PART 1
— You’re leaving this house in an hour… and if you love my mom so much, take her with you too.
Lucía felt the bucket of warm water slip from her hands. She was standing in the hallway, her apron still damp and the scent of hospital soap clinging to her clothes. She had just finished changing the sheets for Doña Mercedes, her mother-in-law — a woman who a year earlier had suffered a stroke that left her unable to speak and partially paralyzed.
Since then, Lucía had surrendered nearly everything to care for her. She was a nurse, yes, but she had never imagined she would end up washing, spoon-feeding, giving massages, and reading novels aloud to her husband’s mother while he barely appeared at the door.
“I can’t see her like this, Lu,” Javier said. “It depresses me. She smells of medicine, of old age, of death.”
And Lucía stayed silent. Because she believed pain made people awkward. Because she still believed that eleven years of marriage were worth protecting.
That night, Javier arrived with someone.
The woman’s name was Brenda. Dark-haired, young, with long nails and a white coat, and a look of distaste she made no effort to conceal as she stepped into the Narvarte apartment.
“Oh, Javi, it smells awful in here,” she said, covering her nose. “Are we really going to live with that woman?”
Lucía looked at her husband, waiting for some kind of explanation. Javier did not even have the decency to lower his eyes.
“Brenda is the woman I love,” he announced. “I’m done with this, Lucía. This house feels like a public hospital. There’s no laughter, no life, nothing. I’m still young. I want to actually live.”
— And what am I? — Lucía asked, barely above a whisper.
— You’re a good person, but you’re not my wife anymore. You’re a caregiver. And honestly, I wasn’t born to live surrounded by diapers, baby food, and medication.
Brenda tightened her arm around his.
“Besides, love, you promised we’d sort this out today. I’m not sleeping here with that woman breathing next to me.”
Lucía felt such a surge of rage that she could not even cry.
— Are you talking about your mother, Javier?
He shrugged.
— My mom doesn’t even notice anymore. She’s like a houseplant. It doesn’t matter where she is.
In the next room, the door was slightly ajar.
Doña Mercedes lay motionless on the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. No one would have noticed the tear sliding down her temple.
“The apartment is in my name,” Javier continued. “Well, legally it’s in my mother’s name, but I manage everything. You have nothing here. I’ll give you taxi money and you can go.”
Lucía swallowed.
— And who’s going to give your mother her insulin? Who’s going to change her in the middle of the night? Who’s going to reposition her so she doesn’t develop sores?
Brenda made a face.
— Ew, Javier. You said we’d hire someone.
“We’ll sort that out tomorrow,” he replied, irritated.
“Tomorrow?” Lucía stepped toward him. “She needs care today.”
Javier glanced at his mother’s room as though looking at an old piece of furniture he had grown tired of.
— Then take her with you. You know how to care for her. Besides, you’ve already grown attached, haven’t you?
Lucía stared at him in disbelief.
— Are you handing your mother over to me like a chair you no longer want?
— Don’t be dramatic. I’ll deposit something each month for her medication. But you’re both leaving today. Brenda and I need a fresh start.
Lucía walked into the room. Doña Mercedes was still, but her eyes were open and shining with pain and something that looked very much like fury.
Lucía sat beside her and wiped the tear from her cheek with the edge of the sheet.
“Forgive me, Doña Meche,” she whispered. “They’re throwing us out.”
Then something happened that made Lucía’s blood run cold.
Doña Mercedes’s left hand — the only one she could still control — gripped Lucía’s fingers tightly. It was not a reflex. It was not an involuntary movement. It was deliberate, conscious, and desperate.
Her eyes said what her mouth could no longer form.
Don’t leave me with him.
Lucía took a slow breath.
— I’m not going to abandon you. Even if it’s a borrowed room, you’re coming with me.
Two hours later, a private ambulance carried Doña Mercedes down the stairs. Javier did not come out to watch them go. From the kitchen came music, the sound of clinking glasses, and Brenda’s sharp laughter.
Lucía closed the door without looking back.
What Javier did not know was that Doña Mercedes was not a houseplant. Her body was broken, but her mind was intact. And she had heard every word.
Javier had also forgotten a small but lethal detail: the “Autopartes San Ángel” chain of auto parts stores, the delivery truck, the apartment, and the bank accounts were all registered in his mother’s name. He managed them only through a power of attorney that expired the following day.
No one could have anticipated what dawn would bring.
