Doña Lola, 82, lived with her youngest son, Juan, and his wife, Ana.

Lately, her memory faltered. She often repeated the same questions. Behind her back, Juan and Ana whispered:

— “All that’s missing is her signing the house transfer, then we can send her away.”
— “She’s already confused, easy to trick, nothing to worry about…”

One afternoon, they took her to the notary under the pretense of signing a “health certificate.”
In truth, it was a deed transferring her house—worth more than 4 million pesos—into Juan’s name.

She signed. Without hesitation.

That very night, they told her bluntly:
— “Mom, go stay elsewhere for a while. We want to renovate the house to look more presentable!”

She lowered her head in silence.

Her husband, Don Pedro, too furious to speak, led her away under cover of night to stay with a distant nephew in the countryside.

But just 48 hours later, while Juan and Ana were busy “cleaning” their new property, a pickup screeched to a halt at the gate.

Doña Lola stepped down, wearing her cotton blouse and shawl, holding a tin of foul-smelling sauce. Calmly, she said:

— “You thought I was senile, but I only acted forgetful… and then…”

— “…and then I recorded all your plotting, including the fraudulent deed you tricked me into signing. I submitted everything to the land registry and the police. These last 48 hours, I wasn’t away—I was with a lawyer preparing to annul the contract and restore the house to my name. And this…”

She lifted the lid of the can. A sharp, revolting odor filled the house. Juan and Ana gagged, covering their noses.

— “This can is a gift… for you. I let this sauce ferment for two years. In this town, when someone misbehaves, everyone knows. I planned to throw it away, but instead, I’ll leave it here—to remind you that a tainted reputation is like this stench. No amount of wealth can wash it clean.”

Don Pedro entered, leaning on his cane. His voice was steady, cold:
— “Your parents need no riches from you. But never think greed can deceive the old. This house is your mother’s; if you want to keep it, you’ll have to cross my de:ad body first.”

Juan and Ana’s faces drained pale. They trembled.
— “Mom… mom… we just… only wanted to manage it…”

Doña Lola smiled faintly, her eyes shining with strength rare for an 82-year-old.

— “Manage it? Let’s see if the police, neighbors, and relatives believe that. I may be old, but not foolish. Children who betray their parents will be haunted by this stench all their lives. No matter how much they scrub, it will cling forever.”

The whole neighborhood gathered outside, murmuring. Juan and Ana bowed their heads in shame as the stench of rotting sauce filled the home—like a curse no one could escape.