My own children sold me like an old piece of furniture while I pretended to be asleep, listening to every poisonous word that came out of their rotten mouths. When the old woman dies in the nursing home, we’ll split everything fifty-fifty, Rafael whispered to Paola as he counted the bills he had just taken out of
My safe.
I hope it doesn’t take too long. I’m tired of pretending I love her, my daughter-in-law replied, that viper I welcomed into my home as a daughter. There I was, Elena, 66 years old, hiding behind my own bedroom door, watching my children plot my death like someone planning a vacation.
Brenda held my will in her filthy hands, laughing because she thought she’d hidden it well. “Look at this, brother. It says here that he’s leaving us all even. Good thing he never found out we’d already read it.” The smell of betrayal filled my house, mingling with Paola’s cheap perfume and…
The smoke from the cigarette Rafael was smoking hung over my green velvet sofa.
I know I bought it when they were children and I still believed in family love. The light from the crystal lamp that had belonged to my mother illuminated their demonic faces as they divided my life like butchers. “The nursing home in Madrid is already paid for six months,” Brenda said, checking her phone.
By the time the money runs out, he’ll be so sick he won’t even realize what’s happening. The three of them laughed like ravenous women. And I felt something die inside my chest. It wasn’t my heart, it was my faith in humanity. Paola took my pearl necklace out of the jewelry box, the same one that had belonged
He gave it to my grandmother and put it on in front of the mirror as if it were already his. “
This goes perfectly with my dress from my sister’s wedding,” he murmured, caressing each pearl that held more history than his entire family combined. Rafael clapped like a seal. “You look beautiful, love. That necklace always looked better on you than on the old lady.” The word “old lady” came out of my own son’s mouth like
A spit.
That child I raised with love, whom I fed with my own milk, whom I cared for when he had pneumonia and the doctors said he could die. That same child now called me old, as if I were trash to be thrown away. My body trembled with suppressed rage as I watched Brenda open my photo albums.
He would take photos and throw them one by one in the trash. Forty years of memories, of first smiles, first steps, happy birthdays.
Everything went straight to the garbage as if it had never existed. “Why would she want photos? Where are they going?” he said with a cruelty that chilled me to the bone. Rafael opened my laptop and began checking my bank accounts with a smile that made my stomach churn. “Look at this. The old lady has more money than…”
that we were thinking. We can buy the Aentias apartment on the beach that Paola wanted so badly.
My daughter-in-law jumped for joy like a spoiled child. Yes. And we can also take that trip to Europe that we could never afford. Europe with my money, apartment with my earnings, luxuries with my sacrifice, all paid for with the blood of a woman who worked herself to death to give them a better life, that they
She forgot herself so they could have everything.
And this is how they repaid me, plotting my exile while they spent my inheritance before I was even dead. The living room clock struck 11 p.m. when Paola asked, “What if the old woman resists tomorrow?” Rafael laughed with a wickedness that made me tremble. It’s all arranged.
Dr. Mauricio is going to help us. We’ll say she has senile dementia and can’t take care of herself. The paperwork is ready. Mauricio, my trusted doctor. Ela, the same one who had cared for my health for 15 years, was also in on the plot. The man I confided in about my pain, my fears,
My medical secrets.
He had betrayed me for a few bills. My own doctor was going to claim I was crazy to justify my forced deportation. That night I couldn’t close my eyes. I lay awake in my bed—that bed where I had wept for my husband’s death, where I had dreamed of watching my grandchildren grow up, where
I had planned to grow old with dignity.
Now that bed felt like a coffin, awaiting my burial alive. Morning arrived like a death sentence. I woke with the bitter taste of betrayal still stuck in my throat, pretending I’d slept well when in reality I’d spent the entire night plotting how
to escape the trap my own children had set for me. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen.
The same coffee I had made for them for decades, and now they were making it to celebrate my living funeral. Brenda knocked on my bedroom door with those soft knuckles that used to soothe me, but now sounded like hammer blows. “Good morning, Mom. How did you sleep?” Her fake voice,
Sweetened like poisonous honey, it made me nauseous.
I got up slowly, feigning the fragility they wanted to see, while inside I seethed with suppressed rage. I went downstairs, gripping the banister like a helpless old woman. Every step calculated so they wouldn’t suspect I’d uncovered their diabolical plan. The room was exactly
Just like the night before, but now everything looked different in the daylight.
My furniture, my memories, my whole life seemed foreign to me, as if they no longer belonged to me. Rafael was sitting in Emma’s favorite armchair, reading the newspaper with the tranquility of someone who has already won the war. He was wearing the blue shirt I had given him for Father’s Day, that
The same shirt that now looked like a loving son’s disguise.
“Good morning, Mom,” he said without looking up from his newspaper, as if it were a normal day and not the day I was going to be exiled forever. Paola was in the kitchen preparing breakfast, using my fine china plates, the ones I only brought out on special occasions. How ironic that my
My last breakfast at home was served on the china reserved for special occasions. “
I made your favorite toast, Mother-in-law,” she said with that fake smile I now recognized as pure acting. I sat at the table where I had eaten breakfast for 30 years, where I had celebrated so many birthdays, where I had cried so many tears, and which would now witness my last meal as a woman.
Free. The bread tasted like cardboard, the orange juice was sour. Everything had lost its flavor since I discovered the truth about my children. “
Mommy, we have a surprise for you,” Brenda announced in that sing-song voice she used as a child after getting into mischief. She pulled a gold envelope from her purse, one of those used for elegant invitations. “We’re giving you a trip to Spain, to a beautiful place where you’ll meet people from your own family.”
age and you’ll be super comfortable.
The envelope contained my sentencing documents disguised as a gift, plane tickets, asylum information, medical authorizations, all perfectly planned to look like an act of filial love instead of the crime it really was. The photos of the place showed perfect gardens and
The rooms were bright, but I knew it would be my gilded cage.
I don’t want to go anywhere, I told them in the firmest voice I could muster. I’m fine here at home. Rafael slammed the newspaper down on the table, making the cups rattle. Mom, you can’t live alone anymore. You forgot to turn off the gas yesterday. You could have caused an explosion.
Lies. I had never forgotten anything.
But that would be her excuse to the world. Paola came closer and took my hands with that fake tenderness she had perfected over the years. “Elena, my love, it’s for your own good. There you’ll have nurses 24 hours a day, activities, home-cooked meals, everything you need at your age.” At my age, as if 66 years old
“It was synonymous with mental incapacity,”
Brenda added, fiddling with her phone. “We already spoke with Dr. Mauricio, and he agrees. He says I need constant medical supervision.” Mauricio’s name slipped out of her mouth like another stab wound. “My trusted doctor, the man who knew every one of my ailments, every single one of…”
My worries were over; he had betrayed me for money.
Rafael stood up and began pacing the room like a caged lion. “The plane leaves this afternoon, Mom. Everything’s arranged. There’s no going back.” This afternoon I had only a few hours of freedom left before being deported like a criminal to a foreign country where I would die alone and forgotten. And
What if I don’t want to go? I asked, knowing the answer, but needing to hear it from their own lips.
The three of them exchanged a knowing glance, like criminals who had rehearsed every move. “It’s not optional, Mom,” Brenda replied with a coldness that chilled me to the bone. “We’ve already signed all the legal papers. We’re your guardians. Now guardians.” My own children had…
They had become my owners while I slept, trusting in their love. They had used my trust, my unconditional love, my blind faith in the family to legally enslave me. It was the masterstroke of a perfect scam.
[Music] Paola came up to my room to help me pack, but really it was to make sure I didn’t take anything valuable. She checked every drawer, every corner, every hiding place where I might have kept jewelry or important documents. “You don’t need so much stuff, Elena,” she kept saying to me while
She divided my life into two piles: what they would let me take and what would stay with them.
My family photos went straight into the trash pile. “They’ll have activities to keep you busy there. You won’t have time for nostalgia,” she explained as she threw away my wedding photo, Rafael’s birth photo, Brenda’s first day of school photo, 40
Years of family history deleted like computer spam.
The smell of my house was fading, replaced by Paola’s aggressive perfume and the disinfectant they’d used to clean up every trace of my presence. It was as if they were erasing me from the map before I even left. Setting the stage for a life without Elena. The most
The humiliating moment arrived when there was a knock at the door and Dr. Mauricio appeared with his black briefcase and that smile that used to calm me.
“Elena, my dear, how are you?” he asked in that syrupy voice I now recognized as pure falsehood. He had come to examine me so I could sign the papers that would certify my supposed dementia, the document that would legalize my kidnapping. “Sit here, Elena,” he said, pointing to the sofa where I had so often sat.
I greeted my guests.
Now I was the unwelcome guest in my own living room. Mauricio opened his briefcase with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times, taking out medical instruments that gleamed in the light like butcher knives. Rafael sat beside me, taking my arm with that feigned tenderness he always gave me.
Disgusting. Calm down, Mom.
The doctor just wants to make sure you’re okay for the trip. The trip. What a pretty word to disguise a forced exile. Paola was recording everything with her phone, creating evidence of her concern for my well-being. Elena, do you remember what you had for breakfast today? Mauricio asked me while taking notes