“I took my daughter-in-law’s broken cell phone to be repaired, but the technician who fixed it called me over and whispered, ‘Cancel the cards, change the passwords, and run away immediately.’ When I asked him what was happening, he turned his cell phone towards me and what he showed me made my blood run cold.
My name is Teresa, I am 65 years old, and until 3 days ago I thought I had a completely normal life. I live in a comfortable house in Guadalajara with my husband, Ricardo, 67. We recently retired. I was a history teacher and he is an engineer. We have only one son, Alejandro, who has been married to Sofia for 5 years. Our daughter-in-law always seemed to me like a charming young woman, with a degree in management, intelligent, beautiful; she works at a financial consulting company. Alejandro met her at a friends’ party and they got married in less than a year.
Sometimes I thought she was a little distant, but I understood it was due to work stress and her more reserved personality. It all started last Wednesday when Sofia visited us alone, which was unusual, as she and Alejandro are usually together on weekends. She was nervous and told me she had a problem with her cell phone. The screen was broken and she asked if I knew a reliable place to fix it. ‘I accidentally broke my phone and I need it working now for an important meeting tomorrow. Alejandro is traveling and I don’t know where to take it,’ she explained.”
“’Alejandro is traveling and I don’t know where to take it,’ she explained. It just so happened that I had taken my phone to be repaired last week at a small shop in the city center. The owner, Jesús, whom we all call Chui, is the son of a former colleague from the school where I used to teach. I offered to take her device there. ‘That would be perfect, Teresa,’ Sofía said as she handed me her cell phone. ‘The password is 2800218, our wedding anniversary. I have to run to the office now.’
‘Can I pick it up tonight?’
‘Agreed. Of course.’ I took her cell phone and headed to Chui’s shop. The place was small, wedged between a pharmacy and a bakery, with a discreet sign: Express Repairs. When I walked in, Chui was leaning over a desk full of small tools and disassembled electronics. ‘Doña Teresa, it’s an honor to see you again,’ he greeted me with a smile. I explained the situation with my daughter-in-law’s cell phone, and he assured me he could fix it in a few hours.
‘I’ll be back after lunch,’ I said, handing him the device and the password. I was out shopping that evening and returned to the shop around 4:00 PM. Chui was alone, and when he saw me enter, his face changed. In those moments, I felt something I couldn’t comprehend at the time. Worry. ‘Fear,’ Doña Teresa said in a low voice, looking quickly at the door, as if confirming no one else was there. ‘The cell phone is ready, but I have something to show you, ma’am.’
I frowned in confusion. ‘Any problem with the appliance?’
‘No, with the machine,’ he replied. And then he came closer, speaking almost in a whisper. ‘Cancel the cards, change the passwords, and run away immediately.’ I felt the cold run down my spine. ‘What? What are you referring to, Chui?’ He gestured for me to come closer, opened Sofía’s cell phone, and went into the messaging application. He navigated to a folder called Plan B and showed me the screen. My blood ran cold.
These were messages exchanged between Sofía and my son, detailing the plan to kill me. ‘Mother is getting more forgetful,’ read Alejandro’s message. ‘It’s the perfect time. The doctor is already documenting her memory lapses at my request. No one will doubt when it happens.’ Sofía’s reply turned my stomach. ‘Their life insurance is worth almost 2 million, and with the sale of the house, we’ll have enough to start over outside Guadalajara.’
I felt my legs give way and had to lean on the counter. ‘It can’t be true,’ I said, more to myself than to Chui. ‘And, I swear to you it will be worth what you pay :)’ As I was testing the cell phone after the repair, a notification popped up and I accidentally saw these messages. I couldn’t ignore it. I continued the conversation, my eyes wide with fear. They discussed the methods, dates, how to make it look like a household accident. They talked about the drugs they could use, doses lethal for a woman her age with high blood pressure.
My own son and his wife were coldly planning my death. ‘They are also planning to kill Ricardo,’ I whispered, as if out of breath. The conversation detailed how they would arrange my husband’s elimination afterward. ‘A few weeks later,’ Alejandro said. ‘An elderly couple dying at the same time will cause suspicion.’ Chui closed the shop door and flipped the sign. He handed me a glass of water and helped me sit down. ‘You have to go to the police,’ he said in a firm yet gentle voice.
I shook my head, still dazed. ‘They won’t believe me. It will be the word of a forgetful old woman against my son and daughter-in-law, respectable people in the community.’ ‘Ma’am, you need to gather evidence and protect yourself.’ He was right. I took the cell phone with trembling hands and started taking photos of the messages with my own device. I documented everything: the dates, times, the detailed plan, the mention of the family doctor who seemed to be manipulated to create a history of dementia.
‘Hi, can you put the phone back to normal? I don’t want them to know we discovered anything.’ He agreed, and we worked for another hour. When he finished, Sofía’s cell phone appeared intact, with no sign that its secret messages had been discovered. As I walked out of the mall, I felt like I was in a nightmare. The gray sky of Guadalajara seemed even darker. How could I go home? How would I look at Ricardo knowing that our only son planned to kill us both?
Worse still, how would I face Sofía when she came to pick up the cell phone? Arriving home, I planned every step. First, I had to alert Ricardo without scaring him too much. Then we had to act quickly, but smartly. If Alejandro and Sofía suspected we knew, they might accelerate their plans or create a new strategy. I could barely bear the weight of the betrayal. My son, whom I carried in my womb, whom I breastfed, whom I helped with homework, whom I comforted when his first courtship ended.
They planned my death for money. I parked the car in front of our house and took a deep breath. I needed to stay calm. The game of life and death had begun, and I needed to defeat the two young people who thought an old woman with memory lapses would be an easy victim. Few of them knew that this woman had faced a military dictatorship when she was a student, that she raised a child alone while her husband traveled for work, that she had survived breast cancer 5 years ago.
If they thought I would fall without a fight, they were wrong. I got out of the car holding Sofía’s cell phone as if it were a bomb about to explode. I entered a house where my life would never be the same again. Ricardo was in the living room watching the news as he did every afternoon. His familiar face, with gray hair and reading glasses on the tip of his nose, gave me a moment of normalcy amidst the chaos that had entered my life.
‘Were you able to download it from Sofía’s cell phone?’ he asked innocently, without taking his eyes off the television. I swallowed hard. ‘Yes, it’s fixed. I need to tell you, but I don’t know how to start.’ How do you tell your husband of 40 years that your only son wants you both dead? ‘Ricardo,’ I called him. My voice was louder than I expected. ‘I have something to show you. It’s serious.’ Something in my tone must have alarmed him, because he immediately turned off the television and looked at me intently. ‘What happened, Teresa?’
I sat down next to him and showed him the photos I had taken of the messages. I watched his face as he read them, first confusion, followed by disbelief, then fear, and finally a pain so deep I thought he would collapse right there. He whispered in a muffled voice: ‘There must be a mistake, Alejandro would never.’ ‘I don’t want to believe it either,’ I replied, holding his trembling hands. ‘But it is, Ricardo. This is Alejandro’s number, this is how he writes.’ Sofía replied from her cell phone, which I had with me. Ricardo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, I saw something rarely witnessed. Complete determination. ‘What are we going to do?’ he asked. I explained my initial plan: documenting everything, verifying our bank accounts, changing passwords, canceling shared cards, researching which doctor was involved. We had to act as if nothing had changed, while secretly gathering enough evidence to confront them or, if necessary, take it all to the police.
‘Sofía is bringing the cell phone tonight,’ I warned. ‘We need to act normal.’ ‘How?’ Ricardo’s voice failed. ‘How do I look at her knowing that…’ ‘The same way I taught teenagers to pretend they were interested in medieval history for 30 years,’ I tried to joke, but the smile came out weak. ‘One step at a time, Ricardo. Our lives depend on it.’ The next day, we checked the bank accounts online. We discovered something disturbing. Small amounts had been regularly transferred from our joint account to an unknown account for the past 3 months. The amount was low so as not to cause suspicion, 200 pesos here, 300 pesos there, but added up to almost 10,000 pesos. ‘Alejandro has access to our accounts,’ Ricardo whispered. ‘We gave him power of attorney last year, remember? In case something happened to us.’ The irony was bitter. We trusted him so much that we practically gave him the tools for our own destruction. We changed all passwords, canceled the two credit cards Alejandro had as an additional user, and called the bank requesting a block on any transaction over 1000 pesos without in-person authorization.
‘What about the doctor?’ Ricardo asked. ‘Dr. Pablo has been treating us for more than 15 years. He is a friend. He occasionally has lunch at our house.’ The idea that my medical reports might be falsified at my son’s request was almost as painful as Alejandro’s betrayal. ‘I’m going to schedule a consultation tomorrow,’ I decided. ‘I want to see what he says about my memory.’ Around 7:00 PM, the doorbell rang. Ricardo and I exchanged a tight look. He squeezed my hand. A silent promise that we would follow our plan.
I opened the door, forcing a smile. Sofía was beautiful as always, with impeccable brown hair and an elegant dress. That polished look now seemed to me like a perfect mask to hide the monster beneath. ‘Teresa, sorry for coming. How was it with the technician?’ ‘All good,’ I replied, handing her the cell phone. ‘Chui did a great job. The screen is as good as new.’ She opened the device, quickly checked it, and smiled. ‘Perfect. How much was it? Let me pay.’ ‘Don’t worry, I already settled everything. It was a courtesy from him. He didn’t even charge because I’m a long-time customer.’ Sofía hesitated for a moment, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in a way I hadn’t noticed before. She was worried the technician might have seen something. ‘Are you sure? I didn’t want to bother.’ ‘How are you, dear? Do you want to come in? Ricardo is watching TV. We’ll have some tea.’ ‘Oh, I can’t stay right now. I have a presentation early tomorrow and I still need to review some data.’ I noticed how she avoided looking me directly in the eye while speaking. A skilled liar, but now that I knew what to look for, the small signs were there.
‘I understand. When is Alejandro coming back from the trip?’ ‘Tomorrow night,’ she replied quickly. Another lie. From the messages, Alejandro was not traveling. He was at home waiting for news from her. ‘Tell him to visit us soon,’ I said, maintaining a casual tone. ‘We haven’t seen each other in almost two weeks.’ ‘Of course.’ She smiled, placing the cell phone in her bag. ‘He misses you too. And listen, did you check the doctor Alejandro recommended? The memory specialist.’ My heart raced, but my expression remained neutral.”
“We haven’t had time yet.’ Why did her face put on a mask of feigned concern? ‘Alejandro commented that you’ve recently been forgetting some important things, names, quotes, impressions of him.’ I answered with a slight laugh. ‘My memory is excellent. I even remember the day you wore the same dress to my cousin Elisa’s birthday party two months ago.’ I saw a flicker in her eyes. Frustration, worry, before her social smile returned. ‘Well, it doesn’t hurt to get a checkup, right? At your age.’ ‘Sure, sure. I’ll schedule a consultation soon.’ We said goodbye, and when I closed the door, I leaned against it, exhausted from the effort of faking normalcy.
Ricardo was waiting for me in the living room, tense. ‘Well, she tried to plant the idea of my memory loss,’ I replied, sitting down next to him. ‘They are setting the stage for when it happens.’ ‘What do we do now?’ ‘Act,’ I answered. A determination was growing inside me. ‘I’m going to see Dr. Pablo early tomorrow. Then I want to verify our life insurance. We need to find out exactly what Alejandro is after. And then, we’ll set our own trap.’
That night I could barely sleep. Every noise in the house seemed like a threat. I got up three times to check if the doors were locked. On one of those occasions, I found Ricardo in the kitchen drinking water with the same tortured look I must have worn. ‘I was thinking about Alejandro when he was little,’ he said softly. ‘Do you remember how afraid he was of the dark? How he ran to our bed during storms. What happened to that boy, Teresa?‘ I had no answer. How had our loving son turned into this strange calculator capable of coldly planning our death? ‘We will find out,’ I promised, hugging him. ‘And we will survive this.’
The next morning, I called Dr. Pablo’s office claiming an emergency. I managed to get a consultation by 10:00 AM. Before leaving, we checked all our online accounts and discovered something even more alarming. There was a new life insurance policy in my name, taken out three months ago, which I knew nothing about.
‘How is this possible?’ I asked, scared. Ricardo navigated the digital documents. ‘Look, the signature is yours.’ I moved closer to the screen in disbelief. The signature looked exactly like mine, but I had never signed that document. ‘They forged my signature,’ I whispered. ‘And there’s more. Look at the amount, 1.5 million. And the sole beneficiary is Alejandro,’ Ricardo added, his voice breaking. The situation finally hit me with full force. This was not just a vague plan; they had taken concrete steps.
The documents were forged, money was being transferred, a doctor was possibly involved, and now a life insurance policy I knew nothing about, ready to be cashed out after my accidental death. I left the house feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. The consultation with Dr. Pablo was crucial. I needed to know how involved he was in that conspiracy. The office was quiet at that hour. The receptionist, who had known me for a long time, smiled when she saw me.
‘Doña Teresa, it’s an honor to see you. The doctor will see you now.’”
“‘Doña Teresa, it’s an honor to see you. The doctor will see you now.’ Ten minutes later, they called me. Dr. Pablo, a middle-aged man with gray hair and a typically friendly expression, seemed slightly uncomfortable when I entered. ‘Teresa, what a surprise. Alejandro called me yesterday. He said you were reluctant to get checked.’ I kept my expression neutral as I sat down. ‘Seriously, that’s odd that he said that. Actually, Doc, I came because I’m worried about my memory.’ The doctor nodded, seemingly confirming something he already knew.
‘Yes. Alejandro mentioned some concerning episodes. Forgetfulness, confusion.’ ‘Curious,’ I answered calmly, ‘because I don’t recall having any of those problems.’ Dr. Pablo hesitated for a moment. ‘Well, Teresa, sometimes the patient doesn’t perceive their own lapses. It’s common in early dementia.’ ‘You sound like you already have a diagnosis.’ He looked even more uncomfortable. ‘No, of course not, but Alejandro showed me some videos, you confusing dates, forgetting the names of people close to you.’ ‘You saw them?’ I asked, genuinely surprised.
‘Can I see them?’ ‘He didn’t leave me a copy, but—’ ‘Dr. Pablo,’ I interrupted, leaning forward. ‘I have been your patient for fifteen years. You know me. Do you truly believe I have dementia, or are you just believing what my son tells you?’ The silence that followed was revealing. Finally, he sighed. ‘Teresa. Alejandro has visited me several times in recent months, expressing extreme concern. He says you and Ricardo are losing the ability to take care of yourselves, that they need supervision. He asked me to document any signs of cognitive decline, and I agreed.’
He looked ashamed. ‘I only wrote down what he said. I haven’t diagnosed anything without tests.’ I looked at him, letting the silence last until he became visibly uncomfortable. ‘Doc Pablo, my son plans to kill Ricardo and me.’ The shock on his face seemed genuine. ‘What, Teresa? That is a very serious accusation.’ ‘I have evidence. Now I understand why I needed you to intervene, even if it wasn’t direct. A medical history documenting cognitive decline would make my death seem less suspicious.’
Dr. Pablo visibly paled. His usually steady hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his glasses. ‘I… I would never be involved in something like that. I truly thought Alejandro was worried about you.’ I took my cell phone out of my bag and showed him some of the photos I had taken of the messages. As he read them, his face transformed from disbelief to fear. ‘My God,’ he finally whispered. ‘I had no idea.’ ‘I want to see my medical history,’ I demanded. ‘Now.’ He only hesitated for a moment before opening his computer and accessing my medical records.
He turned the screen so I could read it. There it was, documented in impersonal clinical language: ‘Patient presents signs of cognitive decline as reported by the son. Repeated episodes of confusion, temporal and spatial disorientation, forgetting names and recent events. Complete neurological evaluation recommended.’ ‘It’s a lie,’ I said in a firm voice. ‘And you know it.’ ‘Teresa. I only recorded what Alejandro told me. I didn’t confirm or diagnose anything,’ ‘But it created a record that can be used against me, an official medical record suggesting I am losing my mental faculties. Perfect for when she dies accidentally, isn’t it?’
The doctor looked truly distraught. ‘What do you want me to do?’ ‘First, print this history for me with your signature. Then, I want you to create a new record dated today, stating that you personally examined me and found no signs of cognitive compromise.’ He agreed immediately, clearly affected by the situation. ‘And doctor,’ I added as I typed, ‘if anything happens to Ricardo or me, this history and our conversation today will be the first thing the police see.’
I left the office clutching the documents. Evidence of the conspiracy against us. Dr. Pablo had been manipulated by Alejandro, but his complicity, even if it was due to naivety, had almost cost us our lives. I went to the bank next. I needed to personally verify our accounts and, above all, revoke any power of attorney we had granted Alejandro. The manager, Mr. Mauricio, who had overseen our accounts for several years, was visibly surprised when I requested the revocation of the power of attorney. ‘Doña Teresa, are you sure? Your son recently sought me out saying you wanted to expand his power to handle finances, as Mr. Ricardo’s health was not good.’
Another lie. Ricardo was perfectly healthy for his 67 years. ‘My husband is very well, Mr. Mauricio, and yes, I am sure. In fact, I want to review all the movements of our accounts for the last 6 months.’ We spent the next hour reviewing the statements. In addition to the small transfers we had identified online, we discovered something more alarming. Alejandro had initiated the process to obtain a second credit card from Ricardo, claiming the loss of the original. ‘He said Mr. Ricardo had lost the card but didn’t want to bother him with the bureaucracy,’ the manager explained, now visibly embarrassed. ‘And you issued a new card without the presence or signature of the owner?’ I asked in disbelief. ‘Mr… Yes,’ Mauricio stammered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Well, since he had the power of attorney and was already handling various financial issues for you—’ I took a deep breath, suppressing my anger. ‘Cancel that card immediately and block any future attempts to issue one without our physical presence.’
When I left the bank, I was simultaneously relieved that I had cut off another aspect of the plan and terrified by the extent of the plot. Alexander had carefully prepared the ground, creating a scenario where our death seemed natural and he had full control of our assets. As I walked home, my cell phone rang. It was him. My heart pounded, but I answered in the most normal voice.
‘Hello, son.’ ‘Mom, is everything okay? I just got back from a trip and Sofía told me you took her cell phone to be repaired. That was very kind of you.’ The naturalness of his lie was astounding. No trip. ‘You’re welcome, dear. The boy at the assistance is a colleague’s son. He gave us a good price.’ ‘That’s great. I wanted to see Sofía tonight. It’s been a long time since we’ve had dinner together, right?’ A shiver ran down my spine. Why this sudden interest in visiting us? Had they noticed something? Would the doctor call Alejandro after my visit? ‘Yes,’ I answered, keeping my voice firm. ‘Come. Yes, I’m cooking the lasagna you like.’ ‘Perfect. Mom, did you go to the doctor I recommended? Sofía said they hadn’t left yet.’ ‘Actually, I went to Dr. Pablo this morning.’ A brief silence. ‘You went, and what did he tell you?’ ‘Nothing special. He did simple tests. He said I’m fine for my age.’
Another longer silence this time. ‘Ah, well, how nice. But maybe it’s good to ask for a second opinion, you know? Sometimes Dr. Pablo is very conservative in the diagnoses.’ ‘Let’s see, son. Shall we see each other tonight?’ ‘Yes, around 7:00 PM. See you later.’ When I hung up, my hands were shaking. The seemingly innocent conversation was full of menacing subtexts. Alejandro clearly expected Dr. Pablo to have proposed some kind of cognitive compromise to me and was disappointed to find out that wasn’t the case, and now he wanted to have dinner with us tonight. Why? To observe my behavior, to make sure I showed no suspicion, or worse.
Arriving home, I found Ricardo in the living room surrounded by papers. He looked anxious. ‘How did it go? Is the doctor involved?’ I explained everything to him. How Alejandro had manipulated Dr. Pablo to create a fake medical record. How he had access to our bank accounts. How he had forged the life insurance documents and had just called me, I concluded. ‘He and Sofía want to have dinner here tonight.’
Ricardo turned pale. ‘Do you think they suspect we discovered something?’ ‘I’m not sure, but he was clearly disturbed when he found out I went to Dr. Pablo and the doctor didn’t find anything wrong with me.’ We looked at each other, the silent question floating between us. What would Alejandro and Sofía try to test at that dinner? ‘We can’t eat or drink anything they bring,’ Ricardo finally said. ‘And one of us must always be alert and observing what they do.’ I agreed. We needed to record that dinner somehow. If they said anything incriminating. Ricardo nodded and retrieved his old digital recorder that he used to record meetings when he was working. We tested the device, checking if it still worked and where we could hide it in the dining room. I spent the afternoon preparing the lasagna I had promised, although the thought of sitting at the table with the two people who planned to murder us made me feel sick to my stomach. Every time I thought about the messages, the calculating coldness with which our own son discussed our death, I felt a pain that words couldn’t explain.
‘How did we get to this point?’ I asked Ricardo as we set the table for dinner. ‘Where did we fail him?’ Ricardo shook his head, the pain I felt reflected in his eyes. ‘I don’t know, Teresa. I thought we knew our son.’ Around 7:00 PM, the doorbell rang. Ricardo and I exchanged a final look of confirmation. The tape recorder was hidden under the working table. Our strategy was simple: to act naturally, to observe their every move, and, if possible, to provoke a slip that we could document.
I opened the door with a forced smile. Alejandro and Sofía were there, he holding a bottle of red wine and she, a box of chocolates they knew were my favorite. ‘Mom,’ Alejandro exclaimed. He hugged me enthusiastically. The physical contact that used to give me comfort now gave me a shiver. How could he hug me knowing he planned to kill me? ‘I couldn’t wait to see you,’ he continued, handing me the bottle. ‘We brought a special wine for today.’ ‘Ah, thank you, dear,’ I replied, carefully parsing the label. It was an expensive vintage, one that would normally impress me. Now it just made me wonder if it was adulterated. Ricardo greeted them in the living room, his smile as forced as mine. He offered them water, coffee, or juice, anything but the wine they brought. ‘Not yet, Mom,’ Alejandro said, settling comfortably on the sofa. ‘We’ll prepare the wine for dinner.’
We spent almost half an hour talking about trivial things. Their work, the weather, local news, the surreal normality of the situation made me dizzy. I watched Alejandro occasionally exchanging glances with Sofía, while she focused on my every move, while he directed seemingly innocent questions about my routine, about my medications, about my recent difficulties. ‘So, Mom,’ he finally said, leaning forward, ‘how exactly was the doctor’s appointment?’ ‘Did Paul take a test today, and asked for a specific test.’ I kept my expression neutral. ‘It was just a normal consultation. He didn’t find anything worrying.’ ‘Strange,’ Alexander muttered, frowning. ‘He told me he suspected something more serious. Perhaps early Alzheimer’s.’ ‘Seriously?’ I asked, raising my eyebrow in false astonishment. ‘When did he tell you that?’ Alejandro noticed the slip. ‘Ah, last week when I called him to talk about those episodes I noticed.’ ‘What were those, son? I can’t remember having had any problems.’ A condescending smile appeared on his face. ‘See? That’s precisely what worries us. You don’t remember? Last week you forgot Doña Iracema’s name, our neighbor for twenty years. Then you left the stove on for several hours.’ None of that had happened. They were just fabricated lies to build the narrative of my supposed madness. ‘Curious,’ I answered calmly. ‘I just talked to Mrs. Iracema yesterday, I called her by her name, and I haven’t used the stove for several days. I prefer the microwave recently.’ Alejandro’s smile faltered for a moment. ‘Let’s eat dinner,’ Ricardo said, getting up. ‘Teresa’s lasagna smells delicious.’
At the table, the theater continued. I poured the lasagna while Ricardo quietly exchanged the glasses of wine. We had agreed: we would pretend to drink the wine they brought, but we would actually drink from another bottle we had left previously opened in the kitchen. ‘A toast,’ Alejandro suggested, raising his glass. ‘For the family and health.’ We raised our glasses and pretended to drink. I watched Alejandro and Sofía drink theirs very carefully. They drank normally, without hesitation. Maybe the wine wasn’t adulterated after all. ‘Sofía,’ I said to Sofía while placing my glass on the table. ‘Alejandro and I were talking. We are worried about you living alone in this big house.’ ‘It’s true,’ Alejandro added. ‘Especially considering these recent episodes, we thought maybe it would be better for you to move to a smaller, easier-to-maintain place. Or maybe come live with us for a while.’
I felt Ricardo tense up next to me. That was it. They wanted to move into our house, to be closer to carrying out the plan. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ I replied, keeping my voice firm. ‘We’re doing great, right, Ricardo?’ ‘Absolutely.’ He agreed. ‘In fact, we were even thinking of traveling soon, perhaps a season on the coast, to Cancun.’ I saw Alejandro and Sofía exchange a quick glance. ‘Traveling. Now!’ Alejandro asked. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dad. And Mom’s doctors and your regular checkups.’ ‘Everything’s fine,’ Ricardo replied. ‘We can travel peacefully.’ Sofía smiled, but her eyes remained cold. ‘Do you need help planning that trip? Can I search for hotels, packages?’ ‘No need,’ I cut in. ‘We’ll take care of everything.’ The dinner continued with that underlying tension. In every seemingly innocent question, I recognized the true intention behind it. They were probing our mental state, trying to establish control, looking for ways to physically get closer to us. When I served dessert, a flan that I had carefully cooked in front of Ricardo, Alejandro brought up the matter again.
‘I’ve been talking to a lawyer,’ he said casually. ‘About broader powers. You know what emergencies look like?’ ‘What kind of emergency?’ Ricardo asked in a controlled voice. ‘Well, if one of you had to be hospitalized or if, you know, Mom’s memory situation got worse. The lawyer suggested a full power of attorney that would give me the authority to make medical and financial decisions for you.’ I looked at my son, studying his face, the same face I had kissed when I was a baby, comforted when I was a child, proudly photographed at his graduation. How had he become the mask of a calculating stranger? ‘No need, son,’ I finally said, ‘we recently updated all our documents. We even made some changes to our will and insurance beneficiaries.’ Alexander’s expression momentarily froze. ‘Changes. What kind of changes?’ ‘Nothing to write home about, just making sure everything is in order in case something happens to us.’ Sofía placed her hand on Alejandro’s arm, as if restraining him. ‘It’s always good to review those documents,’ she said softly. ‘They consulted a lawyer. Dr. Mauricio, the one you recommended,’ Ricardo lied with admirable naturalness. ‘It was very helpful.’ There was no Dr. Mauricio, but the lie achieved its purpose. Both of them seemed momentarily destabilized. Around 10:00 PM, Alejandro looked at the clock and said they had to leave. ‘I have to work early tomorrow,’ he justified. But I knew the real reason. They needed to recalculate their plans. After several fake hugs and meaningless promises to visit us more often, they finally left.
When the door closed, Ricardo and I collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted from the effort of maintaining appearances. ‘They are suspicious,’ Ricardo whispered. ‘They realized something changed.’ I stood up to retrieve the tape recorder. We replayed the recording and listened to the entire conversation. The implications were clear. Alejandro and Sofía were still determined to carry out the plan, but our recent actions—the doctor’s consultation, the bank changes, the mention of the will—had made them cautious. ‘They will try something soon,’ Ricardo said. ‘They can’t wait any longer now that we are starting to take protective measures.’ ‘We need more evidence,’ I said. ‘The recording helps, but it’s still not enough for the police. What if we try to get them to confess, to confront them directly?’ I shook my head, too dangerous. They would deny everything and become even more vigilant. That night, we checked all the locks three times before going to bed. I still slept with my cell phone next to the bed and a chair leaning against the bedroom door. Precautions I never thought I would have to take against my own son.
The next morning, I woke up startled by the sound of a car parking. I ran to the window and saw Sofía getting out of her black van alone at 8:00 AM on a weekday when she should have been at work. ‘Ricardo,’ I called immediately. ‘Sofía is here. He woke up quickly to a single, sleepy man. Where is Alejandro? ‘I don’t know. I’ll open, but stay close.’ I went down, trying to control the rhythm of my breathing. Why was Sofía arriving so early without warning? What did she want? I opened the door before she could even ring the doorbell. Her face showed surprise for a moment, quickly replaced by a practiced smile. ‘Teresa, forgive me for coming so early. I was passing by on the way to work and thought I’d leave these documents that Alejandro separated for you.’ She was holding a yellow folder. ‘What documents?’ I asked, not attempting to take it. ‘About that power of attorney we talked about yesterday and some articles about treatment for early Alzheimer’s that could help slow the progression of the disease.’
She offered the folder again. ‘Alejandro is really worried about you.’ I looked at the folder for a long time. A trap. It had to be. Maybe prepared documents with my fake signature, just like the life insurance we discovered. ‘Why don’t you come in?’ I invited, maintaining my casual tone. ‘We can have coffee and review it together.’ Sofía hesitated, visibly. ‘Actually, I’m late for work. I just wanted to drop this off so you can read it calmly.’ ‘I insist,’ I said, opening the door wider.”
“Ricardo had just brewed some fresh coffee. ‘It will only take 5 minutes.’ She reluctantly came in. I took her to the kitchen where Ricardo already was, seemingly calm while drinking his coffee. ‘Sofía, what a pleasant surprise,’ he said. ‘She brought some documents for us to sign,’ I explained, emphasizing the word ‘let’s sign’. Ricardo immediately understood. ‘That’s good,’ he replied. ‘Let’s take a look.’ Sofía looked uncomfortable as Ricardo took the folder and began to examine the documents. I watched her closely, noting how her eyes followed his every move, while her fingers nervously drummed on the table.
‘That’s curious,’ Ricardo murmured after a few minutes. ‘This power of attorney would give Alejandro complete control over our finances and medical decisions. We would be practically legally incapacitated.’ ‘It’s just a precaution,’ Sofía quickly justified, ‘Considering Teresa’s condition.’ ‘And what exactly is that condition?’ I asked directly. ‘Well, memory loss, confusion.’ She hesitated, seemingly realizing she was on dangerous ground. ‘Alejandro noticed some episodes.’ ‘Curious,’ I commented. ‘Dr. Pablo didn’t find any of that yesterday.’ ‘Doctors can be wrong,’ she replied, regaining her composure. ‘Hence the importance of a second opinion with a specialist.’ Ricardo returned the documents to the folder and pushed it towards Sofía. ‘We appreciate the concern, but we will not sign this. In fact, we have already begun proceedings to revoke the limited power of attorney we gave Alejandro last year.’ The shock on her face was genuine and momentary, quickly replaced by a studied expression of concern. ‘But why? Alejandro only wants to help.’ ‘We are sure,’ I replied, ‘but we prefer to remain in control of our own lives.’
Sofía suddenly stood up. ‘I have to leave. I’m really behind.’ ‘Sure,’ I said as I accompanied her to the door. ‘Tell Alejandro we will call later to discuss these documents.’ Once she left, Ricardo and I immediately exchanged glances. The same conclusion was clear to both of us. ‘They are accelerating the plan,’ he whispered. ‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘And that means we have to act now.’
Once Sofía left, Ricardo and I carefully reviewed the documents she had brought. As we suspected, the power of attorney would grant Alexander absolute authority over our finances, property, and medical decisions. There was also a voluntary hospitalization form for a nursing home, which was actually an institution for the elderly with severe dementia, with spaces for our signatures. ‘They are no longer trying to hide,’ Ricardo whispered, his fingers trembling as he read the papers. ‘They are asking us to sign our own death warrant.’ ‘That’s good,’ I replied, surprising him. ‘The more explicit they are, the more evidence we will have.’ I spent the morning photographing every document, creating digital copies that I sent to the email of Estela, my long-time friend and the only person outside our house I completely trusted.
I briefly explained the situation and asked her to keep the files safe, without talking to anyone about it. ‘What do we do now?’ Ricardo asked when I finished. ‘We need a plan. They are clearly advancing. Sofía’s surprise visit, these documents—we can’t wait any longer.’ We decided it was time to seek professional help. Not the police—we still didn’t have enough conclusive evidence—but a lawyer who could guide us on how to legally protect our assets and, most importantly, our lives. We chose a lawyer we did not know previously and who had no connection to Alejandro: Dr. Lucía Méndez, a specialist in family and criminal law. We managed to schedule a consultation for that same afternoon.
In an elegant office in the city center, we explained the entire situation to Dr. Lucía: the discovered messages, the bank accounts, the fraudulent life insurance, the manipulated medical records, the documents Sofía brought that morning. The lawyer listened to us carefully, occasionally frowning with worry and asking for specific details. When we finished, she took a deep breath before speaking. ‘Gentlemen, we are facing an extremely serious situation. What you have described to me amounts to various crimes: conspiracy, forgery of documents, attempted fraud, and, most severely, conspiracy for murder.’
‘Is our evidence sufficient for the police?’ Ricardo asked. ‘The messages are the most decisive evidence, but since they obtained them by accessing Sofía’s cell phone without her permission, there is a risk that they could be considered prohibited evidence. However, considering the severity of the situation and the imminent danger to you, I believe we can build a solid case.’ ‘What should we do first?’ I asked. ‘We will immediately prepare legal documents that annul any existing power of attorney and block the possibility of new powers of attorney without the presence of an independent attorney. I myself can serve as a witness to your mental capacity. Then, we will file a detailed complaint setting out all the evidence we have so far.’
We spent the next two hours signing documents, formal statements, and planning every step. Dr. Lucía was meticulous, ensuring all legal aspects were covered. ‘Now,’ she finally said, ‘let’s go to the most urgent issue: your physical safety. I suggest you don’t return home today.’ Ricardo and I exchanged alarmed glances. ‘Do you think we are in imminent danger?’ I asked quickly, but I already knew the answer. ‘Based on what they told me, they have realized they are taking protective measures. Sofía’s surprise visit this morning indicates an urgency on her part. If I were you, I would spend a couple of days in a hotel under a different name until we can obtain a protective order.’
We left the lawyer’s office carrying a folder full of documents and a sense of urgency. We went directly to the police station, where we filed a detailed complaint. The commissioner on duty, a middle-aged man named Raúl Salas, listened to our story with growing concern. ‘This is extremely serious,’ he said after reviewing the evidence. ‘I will assign an investigator to the case immediately and request discreet surveillance for your residence.’ When we mentioned that the lawyer suggested not going home, the commissioner strongly agreed. ‘Indeed, it is safer for you to stay elsewhere for now, but I would like to first send a team to install discreet cameras in your house with your permission.’
‘Of course.’ ‘If they try to enter or do something, we will have concrete evidence.’ We agreed to the plan. We would go home briefly, just to collect some essential items while the police set up the surveillance equipment at strategic points. Then we would go to a hotel in the city center, far from our neighborhood, using false names as suggested. As we walked back, Ricardo remained silent, staring out the taxi window. When we were about to arrive, he finally spoke. ‘I never thought the day would come when I would be afraid of my own son.’ I took his hand. No words could alleviate that pain.
Our house, seen from the outside, looked strangely normal. The same windows, the same garden we had cultivated for years, the same mailbox Alejandro painted when he was a teenager. It was hard to believe that this place that represented safety and family had become the scene of a conspiracy against our lives. Police officers in plainclothes arrived discreetly in a standard car. They entered through the back door and quickly worked to install small cameras in strategic places: the living room, kitchen, hallway, entrance. They explained that the images would be transmitted directly to the delegation and monitored 24 hours a day. Meanwhile, Ricardo and I collected the essentials: clothes for a few days, medications, important documents. I avoided looking at the family photos on the wall, the objects that told the story of our life together. All the memories were tainted by betrayal. ‘We are ready,’ said the police officer responsible for the facility. ‘The cameras are barely visible to the naked eye, but they capture everything in high definition. If someone enters, we will know.’ He gave us a small card with a phone number. ‘It is a direct line to our team. Any emergency, call immediately.’
As we were about to leave, my cell phone rang. It was Alejandro. I looked at the police officer who nodded and told me to answer normally. ‘Hello,’ I replied as naturally as possible. ‘Mom, where are you? I stopped by the house and no one answered.’ My heart pounded. He came to our house while we were out. Why? ‘We’re out shopping at the mall,’ I lied. ‘We needed some things.’ ‘Ah, I understand. I was just worried. You don’t usually leave without warning.’ The falsehood in his voice made me dizzy. ‘It was a last-minute decision. We’re on our way home.’ ‘Perfect. Because I have a surprise for you. I’m waiting for you here.’ I froze. He was just in the house at that very moment. ‘A surprise?’ I asked, keeping my voice firm. ‘Yes, I brought the wine they like. I thought we could talk together in the afternoon about the documents Sofía left in the morning.’
The police officer instructed me to continue the conversation. ‘How kind, son. We’ll be there in half an hour or so.’ ‘Perfect, I’m waiting for you.’ When I hung up, the police officer was already talking to his colleagues. ‘Suspect on the scene. I repeat, suspect on the premises. Keep your distance, but be ready.’ Turning to us, he explained, ‘We’ll let him in. Watch what he does. If he tries to plant something—drugs, poison, anything—we’ll have it on video. It will be undeniable proof.’ The plan made sense, but I was terrified by the idea of Alejandro roaming around our house, possibly setting a trap.
‘What if he sees the cameras?’ Ricardo asked. ‘Highly unlikely. They are the size of a button and placed in strategic spots. Besides, we have agents discreetly positioned on the block.’ We drove to a nearby cafe where we waited for news. With every passing minute, I imagined what Alejandro would be doing in our house—setting the trap, planting evidence against us, snooping through our belongings looking for something. After 40 minutes that felt like an eternity, the police officer received a call. He listened intently, nodding yes. ‘He’s out,’ he reported as he hung up the phone. ‘And we have something interesting on the records.’
We immediately returned to the delegation where we were taken to a room with several monitors. Commissioner Salas was already there, observing the recording from the cameras installed in our house. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Pérez,’ he greeted us seriously. ‘I think you should see this.’ On the screen, we saw Alejandro enter the kitchen carrying two plastic bags. He looked around, verified he was alone, and then began to act methodically. He took several medication containers from the bags and placed them in our medicine cabinet, mixing them with ours. Then, he opened a bottle of wine, presumably the surprise he mentioned, and added some kind of white powder, carefully mixing before replacing the cork. Finally, he took a small electronic device we didn’t recognize from his pocket and cautiously placed it under the kitchen table. ‘Probably a microphone or camera.’ ‘Oh my God,’ I whispered, covering my mouth with my hands. Watching my own son on video consciously preparing what would be our death was an indescribable pain.
‘Now we have more than enough evidence,’ the commissioner said. ‘I am issuing an arrest warrant for Alejandro Pérez and Sofía Pérez immediately.’ ‘What? What did he put in our medicine cabinet?’ Ricardo asked, his voice shaking. ‘We will have to analyze it, but by the looks of it they are controlled drugs. Possibly in high doses. The substance he added to the wine will also be analyzed, but he bets on some kind of strong sedative.’ The commissioner put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Mrs. Pérez, I know this is terribly painful, but I need you to understand. As of now, their son actively attempted to murder them. If they had just gone home and drunk that wine…’ I couldn’t hold back my tears. The situation finally hit me with full force. They were no longer just suspicious text messages or documents. My son was in our kitchen consciously poisoning the drinks and medications he knew we would use. ‘What happens now?’ Ricardo asked, holding me as I cried.
‘We are going to arrest them now,’ the commissioner replied. ‘With this evidence, there is no possibility of provisional release. They are safe now, but I still recommend they stay at the hotel for a few days until we sort everything out.’ As we were leaving the precinct and trying to process everything that had happened, a police officer hurried over. ‘Commissioner Salas, we just received a call. Alejandro and Sofía Pérez are at Mr. and Mrs. Pérez’s house right now. They seem anxious. They are looking for them.’ The commissioner immediately reacted. ‘Tactical team, prepare. We’re going now.’ Turning to us, he explained. ‘They probably realized something was wrong, that you didn’t come home as promised. We will arrest them now.’ ‘Can I go with you?’ I asked, surprising myself. A part of my being wanted to run away. Never see Alejandro or Sofía again. But another part, perhaps the strongest, needed to be there, to witness the end of that nightmare. The commissioner hesitated, but ultimately agreed. ‘They can stay in the police car at a safe distance, but they cannot intervene in any way.’
As we drove towards our house, my heart uncontrollably pounding in my chest, I wondered how I had reached this point. How my son, whom I held in my arms as a baby, had become this stranger capable of coldly planning my death. When we arrived, several police cars were already positioned around our house. On the radio, we heard that Alejandro and Sofía were still inside, apparently arguing over what to do. ‘They realized something was wrong,’ a police officer said. ‘They are calling Mr. and Mrs. Pérez’s cell phone repeatedly.’ Indeed, my cell phone had rung several times in recent minutes. Always Alejandro. I ignored every call following the police instructions. Commissioner Salas personally coordinated the operation, speaking softly on the radio with the various agents positioned. He finally announced the teams in position. ‘We’re going in in one minute.’ That’s when we saw movement. The door opened and Alexander hurried out, followed by Sofía. Both were carrying backpacks and looked anxious, nervously looking around as they headed for the car parked on the curb. ‘They are trying to escape,’ Ricardo whispered.
Moments later, several police officers emerged from hiding, surrounding the couple with guns drawn. ‘Police, hands up, where we can see them.’ I could clearly see the shock on Alejandro’s face, the fear in Sofía’s eyes. For a moment, Alexander seemed to contemplate running, but he immediately realized he was surrounded. The two slowly raised their hands. Within seconds, they were subdued, handcuffed, and placed in separate vehicles. Everything was so fast and organized that it seemed unreal, like a scene from a movie. Commissioner Salas approached our car. ‘It’s over. Both are in custody. Accused of attempted murder, conspiracy, and various crimes. We found the wine and medications he planted. We will analyze everything.’ I looked through the window of the police car and saw my son being driven away, handcuffed, in the back seat of a patrol car. Our eyes met briefly. I saw no remorse in his eyes, only anger and perhaps surprise at being caught. In those moments, a strange sensation enveloped me. It wasn’t relief, it wasn’t satisfaction for revenge, it was a deep emptiness, as if something fundamental had been torn from me.
We returned to the delegation where we made more formal statements. Police found various incriminating items in Alejandro and Sofía’s backpacks. The original medications from the containers he planted in our house, along with doses of the powder he put in the wine, plane tickets abroad dated for the next day, and a large sum of money. ‘They were ready to flee,’ the commissioner explained. ‘They probably knew something was wrong, that you didn’t come home as promised. The plan was clearly to leave the poisoned wine, wait for you to consume it, and flee before the bodies were found.’ Ricardo gripped my hand tightly as we listened. Every detail was like a knife piercing my heart. ‘You can watch it if you want,’ the commissioner offered after the bureaucratic procedure was finished. ‘They are in separate cells awaiting transfer.’ Ricardo shook his head. ‘I’m not ready,’ and I respected that. But something inside me needed to look my son in the eye one last time. ‘I want to see Alejandro,’ I said, surprising us all, including myself.
The commissioner led me down a long, cold corridor to a small room with a table and two chairs. ‘We’ll bring him here. We’ll be watching through the glass, and if you feel any discomfort, just raise your hand and we’ll interrupt immediately.’ I nodded, sat up straight and folded my hands on the table to hide their trembling. Minutes later, the door opened and Alejandro entered, handcuffed and accompanied by a police officer. His face was pale, his eyes bloodshot, and his hair unkempt. He looked ten years older in a matter of hours. The police officer seated him across from me and left, standing outside the door. We remained silent for almost a minute, just looking at each other. Alejandro was the first to speak. ‘They framed me,’ he said in a low, bitter voice. ‘This is all a big misunderstanding.’ ‘Don’t lie to me,’ I replied calmly. ‘Not now. It’s over.’ Alejandro looked away, his jaw tense. ‘What do you want me to say?’ ‘I want to know why. Why me and your own father? What did we do to deserve this?’ Alejandro let out a laugh without humor. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’ ‘Try to explain it to me. I have all the time in the world now.’ He looked back at me, a cold, calculating look in his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. ‘Mom, it’s just money. You have the house, the pensions, the investments, the insurance. And what do they do with all that? Nothing. They live their modest life, saving every penny as if they were going to live forever.’ I felt the sting of his words, but I remained calm. ‘And that justifies murdering us.’ ‘Sofía thought of it first,’ he admitted, as if that somehow exonerated him. ‘She works in finance, she realized how much you were worth and she was tired of waiting. Why wait decades for an inheritance? She said, when can we start our real life now?’
‘And you agreed, just like that, so easily?’ He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t immediately, but she convinced me it was better for everyone. You are old. Eventually you would have health problems, you would suffer. It would be a favor.’ The coldness with which he spoke chilled my blood. This was not the son I knew or thought I knew. ‘A favor,’ I repeated slowly. ‘Poisoning your own parents would be a favor.’ ‘It wouldn’t be painful,’ he replied, as if that mattered. ‘They would just fall asleep and not wake up without suffering, just like the wine I prepared today.’ Alejandro was silent for a moment. ‘How did you find out? Was it Sofía’s cell phone, wasn’t it? That idiot technician.’ ‘Yes, it was the messages, but even without them we would have found out eventually. You’re not as clever as you think, son.’ He shifted in his seat, his handcuffs jingling. ‘So, now you’re going to testify against your own son? Are you going to put me in jail?’ ‘Did you think it would just be an accident? No one would suffer. They would die peacefully and I would finally have the life I deserve.’
‘The life you deserve,’ I repeated, letting the words float in the air between us. I looked at him, really looked at him, trying to see beyond the anger, beyond the coldness, looking for any remnant of the child we raised. I found nothing. ‘I don’t know you,’ I finally said. My voice was barely a whisper. ‘The son we raised, loved, protected, where is he?’ ‘I’m right here,’ Alejandro replied. A flicker of confusion crossed his face. ‘It’s me. I just grew up. I’m just tired of waiting my turn.’ I slowly stood up. ‘You will have a good lawyer. We will pay for it. This is the last act as your parents. Do not expect anything more from us, Alejandro. What you did is irreversible.’ ‘Mom,’ he called out when I was already at the door. ‘You don’t understand. I just really wanted a chance to live.’ I turned for the last time. ‘We gave you every chance, son. Education, love, support. You had the choice of how to live, and you chose this.’
I left the room feeling as if every step required immense effort. In the hallway, I saw Ricardo waiting, his eyes red, his face marked by tears he hadn’t even tried to hide. ‘What did he tell you?’ he asked softly. ‘He did everything for money,’ I finally replied. ‘Our death was just a means for him to achieve the life he deserved.’ Ricardo closed his eyes, a deep pain etched across his face. ‘How did we not notice? How did we not see what he was becoming?’ I had no answer. That was the same question that tormented me. How could parents present at every important moment, celebrating every achievement, teaching values and principles, have raised someone capable of coldly planning the murder of their own parents?
We silently left the delegation, heading to the hotel where we would spend the next few nights. As we walked, Ricardo spoke little, absorbed in his own thoughts. I knew he was replaying every moment of Alejandro’s upbringing, looking for the exact spot where something went wrong. At the hotel, a simple but comfortable place in the city center, we asked for a room with two single beds. Neither of us mentioned it, but we both knew we needed our own space that night. The pain was too personal, too deep to share, even after so many years together. I lay in bed exhausted but couldn’t sleep. The images of Alexander as a child mingled with the vision of him poisoning the wine, creating a nightmare I couldn’t escape. When I finally fell asleep, it was a restless sleep, full of confused dreams, where I ran through endless corridors, chased by the shadows of my son’s face.
I woke up startled by the sound of my cell phone. It was Commissioner Salas. ‘Mrs. Pérez, I apologize for calling so early. We require you to come to the delegation as soon as possible. There has been a development in the case.’ I was nervous about the deep tone of his voice. ‘Did something happen?’ ‘I prefer to explain it in person. It is best that they arrive as soon as possible.’ I woke Ricardo up and told him about the call. Within 30 minutes we were at the delegation and were taken directly to the commissioner’s office. Salas received us with a serious expression. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Pérez, I appreciate you coming quickly. I have received complicated news.’ ‘What happened?’ Ricardo asked in a tense voice. ‘Sofía Pérez has requested to give a complete statement in exchange for a reduction in sentence. She is willing to testify against her husband.’ I felt a lump in my throat. ‘What did she say?’ ‘According to her, the original plan was just to steal from them, transfer money from the accounts, obtain power of attorney to control the assets. The idea of physically eliminating them only arose in the last few months, when Alejandro realized you might discover the deviations.’ Ricardo squeezed my hand tightly. ‘She also said,’ the commissioner continued, ‘that Alejandro was also planning to kill her after your death and having access to all the money.’ The revelation fell like a bomb. ‘My son was going to kill his own wife,’ I whispered. ‘According to her, yes. She found messages from him to another woman, discussing how he would divide the money after solving the problem with Sofía.’ I closed my eyes. Trying to absorb that new layer of horror. It wasn’t enough to plan our death. Alejandro was willing to kill anyone who stood between him and the money.
‘There’s more,’ Salas said, his tone even deeper. ‘We analyzed the powder he put in the wine. It is a mixture of strong sedatives and a substance called Oleander, highly toxic, causing cardiac arrest and we found evidence that he tried previously.’ ‘How is that possible?’ Ricardo asked. ‘Samples of her hair, Mrs. Pérez, revealed traces of the same substance, likely administered in small doses to mimic natural health problems.’ ‘That would explain the memory lapses he said you had. They were not lapses, they were symptoms of gradual poisoning.’ The room seemed to spin around me. I grabbed the edge of the table to stabilize myself as the harsh reality hit me. My son had been gradually poisoning me, systematically. ‘How long?’ I managed to ask. ‘It’s difficult to specify, but from what the samples indicate, at least three months.’ Three months. I recalled the small hints I had dismissed. More frequent headaches, moments of dizziness, sleepless nights. I attributed all of it to stress, to aging, I never thought my own son was gradually poisoning me. ‘And Mr. Ricardo?’ the commissioner asked, turning to my husband. ‘I feel fine,’ he replied, confused. ‘However, we recommend toxicological testing. If the woman was targeted, he may have started acting against you too.’
We left the delegation more affected than ever. The idea that Alejandro had not only planned to kill us, but had already begun the process, was unbearable. ‘We’re going to the hospital now,’ Ricardo insisted. ‘We need to check for permanent damage.’ At the hospital, we were treated with priority after explaining the situation. The doctors performed a battery of tests, collected blood and hair samples, and admitted us for 24-hour observation. The results, when they arrived, confirmed the suspicions.”
“I saw the levels of Oleander in my body, although not enough to cause permanent damage. Ricardo was clean, indicating that Alejandro had focused on me first, perhaps because, as a woman with a history of health problems—I had breast cancer some years ago—my death would seem less suspicious. ‘You were very lucky, Ma’am,’ the doctor explained. ‘The gradual poisoning stopped before it caused irreversible damage. With proper treatment and time, your body will completely eliminate the toxin.’ Luck. An odd word to describe the situation. I was lucky because I found out my son was poisoning me before he killed me.
In the following days, the case took on proportions we had not anticipated. The story of the son who planned to murder his parents for the inheritance captured the attention of the national media. Reporters surrounded the hotel where we were staying. They called constantly. They tried by all means to get a statement from us. We refused all interviews, all appearances. Our pain was too deep, too personal to be turned into a public spectacle. Dr. Lucía, our lawyer, became our official spokesperson, managing all legal aspects and keeping the press at arm’s length. She was the one who brought us the news that Alejandro would be charged with attempted murder with the aggravating circumstance of premeditated poisoning and a vile motive. If proven, he would face decades in prison.
A week after the arrest of Alejandro and Sofía, we finally felt safe enough to go home. The police removed all surveillance equipment but installed an alarm system directly connected to the precinct. As a precaution, as Commissioner Salas said. Returning to that house was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Every room held memories, some beautiful, others now tainted by the knowledge of what Alexander had become. In the bedroom, the family photos seemed to mock us. Alejandro smiling on his first day of school. Alejandro as a proud teenager with his swimming trophy. Alejandro as an adult at his wedding to Sofía. Moments that captured a life that we now knew was, at least in part, an illusion.
Ricardo walked slowly around the house, touching objects, looking at photos, as if trying to reconcile the happy past with the devastating present. ‘We have to move,’ he finally said. ‘I can’t bear to know what happened in this kitchen, in this house.’ I quietly agreed. The house, which had been our sanctuary for decades, was now filled with betrayal and danger. That night, lying in our bed, holding hands in the dark, Ricardo vocalized the thought that tormented me. ‘Will we ever understand what happened? How did our son become this way?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I answered honestly. ‘Maybe there are things that have no explanation. Perhaps some people simply choose the wrong path, regardless of their upbringing.’ ‘We talked to him, Teresa, countless times about honesty, about hard work, about family. Why wasn’t it enough?’ ‘Maybe for some people, nothing is ever enough. Perhaps the void inside them can never be filled.’ We were silent for a long time, each absorbed in our own thoughts.
Finally, Ricardo spoke again. ‘What do we do now? How do we move forward after this?’ ‘That’s the question I ask myself. How does one rebuild a life when one’s foundation has been destroyed? How can we trust again when the betrayal came from the person we loved most in life?’ ‘One day,’ I said, holding his hand. ‘We will start over. Somewhere else. Supporting each other.’
In the following weeks, we put the house up for sale, began the process of looking for a new home, and tried to somehow reestablish a sense of normality. We found a small apartment in the city center, completely different from the spacious house where we raised Alejandro, and we gradually began to move only the objects that did not bring back painful memories. Meanwhile, the case progressed in court. Sofía reached a plea deal, agreeing to testify against Alejandro in exchange for a reduced sentence. Alejandro, on the other hand, remained firm in denying the most serious charges, claiming that it was all just a family misunderstanding and that the evidence had been manipulated.
Two months after his arrest, we received a letter from him from prison. Ricardo wanted to burn it without reading, but something in me needed to know what he would say. The letter was short, written in the familiar handwriting I would recognize anywhere. ‘Mommy and Daddy, I know you don’t want to hear from me, but I need to say this. Everything I did was out of love. Yes, I wanted the money, I wanted freedom, but I also wanted to save you from the suffering of old age, of being dependent, of losing your dignity. I don’t expect forgiveness. I know what I did is unforgivable in your eyes, but I want you to know that it wasn’t out of hatred, it was out of ambition. Yes, out of greed perhaps, but also out of a twisted form of love. Someday, when you are ready, I want to see you again. Until then, know that despite everything, I am still your son, Alejandro.’
I read the letter three times trying to find sincerity in the words, some remnant of the son I knew, but all I saw was more manipulation, more attempts to justify the unjustifiable. ‘For love,’ I whispered, folding the letter. ‘He tried to kill us out of love.’ Ricardo, who finally decided to read it too, shook his head sadly. ‘He still doesn’t understand, or maybe he never will.’ I put the letter in a drawer and did not answer. Maybe one day, when the pain was less intense, when I could think of Alejandro without feeling that devastating mix of love and betrayal, I would find the words to respond. But not now, not while the wound was still bleeding.
The following months passed in a blur of legal proceedings, sessions with psychologists, and the difficult task of rebuilding our lives. We sold the house for less than its market value. We wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible and settled into the apartment in the city center. It was smaller, simpler, but it didn’t carry the weight of painful memories. Alexander’s trial was scheduled to begin in three months. The prosecution had a strong case with abundant evidence: the text messages, the videos from the house, the toxicology tests proving the gradual poisoning, Sofía’s testimony, the forged documents. Condemnation seemed certain. Despite this, I dreaded the thought of testifying against my own son. How would I sit in that courtroom and tell the world how he had planned our death? How could I look him in the eyes while sealing his fate?
We discussed it extensively with our therapist, Dr. Marta, whom we began visiting weekly after all the tragedy. ‘You are not responsible for his decisions,’ she constantly reminded us. ‘Testifying is not betrayal, it is simply telling the truth.’ ‘But he is our son,’ Ricardo defended. ‘Despite everything, he is still our son.’ ‘Yes, he is your son, and he is also an adult who made terrible decisions. Both truths can coexist.’
One afternoon, while organizing some boxes that we hadn’t unpacked yet in the new apartment, I found an old photo album. I sat on the floor and slowly looked through it. They were photos of Alejandro, as a baby, then as a child, as a teenager, always smiling, always surrounded by our affection. In one particular photo, I was about 5 years old and proudly holding a drawing I had made, three stick figures representing our family with a bright sun above. ‘For the best mom in the world,’ the drawing read in crooked childish letters. The tears began to flow uncontrollably. Where was that child now? At what point had that loving creature become a person capable of planning the death of his own parents? Ricardo found me crying over the open album. He didn’t speak, he just sat down next to me and hugged me. We both cried for the loss of the son we loved. Not for his physical death, but for the death of who we thought he was.
The following week we received an unexpected visit. Estela, my friend from the library who helped me document the evidence against Alejandro, brought a folder with clippings from old newspapers. ‘Teresa, Ricardo,’ she began excitedly. ‘I found something you need to see.’ The clippings were from a small newspaper in a city in the south of the country, dated 5 years ago. The headlines screamed: ‘Elderly man dies in mysterious circumstances, niece inherits fortune after uncle’s death.’ ‘Police investigate suspicious death but file the case due to lack of evidence.’ ‘What is this?’ I asked, confused. ‘Look at the photo.’ Estela pointed to the image of a young woman being interviewed. It was Sofía, a few years younger, but undeniably her. ‘Before she was called Sofía Silva and moved to Guadalajara, she was known as Carolina Santos in this small town. And the man who died mysteriously was her uncle, who raised her after her parents died.’ Ricardo took the clippings, reading quickly. ‘She inherited everything. The police suspected poisoning but couldn’t get solid evidence.’ ‘Exactly,’ Estela confirmed. ‘And do you know what the suspicious substance was? Oleander.’ I replied, feeling the cold flow down my spine. Estela nodded seriously. ‘The same poison they found in your system, Teresa, the same one Alejandro put in the wine.’ The implication was clear and devastating. Sofía was not only Alejandro’s accomplice, she was probably the intellectual author, the one who brought the idea, the one who taught the method, the one who had done it before.
‘Why are you showing us this now?’ Ricardo asked. ‘Because her agreement with the prosecutor’s office is about to be finalized,’ Estela explained. ‘She will only serve a few years in prison in exchange for her testimony against Alejandro. It’s not fair, is it? When she has perhaps killed before.’ We took the discovery to Dr. Lucía, our lawyer, who immediately contacted the case prosecutor. The investigations into the death of Sofía’s uncle were reopened and possibly other similar cases in her past. In a few weeks, Sofía’s agreement was put on hold and she faced additional charges. The police found a diary in her apartment detailing not only the plan to murder us, but also notes about the uncle’s death and plans to kill Alejandro after obtaining our money. The picture that emerged was even sadder than we had imagined. Sofía was a calculating sociopath who had seduced Alejandro, manipulating him into planning our death. She used him as a tool, planning to discard him as soon as she got what she wanted.
When Alejandro learned this at a preliminary hearing, he collapsed. According to his lawyer, he finally realized the magnitude of the manipulation he had suffered, although that did not exonerate him of his guilt for actively participating in the plan. At that moment we made a difficult decision. We would visit Alejandro in prison. Not for forgiveness or reconciliation. It was too early for that, if it was ever possible, but to look the truth in the face, to try to understand. The dungeon was a cold and oppressive place. We followed a guard down the gray corridors to a small visiting room, where we waited in tense silence. When the door opened and Alejandro entered, handcuffed and dressed in the orange prison uniform, my heart sank. He had lost weight. His face was pale, his eyes with deep dark circles. He looked older than his 35 years. When he saw us enter, tears immediately welled up in his eyes. ‘Mommy, Dad,’ he whispered in a broken voice.
‘We came,’ Ricardo replied, just sitting down next to the bed. There wasn’t much more to say. The gap between us was too great to be filled with words. But being there, to offer a little human comfort seemed essential, not only to Alejandro, but also to us. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he finally said, ‘for everything. I know it means nothing after what I did, but I have to say it.’ ‘Why did you try to commit suicide?’ I asked directly. He looked at his own bandaged hands. ‘Because I finally understood the magnitude of what I had done. Not just the plan, the lies, the manipulation, but how much I had hurt them, how much I had destroyed them. And I realized that I couldn’t fix it.’ For the first time since all this happened, I saw something in his eyes that seemed genuine. Not manipulation, not self-pity, but a true understanding of the pain it had caused. ‘You’re right,’ Ricardo said, his voice gentle but firm. ‘There are things that cannot be fixed, but that doesn’t mean you have to give up.’ ‘Why? What do I have left?’ ‘Life,’ I answered simply. ‘It’s not perfect, it will be hard within these walls for many years, but it’s still life, the opportunity to perhaps someday do good with it.’
We were only half an hour. We didn’t promise to come back regularly or to grant easy forgiveness. We just said goodbye, leaving the possibility in the air, however difficult, of some kind of future relationship. On the way home, Ricardo and I remained silent for a long time, processing the visit, the conflicting feelings it had evoked. ‘Was that the right thing to do,’ he finally asked. ‘I don’t know if there is a right thing in situations like these,’ I replied. ‘All I know is that I don’t regret going.’
Four years after the conspiracy against our lives was discovered, Ricardo and I celebrated 45 years together. We decided not to do anything grand, just a quiet dinner at home with the few friends who stayed by our side throughout the storm. At dinner, as I watched Ricardo tell a story that made everyone laugh, I realized something essential. We were happy again, not like before. There were scars that would never completely disappear, but in a deeper and more conscious way. We had experienced the worst that life could offer and survived. We rebuilt some of the chaos, finding meaning after the destruction. And perhaps most importantly, we chose not to let the betrayal poison our lives.
Alejandro was still in prison, where he would spend many years. After the suicide attempt, he seemed to have found a kind of purpose. He began to study law through a prisoner program with the idea of eventually helping other inmates. We visited occasionally, not often, but enough to maintain a fragile connection. Sofía was serving her sentence in a maximum-security penitentiary, and refused any contact with us. According to what we heard, she continued to deny responsibility for all her crimes, always blaming others.
As for us, we learned to carry our story without allowing it to completely define us. When we met new people, the truth eventually came out. Our city was not that big and the case was well known, but we found that most people were compassionate, respecting our pain. Some nights I still woke up with doubts, remembering that moment in the electronics store when Chui turned the cell phone screen towards me and my world collapsed. Sometimes Ricardo still had nightmares where Alejandro managed to complete his plan, but the shadows of the past appeared less frequently now, overcome by the light of the present, the small joys of daily life, new friends, rediscovered hobbies, the love that survived the unthinkable.
On the night of our 45th anniversary, after all the guests had left, Ricardo and I sat on the balcony of our apartment, looking at the starry sky. ‘Who knows,’ he commented, holding my hand. ‘That after everything we would be here together.’ ‘Survivors.’ I smiled while holding his hand. ‘More than that, Ricardo corrected. Living.’ And he was right. We weren’t just surviving. We were living fully, consciously grateful. We learned the hard way that life is fragile, that the most intimate relationships can hide terrible secrets, that betrayal can come from where it is least expected. But we also learned that human strength is extraordinary, that it is possible to start again, even after the most severe destruction, that love, true love, not the twisted version Alexander claimed to feel, can survive even the worst storms.
5 years after that fateful afternoon in the electronics store, I looked back and saw not only the tragedy, but also the growth that came after. I did not choose this path, I did not ask for this pain, but I accepted the challenge of rebuilding, of finding meaning, of continuing to love despite everything. And perhaps that was the greatest victory, not allowing hatred, bitterness, or fear to define. To choose compassion, courage, and hope every day, even knowing how dark the world can be. Chui did not know that he gave me more than a chance to live that afternoon. He gave me the opportunity to discover a strength I didn’t know I possessed. The strength not only to discover a conspiracy, but to rebuild a life from scratch, to love again, to trust despite the scars. And for that I will be grateful forever.”