At the small apartment, I rang the doorbell. Miguel opened the door, and behind him stood the other woman, in a silk nightgown and bright red lipstick. I wheeled Doña Carmen into the living room, arranged the blankets and pillows, and set the medication bag on the table.
The house smelled strongly of perfume but felt cold and silent. Miguel stammered, “What… what are you doing?”
I smiled gently. “Do you remember? Mom is yours. I’m only your daughter-in-law. I cared for her for seven years—that’s enough.” The woman behind him went pale, still holding a spoon of yogurt she hadn’t eaten.
I stepped aside calmly, as if completing a long-planned task. “Here’s her medical history, prescriptions, diapers, pads, and cream for her sores. I’ve written down all the doses in the notebook.”
I put the notebook on the table and turned to leave. Miguel’s voice rose. “Are you abandoning my mother? This is cruel!”
I paused, without turning, and answered in a quiet, steady tone:
“You neglected her for seven years—what’s that, if not cruelty? I took care of her as my own family, not because of you, but because she’s a mother. Now I’m leaving—not out of reve:nge, but because I’ve done my part as a human being.”
I faced the other woman and looked her in the eyes, smiling softly. “If you love him, love him fully. This comes with the whole package.”
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