When I returned home, Ofelia’s car was parked near the garage.

She had moved in supposedly for a few months after a minor surgery.

That was eleven months ago.

She now referred to the guest room as her bedroom, rearranged my kitchen shelves, and complained whenever I came home later than Mark.

I found her upstairs with the drawers of my desk pulled open.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

She held one of my file folders in her hands.

“Mark needs the banking tokens.