Miguel and I have been married for seven years. Our marriage has not been a fairy tale, but I have always tried my best for our son, for the home he has chosen. From the day we got married, I agreed to live with my mother-in-law, Doña Carmen, a woman who had a stroke, was paralyzed on one side and needed attention for every meal and every dream. At first, I thought it would be simple: she was my mother-in-law, I was her daughter-in-law, and it was my duty to take care of her. But I did not expect that this burden would last so long, and the most painful thing was that it came from the person who was supposed to share it with me: my husband Miguel.
Miguel worked and, when he came back at night, he stayed playing with his phone. All the care for his mother, food, water, medicine, I took care of myself. He said, “You are better at taking care of Mommy than I am. If I do this, she will suffer more.” I do not blame him.
I thought it was simple: the wife takes care of the house, the husband does the work. But I learned that Miguel doesn’t just work. I have something else. It all happened when I accidentally saw a message: “Tonight I’m coming back. Being with you is a thousand times happier than being at home.” I didn’t scream or cry. I didn’t fight.
I just asked him calmly, “What are you going to do with your mother, who you’ve ignored for so many years?” Miguel was silent. The next day, he moved out. He knew he had been with that woman. Despite my calls and messages, he didn’t answer. Doña Carmen, who was lying on the bed in her room, didn’t know anything. She still believed that her son was busy at work and would be back in a few days.
I looked at her, at the one who had once criticized every bite she ate and every sleep she had, and told me that she was “not worthy of being his daughter-in-law.” I felt a lump in my throat. I wanted to leave everything, but I thought: a person should have dignity. A week later, I called Miguel: “Are you free? I’ll take care of your mother.” On the other end of the line, there was a few seconds of silence, and then he hung up. That afternoon, in silence, I cleaned Doña Carmen, changed her clothes, and folded her bed.
I put her medications, hospital papers, and an old medical notebook on a cloth. That evening, I put her in a wheelchair and said softly, “Mom, I’m going to take you to Miguel’s house for a few days so you can get some fresh air. Being in one place all the time is boring.” She nodded calmly and her eyes sparkled like a child. Little did she know that she would soon be “returned” to her own son, who had decided to abandon her.
When I arrived at a small apartment, I rang the doorbell. Miguel opened the door, and inside was another woman, wearing a silk nightgown, with red lips. Both of them were speechless when they saw me pushing the wheelchair, with Doña Carmen sitting in it, with an expression of joy. I slowly pushed the wheelchair into the living room, arranged the blankets and pillows, and placed the medicine bag on the table. The house smelled of perfume, but the silence was cold. Michael sighed, “What are you doing?” …
I smiled, very calmly: “Don’t you remember? Mom is yours. I’m just your daughter-in-law. I’ve taken care of her for 7 years, that’s enough.” The woman behind Miguel, pale-faced, still had a spoonful of yogurt in her hand that she hadn’t put in her mouth yet. She glanced quickly at the wheelchair and Doña Carmen, who still didn’t understand what was happening and smiled innocently at the sight of her child. Miguel approached, awkwardly, and tried to grab my hand to stop me.
I stepped aside, calm as if I were finishing a task I had planned for a long time. “Here’s the medical history, the monthly prescription, the diapers, the towels, and the sore cream. I wrote all the doses in the notebook.”
I put the notebook on the table and turned to leave. Miguel approached, his voice noticeably rising: “Are you going to leave my mother? What you’re doing is inhumane!” I stopped, without looking around, stood for a few seconds, and then replied in a low voice: “You ignored her for seven years, what do you call that? I took care of her like my own family, not for you, but because she was a mother. But now I’m leaving, not out of anger. Alone… I’ve done my part as a human being.” I turned and looked the other woman straight in the eyes, smiling calmly: “If you love her, love her completely. This is part of the package.”
Then I took out a document from the house ownership and placed it on the table: “The house is in my name only. I’m not taking anything. She just took her clothes. But if in the future they need money for Mom’s medical bills, I’ll still contribute a part of it.
Because I’m a decent daughter-in-law.” Then I bent down and stroked my mother-in-law’s hair one last time: “Mom, be a good girl here. If you’re sad, I’ll come back and get you…” Doña Carmen smiled, her voice trembling: “Yes, come back and visit me again when you get home…” I left the apartment. The door closed behind me, leaving a quiet room, with the smell of perfume mixed with the subtle scent of massage oil. That night, I slept soundly without dreams. The next morning, I woke up early and took my son to breakfast. A new beginning, no tears, no resentment, just the silence of a woman who gave all her love and learned to let it go at the right time.