector was inside the blue bag by the door, in the pocket where Renata kept her prescription and medical report.

Mauricio said nothing.

Then the burning began.

First on her tongue.

Then on her lips.

Followed by a brutal pressure in her chest.

Renata dropped her fork. Her breathing turned into a short, desperate whistle.

"Mauricio... the bag..."

He remained seated.

Pale.

With a spoon trembling between his fingers.

But he didn't move to help her.

Renata fell to her knees on the cold floor and crawled as best she could toward the entryway.

Doña Elvira stood up with a cup of coffee in her hand.

"Always ruining everything," she muttered. "The gatherings, the marriage, my son's life."

Renata reached out toward the bag.

Mauricio got there first.

He grabbed it.

And placed it on top of the bookcase, nearly touching the ceiling.

Out of her reach.

At that moment, Renata stopped thinking this had been an accident.

"My son deserves a woman who can give him children," Elvira said. "Not a sick, delicate, and terribly expensive woman."

Then she tilted her cup.

Hot coffee spilled onto Renata's legs.

She tried to scream, but barely any air came out.

Mauricio stepped back.

"Mom, stop..."

"Be quiet," Elvira replied with an icy calm. "You wanted the insurance, you wanted the apartment, and you wanted to get out of debt. Don't play the saint now."

Insurance.

The word hit Renata harder than the coffee.

Two months earlier, Mauricio had insisted on increasing her policy. He had also started hiding bank statements and talking way too much about "sorting out finances."

Renata raised her eyes.

On the very same bookcase where Mauricio had hidden the bag, a digital picture frame flashed with a blue light.

Once.

Twice.

Mauricio saw it.

And his face changed.

At 8:26 PM, the doorbell rang so hard that the glasses on the table vibrated.

Elvira stopped smiling.

From the other side of the door, a woman shouted:

"Renata! It's Lucía! Open up right now!"

Mauricio looked at the blue light.