The matriarch, Doña Elena, hadn’t closed her eyes all night. The lavish wedding of her only son, Mateo, to the sweet yet still unfamiliar Sofía had ended at dawn. The house was left in chaos, saturated with the smells of food, liquor, and the sweat of countless relatives who had danced cumbia until sunrise.
Even though her aching bones begged for rest, Doña Elena was already awake at 5 a.m., broom in hand. To her, a dirty house was an unforgivable sin. By 10 a.m., the tropical sun was blazing, yet not a sound came from upstairs, where the newlyweds were sleeping.
Doña Elena felt her blood boil. She planted herself at the base of the wooden staircase and bellowed in the thunderous voice that terrified her grandchildren:
—Sofia! Mateo! It’s time! Come down and help, this isn’t a hotel!
Nothing. The heat and her fury crept up her neck.
“Look, I may be old, but I’m not stupid! Up with those buttocks!” she shouted again, striking the railing.
Still nothing. Not even a creak.
Blinded by indignation, she fumed. What kind of daughter-in-law was this? Just arrived and already acting like royalty, sleeping late while her mother-in-law worked herself to the bone? Sweaty, exhausted, and at the end of her patience, Doña Elena stormed into the kitchen. Her gaze landed on the old, heavy wooden broom handle behind the door. She grabbed it like a weapon.
“Now they’ll see who’s boss in this house!” she muttered, charging up the stairs two at a time, breathless, her heart pounding in her ears. She was ready to drag them out of bed with the stick if she had to—a lesson that girl would never forget.
She burst into the bedroom without knocking. The air inside was hot and stale.
—But what a shame this is…! —The scream froze in her throat.
Her eyes flew open. The broom handle slipped from her sweaty hands and cracked loudly against the floor. Doña Elena clamped a hand over her mouth, suppressing a cry of pure horror.
The double bed looked like a scene from a nightmare. It wasn’t just messy. The white Egyptian cotton sheets—their most precious wedding gift—were smeared with large, dark red stains that resembled dried blood. And everywhere, like snow on a battlefield, white feathers were scattered, stuck to the damp patches. It looked as if someone had been slaughtered.
But the most terrifying sight was the people. Sofía was curled into a corner of the bed, pale as wax, shaking uncontrollably, her eyes swollen from crying, clutching the sheet to her chest. And Mateo… her Mateo, sat on the edge of the bed, bare from the waist up, struggling to breathe. His arms and chest were smeared with the same dark reddish substance, and his eyes stared at his mother in panic and utter exhaustion.
—Holy Virgin! My God, Mateo! What have you done? —Doña Elena croaked, backing into the wall as her legs nearly gave out.
Mateo leapt up, almost collapsing from dizziness when he saw his mother about to faint. Sofía broke into hysterical sobs, burying her face in the feather-covered pillow.
“Mom! No! Wait, it’s not what you think!” Mateo shouted hoarsely, lifting his stained hands. “It’s not blood, Mom, I swear!”
He pointed frantically at his chest. Beneath the sticky substance, his skin was violently red, covered in huge, inflamed welts.
“It was the comforter! That cursed goose-down comforter you gave us!” he cried in desperation. “I’m allergic, Mom! I couldn’t breathe! I felt like I was burning all night!”
Frozen, Doña Elena stared at the stains again. Now, looking closer, they were too thick, too dark to be fresh blood.
“And this… this is the achiote and herb mixture! The one Aunt Rosa made for muscle pain!” Mateo continued desperately. “It itched so badly I thought my skin would tear apart! Poor Sofía panicked. She remembered Grandma saying achiote helped with itching. She ran to the kitchen in the middle of the night, found the jar, and rubbed it all over me.”
Sofía lifted her head, her face streaked with tears and mucus:
—Doña Elena, please forgive me! Mateo couldn’t breathe! I thought he was going to die right there from shock! I didn’t know what else to do… I forgot to call you because I was so scared! Please forgive me!
Mateo wrapped his arms around his wife, both of them trembling.
—We spent the whole night scratching, trying to clean everything, changing the sheets three times, but it stuck to everything… Feathers were flying everywhere! We only managed to sleep about an hour ago, we’re exhausted. Mom, please forgive us!
Doña Elena stood like a pillar of salt. Her volcanic rage vanished instantly, replaced by crushing shame and pity. Her eyes dropped to the broom handle on the floor. She had climbed those stairs ready to strike the woman who had spent the entire night awake saving her son. And the cause of it all had been her own luxurious gift.
What had looked like a crime scene now revealed itself as a battlefield of love and desperation.
Slowly, she bent down and picked up the stick, using it like a cane to steady her shaking body. She approached the bed, touched her son’s burning shoulder, then looked at Sofía with a new, painful tenderness.
“Sofia… my dear…” her voice cracked. “Mateo is a grown man, but he’s still that same fussy, allergic child… What a terrible wedding night you had because of me. Daughter, forgive me. I’m an old witch.”
She turned to the ruined bed, suddenly resolute.
“Mateo, take your wife to the shower right now. I’ll find clean cotton sheets. And don’t even think about touching these. I’ll wash this mess myself until they’re white again!”
Later, in the laundry room, while Doña Elena scrubbed furiously at the achiote stains on the fine sheets, her fingers hit something hard beneath the mattress edge she had dragged aside to clean.
It wasn’t money. It was a thin manila envelope. Curiosity overpowered caution. She opened it.
Inside was a plane ticket. One way. Destination: Madrid, Spain. Issued in Mateo’s name, dated two months from now.
The world seemed to collapse on her all over again. Her heart twisted painfully as she crushed the ticket in her fist. Her eyes, moments earlier filled with guilty tears, darkened with poisonous suspicion.
Why was he hiding this? A ticket just for him? Was he planning to abandon Sofía after using her? Or was Sofía pushing him to distance himself from his mother, from his family?
Doña Elena’s face hardened. She slipped the ticket into her apron pocket. She needed the truth—and she needed it now.
When Mateo and Sofía finally came downstairs, clean but with deep circles under their eyes, the air was heavy. Doña Elena stood by the marble counter, arms crossed. She wasn’t cleaning. She was waiting.
“Mom, what’s wrong? You’ve got that same face you had when I broke Grandma’s vase,” Mateo joked weakly.
“There are worse things than breaking a vase, Mateo. Like breaking trust,” she replied coldly.
Mateo and Sofía exchanged uneasy looks.
“What do you mean, Doña Elena?” Sofía asked nervously.
Without a word, Doña Elena pulled the crumpled ticket from her apron and slammed it onto the marble counter. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the silent kitchen.
“Explain this to me! Right now!” she shouted, losing control. “A one-way ticket to Spain! Behind my back!”
Terror washed over Mateo’s face. He stared at the ticket, then at his mother, whose fury teetered on the edge of betrayal. Sofía lowered her head, sobbing again.
“Mom… I… I can explain…” Mateo began, pale.
“Shut up! Don’t call me Mom!” she snapped. “You just got married and you’re already running away like a coward? Leaving this poor girl behind? Is that what all this wedding was for—to humiliate the family?”
Mateo clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and met her gaze, bracing himself.
“I’m not running away, Mom. It’s an opportunity. The parent company in Madrid offered me a management position. It’s a career leap. A life project.”
“And why the secrecy? Why only one ticket?” Doña Elena spat with bitter sarcasm. “What kind of man leaves his newlywed wife to ‘succeed’ alone?”
Suddenly, Sofía lifted her head. Her eyes were red, but something fierce burned in them now. She took Mateo’s hand and stepped forward.
“Doña Elena, please don’t blame Mateo!” Her voice trembled, but it was firm. “It was me! I bought that ticket!”
Silence slammed down on the kitchen. Doña Elena stared at her, stunned.
Sofía angrily wiped her tears and spoke quickly, as if afraid of being stopped:
“That job in Madrid… it’s Mateo’s dream. But he turned it down. A month ago. In secret. He did it for you, Doña Elena—so you wouldn’t be alone now that you’re older. And for me, so we wouldn’t be separated as newlyweds. He wanted to fulfill his duty as a son and as a husband, here.”
She pointed at Mateo, who kept his eyes on the floor, ashamed of the sacrifice he had been willing to make.
“I couldn’t allow that. I secretly contacted his boss. I begged him to keep the offer open. He told me it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I want Mateo to succeed! I want him to soar!”
“But why do it in secret, child?” Doña Elena asked, her legs trembling once more.
“Because Mateo is stubborn and noble. If he knew I arranged it, he would never agree to leave me. I gathered my courage, used my savings, and bought the ticket. I planned to give it to him in two months, with everything prepared, and force him to go. Forgive me for lying to you, but I did it out of love for him!”
The kitchen sank into a heavy, deathlike silence. Doña Elena looked back and forth between her son, ready to give up his future for his mother, and her daughter-in-law, ready to sacrifice her own happiness for her husband’s success.
Tears filled the matriarch’s eyes again, but this time they burned differently—tears of overwhelming pride and deep regret.
Doña Elena took two firm steps forward and wrapped Sofía and Mateo in a crushing embrace, the kind that steals your breath.
“Oh, my children! What a magnificent pair of fools you are!” she sobbed openly. “Sofia, my daughter! I misjudged you so terribly! I thought you were spoiled, and instead you are a woman of immense courage and love! I almost hit you with a broom this morning—and you’re a saint!”
She pulled back, wiped her face with her apron, and looked at the ticket on the table. Her expression had transformed. The fury was gone, replaced by the resolve of a commander.
—Great! The drama is over. Mateo, you’re going to Madrid.
Mateo and Sofía stared at her, stunned.
—But Mom… and you? —Mateo asked.
Doña Elena burst into laughter—loud, genuine laughter that washed away the tension.
—Me? I’m Elena Vargas, Martínez’s widow! I’ve survived hurricanes, economic crises, and your father! I can take care of myself just fine!
She grabbed the ticket and waved it in the air.
—But this ticket is wrong. Very wrong.
She fixed Sofía with a knowing, bright smile.
“Because yours is missing, honey! You’re going with him! What kind of marriage begins apart? Not a chance! We’ll buy the other ticket tomorrow. The two of you are going to eat Serrano ham and make it big in Spain. And me… well, I’ll visit whenever I feel like crossing the ocean. Now let’s eat—lunch is getting cold!”
