Part 2
“Turn it off, turn it off right now!” Julián shouted, lunging for his mother’s phone.
But it was too late.
The live stream had been running for several seconds. The Salgado family group chat included uncles, cousins, sisters-in-law, and even a niece living in Monterrey. They had all seen Doña Amparo standing in the middle of the living room, face contorted with horror, while Fernanda held her with a strength born of pure maternal instinct.
“Let her go!” Julián shouted.
“First, let her explain why she wanted to humiliate my son on his birthday,” Fernanda replied.
Doña Amparo coughed, cried with rage, and flailed her arms as if she were the victim of a catastrophe.
“She assaulted me! She attacked me!” she managed to shout.
Don Ernesto stood in front of Fernanda.
“You were the one who attacked first. A five-year-old boy.”
Julián’s phone began vibrating without stopping.
“What’s wrong with your mom?” “Was that for the boy?” “Julián, answer me.” “Amparo has lost her mind.”
Julián ended the broadcast, but the damage was already done.
Doña Amparo looked around, realizing that her private drama had turned into a family scandal. Shame made her tremble.
“You’ll pay for this, Fernanda,” she spat. “You took my dignity.”
Fernanda held Mateo, still crying against her chest.
“You tried to take it from a child.”
Doña Amparo stormed out, slamming the door. Julián tried to follow her, but Fernanda blocked his path.
“Are you going after her?”
“She’s my mother.”
“And Mateo is your son.”
Julián said nothing.
That silence was worse than any answer.
The party ended in pieces. Doña Clara bathed Mateo and changed his clothes. Don Ernesto took the box to the trash. Fernanda tried to save the birthday with the cake, but the boy barely blew out the candles. He didn’t ask for music. He didn’t want to open more presents. He only asked:
“Mom, was I bad?”
Fernanda knelt before him.
“No, my love. You didn’t do anything wrong. Adults who hurt children are the ones who are wrong.”
Mateo looked at his father from across the room.
“Is Dad sick too?”
Julián lowered his gaze.
That night, after Mateo fell asleep hugging his stuffed dinosaur, Fernanda closed the bedroom door and went to the kitchen. Julián sat with his phone in his hand, reading messages.
“My aunt Rosa says Mom isn’t answering. My cousin is going to check on her.”
“Let him go.”
“Fernanda, this got out of hand.”
She let out a bitter laugh.
“This? You mean your mother brought garbage as a birthday gift for your son?”
“I didn’t know she was going to do that.”
Fernanda went still.
“What do you mean you didn’t know she was going to do that?”
Julián clenched his jaw.
“Mom told me she wanted to teach him a lesson. That Mateo was growing up without boundaries. I thought it would be a serious talk — not… that.”
Fernanda felt the floor disappear beneath her feet.
“So you knew she was planning to humiliate him.”
“Don’t put it like that.”
“How would you like me to put it? As ‘family education’?”
Julián stood up.
“I was raised the same way and I didn’t die.”
“You didn’t die, but look at what you’ve become. A man who watches his son crying and goes looking for his mother.”
Julián’s face hardened.
“You know nothing about my childhood.”
“Then tell me.”
He stayed silent too long.
“Tell me, Julián.”
“My mom was strict. Fine.”
“No. That’s not strict. That’s sick.”
Julián slammed his palm against the table.
“She made me strong!”
Fernanda looked at him with sadness.
“No, Julián. She made you obedient to fear.”
Before he could respond, the doorbell rang.
It was nearly eleven at night.
Julián opened the door and found himself face to face with a tall man — gray-haired, black jacket, tired eyes.
“Raúl,” Julián murmured.
Fernanda recognized her husband’s older brother immediately. She had seen him only a few times; he lived in Querétaro and almost never attended family gatherings.
“I came as soon as I saw the video,” Raúl said. “I can’t stay silent anymore.”
Julián went pale.
“Don’t start.”
Raúl walked in without asking permission.
“Of course I’m going to start. Because your mother did to Mateo exactly what she did to us.”
Fernanda felt a chill move through her.
Raúl sat down across from them.
“When I was eight years old, Amparo gave me a box with a dead rat in it because I said I didn’t want to pray before bed. When Julián was six, she made him kiss rotten food because he got his shoes dirty playing soccer.”
“Stop,” Julián whispered.
“No. Not anymore. She used to lock us in the laundry room, leave us without dinner, and tell us that boys had to endure disgust, hunger, and fear to become men.”
Fernanda covered her mouth.
“And nobody did anything?”
Raúl smiled bitterly.
“My dad left. The neighbors heard and said it was a family matter. I left as soon as I could. Julián stayed and turned the abuse into a tradition.”
Julián’s eyes were full of tears, but he kept shaking his head.
“She loved us.”
“No, brother,” Raúl said. “She enjoyed watching us be humiliated.”
At that moment, the bedroom door opened.
Mateo appeared in his pajamas, pale and barefoot.
“Mom, I dreamed about the box again.”
Fernanda rushed to hold him.
Raúl looked at Julián with unbearable directness.
“Look at him carefully. That child has already started carrying something that isn’t his to carry.”
Mateo looked up at his father.
“Dad, did you know Grandma was going to give me a bad present?”
Julián opened his mouth. No words came.
That silence answered the child.
Mateo moved behind Fernanda.
“Then you scare me too.”
Julián sank into a chair as if he had finally understood everything.
Fernanda took a breath and said the words that had been building inside her for hours:
“I’m going to see a lawyer tomorrow.”
Julián looked up, terrified.
“For what?”
Fernanda held Mateo closer.
“To file for divorce and request that you not be permitted unsupervised time with our son until you seek help.”
Just as Julián was about to plead, Raúl’s phone rang. A neighbor of Doña Amparo.
Raúl answered, listened for a few seconds, and went pale.
“What happened?” Fernanda asked.
Raúl looked at Julián.
“Your mother is locked in her apartment — and she’s threatening to report Fernanda for assault.”
The worst was still to come.
