I took my daughter-in-law’s broken cell phone to be repaired, but the technician who fixed it called me aside and whispered, “Cancel the cards, change the passwords, and run away immediately.” When I asked him what was going on, he turned his cell phone in my direction 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 perfectly normal life. I live in a comfortable house in Guadalajara with my husband Ricardo, 67. We have recently retired. I was a history teacher and he was an engineer. We have an only son, Alejandro, married for 5 years to Sofia. Our daughter-in-law always seemed to me to be a charming young woman, with a degree in management, intelligent, beautiful, she worked in a financial consulting company. Alejandro met her at a party of mutual friends and they married in less than a year.

Sometimes I thought he was a little aloof, but I chalked it up to the stress of the job and his more reserved personality. It all started last Wednesday when Sofia came to visit us alone, something unusual, since she and Alejandro usually came together on weekends. She arrived agitated saying that she had a problem with her cell phone. The screen was completely broken and he asked if he knew of any reliable place to repair it. I accidentally broke my phone and I need it to work today for an important meeting tomorrow.

Alejandro is traveling and I have no idea where to take him,” she explained. By coincidence, I had taken my cell phone for repairs last week to a small store in the center of the city. The owner Jesús, whom we all call Chui, was the son of a former colleague from the school where I taught. He offered to bring him his device. It would be perfect, Teresa. You would save my life, Sofia said, handing me her cell phone. The password is 2800218, our wedding anniversary. I have to run to the office now.

Can I pick it up in the evening? Accepted. Of course. I grabbed my cell phone and drove to Chui’s store. The place was small, wedged between a pharmacy and a bakery, with a discreet sign, express repairs. When I entered, Chuy was leaning over a table full of tiny tools and disassembled electronics. “Doña Teresa, what a pleasure to see you again. ” He greeted me with a smile. I explained to him about my daughter-in-law’s cell phone and he assured me that he could fix it in a few hours.

“I’ll be back after lunch,” I said, handing him the device and the password. I spent the afternoon shopping and around 4:0 p.m. I returned to the store. Chui was alone and when he saw me enter his face changed. The sympathetic expression gave way to something I couldn’t decipher at the time. Worry. “Fear,” Doña Teresa said in a low voice, looking quickly at the door, as if verifying that no one else was there. The cell phone is ready, but I need to show you something, ma’am.

I frowned in confusion. Any problem with the appliance? No, with the device, he answered. And then he came over speaking almost in a whisper. Cancel cards, change passwords, and run away immediately. I felt a chill run down my spine. What? What is Chui talking about? He signaled me to come closer, opened Sofia’s cell phone and entered the messaging application. He navigated to a folder called Plan B and showed me the screen. My blood froze.

They were messages exchanged between Sofia and my son, detailing a plan to kill me. “Mom is getting more forgetful,” read a message from Alejandro. “It’s the perfect time. The doctor is already documenting his memory lapses at my request. No one is going to question when it happens. “Sofia’s answer turned my stomach. Her and your father’s life insurance is worth almost 2 million. With the sale of the house we will have enough to start from scratch away from Guadalajara.

I felt my legs give out and I had to lean against the counter. This, this can’t be true, I muttered. more for myself than for Chui. Doña Teresa swore that she did not want to put me in. When I was testing the cell phone after the repair, a notification appeared and I accidentally saw these messages. I couldn’t ignore it. I continued to slide the conversation with my eyes bulging with horror. They discussed methods, dates, how to make it look like a domestic accident. They talked about drugs they could use, doses that would be fatal for a lady of her age with high blood pressure.

My own son and his wife coldly planning my death. They are also planning to kill Ricardo, I whispered, feeling short of breath. The conversation detailed how they would go about eliminating my husband afterwards. It has to be a few weeks apart, Alejandro wrote. An older couple dying at the same time would raise suspicions. Chui closed the door of the shop and turned the sign closed. He brought me a glass of water and helped me sit down. “You have to go to the police,” he said in a firm but gentle voice.

I shook my head, still in shock. You won’t believe me. It is the word of a forgetful old woman against my son and daughter-in-law, respectable people in the community. So, ma’am, you have to gather evidence and you have to protect yourself. I was right. I picked up the cell phone with trembling hands and began to take photos of the messages with my own device. I documented everything, dates, times, the detailed plan, mentions to the family doctor who was apparently being manipulated to create a history of dementia.

Chui, could you restore the phone exactly as it was? I don’t want them to know that we discovered something. He agreed and we worked together for another hour. When he finished, Sofia’s cell phone appeared intact, with no sign that her secret messages had been discovered. As I walked out of the store, I felt like I was in a nightmare. The gray sky of Guadalajara seemed even bleaker. How would I get home? How would I look at Ricardo knowing that our only son was planning to kill us?

Even worse, how would he face Sofia when he came to pick up the cell phone? Driving back home, I planned every step. First I had to alert Ricardo without scaring him too much. Then we had to act quickly, but intelligently. If Alejandro and Sofia suspected that we knew something, they could accelerate their plans or create a new strategy. The weight of the betrayal was almost unbearable. My son, whom I carried in my womb, whom I breastfed, whom I helped with homework, whom I comforted when his first courtship ended.

I planned my death for money. I parked the car in front of our house and took a few deep breaths. I had to stay calm. The game of life and death had begun and I had to outsmart the two young men who thought that a forgetful old lady would be easy prey. Few of them knew that this lady had faced the military dictatorship when she was a student, that she had raised a child alone while her husband traveled for work, that she had survived breast cancer 5 years ago.

If they thought he was going to fall without a fight, they were sorely mistaken. I got out of the car holding Sofia’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 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 in the midst of the chaos that had settled in my life.

Were you able to solve it from Sofia’s cell phone? He asked absentmindedly without taking his eyes off the television. I swallowed hard. Yes, it’s fixed. I had to tell him, but I didn’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 firmer than I expected. I need to show you something. It is serious. Something in my tone must have alarmed him because he immediately turned off the television and looked at me attentively. What happened, Teresa?

I sat next to him and showed him the photos I had taken of the messages. I watched his face as he read, the initial confusion, followed by disbelief, then horror, and finally a pain so deep I thought it would collapse right there. He did not whisper in a choked voice. There must be some mistake, Alejandro, never. I didn’t want to believe it either, I replied holding his trembling hands. But it’s them, Ricardo. It’s Alejandro’s number, it’s the way he writes.

And Sofia answering from her cell phone, which is here with me. Ricardo closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths. When he opened them again, I saw something I rarely witnessed. Absolute 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 would be involved in this. 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.

“Sofia will come to pick up the cell phone tonight,” I warned. We have to act normally. How? Ricardo’s voice failed. How am I going to look at her knowing that in the same way that I’ve taught teenagers to feign interest in medieval history for 30 years, I tried to joke, but the smile came out weak. One step at a time, Ricardo. Our life depends on this. We spent the next hour checking bank accounts online. We discovered something disturbing. Small sums had been regularly transferred from our joint account to an unknown account in the last 3 months.

values low enough not to arouse suspicion, 200 pesos here, 300 pesos there, but that added up to almost 10,000 pesos. Alejandro has access to our accounts, Ricardo murmured. We gave him a power of attorney last year, remember? In case something happened to us. The irony was bitter. We trust him so much that we practically hand him the tools for our own destruction. We changed all the passwords, canceled two credit cards that Alejandro had as additional and called the bank requesting the blocking of any transaction over 1000 pesos without face-to-face authorization.

And what about the doctor? asked Ricardo. Dr. Pablo had been treating us for more than 15 years. He was a friend. He had lunch occasionally at our house. The idea that I might be falsifying medical reports at my son’s request was almost as painful as Alejandro’s betrayal. “I’m going to schedule a consultation tomorrow,” I decided alone. I want to see what it says about my memory. At 7 p.m. the bell rang. Ricardo and I looked at each other tensely. He squeezed my hand. A silent promise that we would follow our plan.

I opened the door forcing a smile. Sofia was beautiful as always, with her impeccably groomed brown hair and elegant clothes. That neat appearance now seemed to me a perfect mask to hide the monstrosity underneath. Teresa, excuse me for coming so late. How did it go with the coach? All right, I replied handing him my cell phone. Chui did a great job. The screen is as good as new. She turned on the device, checked quickly, and smiled. Perfect. How much was it? Let me pay. Don’t worry, I’ve already fixed everything.

It was a courtesy of him. I don’t even get paid because I’m a long-time customer. Sofia hesitated for a moment, a slight frown of the eyebrows that she wouldn’t have noticed before. I’d be worried that the coach had seen something. Are you sure? I didn’t want to make people uncomfortable. What’s up, daughter? Do you want to come in? Ricardo is watching TV. We were going to have tea. Oh, I can’t today. I have a presentation early tomorrow and I still need to review some data. I noticed how he avoided looking directly at me as he spoke. A skilled liar, but now that she knew what to look for, the little signs were there.

I understand. When does Alejandro return from the trip? Tomorrow night, he responded quickly. Another lie. From the messages, Alejandro was not traveling. I was at home waiting for news of her. “Tell him to visit us soon,” I said, keeping the tone casual. We haven’t seen him for almost two weeks. Of course. She smiled, putting her cell phone in her bag. He misses them too. Oh, I remembered. They have already checked that doctor that Alejandro recommended to them. the memory specialist. My heart raced, but I kept my expression neutral.

We still didn’t have time. Why is it that his face hesitated a mask of feigned worry? Alejandro commented that lately you have been forgetting some important things, names, quotes, impression of him. I replied with a light laugh. My memory is excellent. I remember even the day you wore that same outfit to my cousin Elisa’s birthday party two months ago. I saw something pass quickly through his eyes. Frustration, worry, before his social smile returned. Well, it never hurts to get a check-up, anyway?

At his age. Sure, sure. I will schedule a consultation soon. We said goodbye and as soon as I closed the door, I leaned against it, exhausted by the effort of feigning normality. Ricardo was waiting for me in the room tense. Well, he tried to sow the idea of my memory loss, I replied by sitting next to him. They’re building the stage for when it happens. What do we do now? Act. Answered. a determination growing within me. Early tomorrow I’m going to Dr. Pablo. Then I want to verify our life insurance.

We need to know exactly what Alexander altered. And then and then we’re going to set up our own trap. That night I could hardly 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 tormented look that I must have had. I’m thinking of Alejandro as a child, he said quietly. Do you remember how I was afraid of the dark? How he ran to our bed during storms.

What happened to that child, Teresa? I had no answer. How our loving son had become that strange calculator capable of coldly planning our death. We’re going to find out, I promised hugging him. And we’re going to survive this. The next morning I called Dr. Pablo’s office claiming an emergency. I got a consultation for 10:0. Before leaving, we double-checked all of our online accounts and discovered something even more disturbing. There was a new life insurance policy in my name that I had taken out three months ago, of which I had no knowledge.

How is this possible? I asked horrified. Ricardo navigated through the digitized documents. Look, the signature is yours. I approached the screen in disbelief. The signature really looked like mine, but I had never signed that document. They forged my signature, I murmured. And there is more. Look at the value, 1.5 million. And the only beneficiary is Alejandro, Ricardo added, his voice breaking. The reality of the situation finally hit me with full force. It wasn’t just a vague plan, they had already taken concrete steps.

Documents were forged, money was being diverted, a doctor was possibly involved and now a life insurance that I was completely unaware of, ready to be cashed out after my accidental death. I left home feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. Consultation with Dr. Pablo would be crucial. I needed to find out to what extent I was involved in that conspiracy. The office was quiet at that time of the morning. The receptionist, who had known me for years, smiled when she saw me.

Doña Teresa, what a pleasure to see you. The doctor is going to attend to her. Less than 10 minutes later they called me. Dr. Pablo, a middle-aged man with gray hair and a generally friendly expression, looked slightly uncomfortable when I entered. Teresa, what a surprise? Alejandro called me yesterday. He said you were reluctant to get tested. I kept my expression neutral as I sat down. Seriously, how strange that he says that. In fact, doctor, I came because I’m worried about my memory. The doctor nodded as if confirming something he already knew.

Yes. Alejandro mentioned some worrying episodes. Forgetfulness, confusion. Curious, I replied calmly, because I don’t remember having any problems like that. Dr. Pablo hesitated for a moment. Well, Teresa, sometimes the patient does not perceive his own lapses. It is common in early dementia. And you already have a diagnosis, apparently. He looked more and more uncomfortable. No, of course not, but Alejandro showed me some videos, you confusing dates, forgetting names of people close to you. “Do you see?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

Can I see them? He left me no copies, but, Dr. Pablo, I interrupted by leaning forward. I have been his patient for 15 years. Do you know me? Do you really think I have dementia or are you just believing what my child says? The silence that followed was revealing. Finally Teresa sighed. I, Alejandro came to see me several times in the last few months very worried. He said that you and Ricardo were losing the ability to take care of yourselves, that they needed supervision. He asked me to document any signs of cognitive decline and you agreed.

He had the decency to look embarrassed. I only wrote down what he recounted. I didn’t diagnose anything without tests. I stared at him, letting the silence extend until it became uncomfortable. “Doctor Pablo, my son is planning to kill me and Ricardo.” The shock on his face seemed genuine. “What, Teresa? That is a very serious accusation. I have proof. And now I understand why I needed their involvement, even if it was indirect. A medical history documenting cognitive decline would make my death much less suspicious.

Dr. Pablo turned visibly pale. His normally steady hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his glasses. Teresa, I would never, ever participate in something like that. I thought Alejandro was genuinely concerned 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, his face went from disbelief to horror. “My God,” he murmured finally. “I had no idea. I want to see my medical history,” I demanded. “Now.” He hesitated just a moment before accessing his computer and opening my medical records.

He turned the screen so I could read. There it was documented in impersonal clinical language. Patient shows signs of cognitive decline as reported by the son. Recurrent episodes of confusion, temporal and spatial disorientation, forgetting names and recent events. Complete neurological evaluation is recommended. This is a lie. I said in a firm voice. And you know it. Teresa. I only recorded what Alejandro recounted. I didn’t confirm or diagnose anything, but it created a record that could be used against me, an official medical record suggesting that I’m losing my mental faculties.

Perfect for when he died accidentally, don’t you think? The doctor seemed truly disturbed. What do you want me to do? First, print this history for me with your signature. Then I want you to make a new record dated today, stating that you personally evaluated me and found no sign of cognitive compromise. He agreed immediately, clearly affected by the situation. And doctor, I added as I typed, if something happens to Ricardo or me, this history and our conversation today will be the first things the police will see.

I left the office with the documents in hand. Concrete proof of the conspiracy against us. Dr. Pablo had been manipulated by Alejandro, but his complicity, even if it was out of naivety, would almost cost us our lives. I drove to the bank next. He needed to personally verify our accounts and mainly revoke any power of attorney we had given to Alejandro. The manager, Mr. Mauricio, who had been keeping our accounts for years, was visibly surprised when I asked to revoke the power of attorney. Doña Teresa, are you sure?

Your son sought me out recently saying that you would like to expand your powers to handle finances, since Mr. Ricardo is not in good health. Another lie. Ricardo was perfectly healthy for his 67 years. My husband is very well, Mr. Mauricio, and yes, I am absolutely sure. In fact, I want to check all the movements of our accounts in the last 6 months. We spent the next hour reviewing excerpts. In addition to the small transfers we had already identified online, we discovered something even more disturbing.

Alejandro had started the process to obtain a second credit card from Ricardo, claiming the loss of the original. He said that Mr. Ricardo had lost the card, but he didn’t want to bother him with the bureaucracy,” explained the manager clearly embarrassed now. And you issued a new card without the presence. or signature of the owner. I asked incredulously. Mr. Yes. Mauricio stirred in his chair uncomfortably. Well, since he had power and was already handling various financial issues for you, I took a deep breath, holding back my anger.

Cancel that card immediately and block any future attempts to issue without our physical presence. When I left the bank, I was simultaneously relieved that I had interrupted another aspect of the plan and terrified by the extent of the plot. Alexander had meticulously prepared the ground, creating a scenario where our death would seem natural and he would have full control over our assets. On the way home, my cell phone rang. It was him. My heart soared, but I answered in the most normal voice possible.

Hello, son. Mom, is everything okay? I just arrived on a trip and Sofia told me that you took her cell phone to be repaired. It was very kind of you. The naturalness with which he lied was impressive. There was no trip. You’re welcome, dear. The boy in the assistance is the son of a colleague of mine. He gave us a good price. Very nice. Hey, I was thinking of stopping by tonight with Sofia. It’s been a while since we had dinner together, right? A shiver ran down my spine.

Why this sudden interest in visiting us? Would they have noticed something? Would the doctor have called Alejandro after my visit? Sure, I replied, keeping my voice steady. Come. Yes, I make that lasagna you like. Perfect. Oh, and Mom, did you go to the doctor I recommended? Sofia said they hadn’t gone yet. I actually went to Dr. Pablo this morning. A brief silence. You went and what did he tell you? Nothing special. He did some simple tests. He said I’m perfectly fine for my age.

Another longer silence this time. Ah, well, how good then. But maybe it’s good to get a second opinion, you know? Sometimes Dr. Pablo is very conservative with diagnoses. We’ll see, son. See you at night then? Yes, around 7 p.m. until later. When I hung up, my hands were shaking. The seemingly innocent conversation was loaded with threatening subtexts. Alejandro clearly expected that Dr. Pablo had proposed to me with some kind of cognitive compromise and was destabilized when he learned that was not the case and now he wanted to have dinner with us tonight.

Why? to observe my behavior, to verify if I showed any suspicion or worse. I got home and found Ricardo in the living room surrounded by papers. He looked up anxiously. How did it go? Is the doctor involved? I explained everything to him. How had Alejandro manipulated Dr. Pablo to create a false medical record? How did you gain access to our bank accounts? how he falsified life insurance documents and just called me, I concluded. He and Sofia want to have dinner here tonight.

Ricardo turned pale. Do you think they suspect we discovered something? I’m not sure, but she was clearly disturbed when she learned that I went to Dr. Pablo and that the doctor found nothing wrong with me. We look at each other, the same silent question floating between us. What could Alejandro and Sofía try during that dinner? We can’t eat or drink anything they bring, Ricardo finally said. And one of us must always be attentive observing what they do. I agreed. We need to record that dinner somehow.

If they say something incriminating. Ricardo nodded and went to get his old digital recorder that he used to record meetings when he was still working. We tested the device by checking if it still worked and where we could hide it in the dining room. I spent the afternoon preparing the lasagna I promised, although the thought of sitting at the table with two people who planned to kill us made me feel physically unwell. Every time I thought about the messages, the calculating coldness with which our own son discussed our death, I felt a pain that no words could describe.

How did we get to this point? I asked Ricardo as we set the table for dinner. Where did we go wrong with him? Ricardo shook his head, his eyes showing the same pain I felt. I don’t know, Teresa. I thought we knew our son. At 7:00 p.m. sharp, the bell rang. Ricardo and I exchanged one last look of confirmation. The tape recorder was hidden under the working table. Our strategy was simple, to act naturally, to observe his every move and, if possible, to provoke a slip that we could document.

I opened the door with a rehearsed smile. Alejandro and Sofia were there, he holding a bottle of red wine and she, a box of chocolates that they knew were my favorites. “Mom,” Alejandro exclaimed. hugging me enthusiastically. The physical contact that used to give me comfort, now gave me chills. How could he hug me knowing that he planned to kill me? I can’t wait to see you, he continued handing me the bottle. We brought a special wine for today. “Ah, thank you, dear,” I replied, discreetly parsing the label. It was an expensive vintage, one that would normally impress me.

Now he only made me wonder if it was adulterated. Ricardo received 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, sitting comfortably on the sofa. “We are going to save the wine to accompany dinner. We talked about trivialities for almost half an hour. Their work, the weather, local news, the surreal normality of the situation made me nauseous. I watched as Alejandro occasionally exchanged glances with Sofia, as she was attentive to my every move, as he directed seemingly innocent questions about my routine, my medications, my recent difficulties.

“Then, Mom,” she finally said, leaning forward, “how exactly was the doctor’s appointment?” Paul today took exams, asked for some specific test. I kept my expression neutral. It was a normal consultation. He didn’t see anything worrisome. “Strange,” Alexander murmured, frowning. He had told me that he suspected something more serious. Perhaps early Alzheimer’s. Seriously? I asked, raising my eyebrows in false surprise. 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 would those be, son? I don’t remember having any problems. A condescending smile appeared on his face. See? That is exactly what worries us. Don’t you remember? Last week you forgot the name of Doña Iracema, our neighbor of 20 years ago. Then you left the stove on for hours. None of that had happened. They were fabricated lies to build the narrative of my supposed insanity. Curious, I replied calmly. I spoke with Mrs. Iracema just yesterday, calling her by her name, and I haven’t used the stove for days.

I’ve preferred the microwave lately. Alejandro’s smile hesitated for an instant. “Let’s have dinner,” Ricardo interjected, getting up. Teresa’s lasagna smells wonderful. At the table the theater continued. I poured out the lasagna while Ricardo discreetly exchanged glasses of wine. We had agreed, we would drink the wine they brought, pretend to pour ourselves, but in reality we would drink from another bottle that we left previously opened in the kitchen. A toast, Alejandro proposed, raising his glass. For family and health. We raise our glasses and pretend to drink.

I watched intently as Alejandro and Sofia had their own drinks. they drank normally, without hesitation. Maybe the wine wasn’t adulterated after all. Teresa said Sofia, placing her glass on the table. Alejandro and I have been talking. We are worried that they live alone in this big house. It’s true, Alejandro added. Especially considering these recent episodes, we thought maybe it would be better for them to move to a smaller, easier to maintain place. Or maybe we could come and live here with you 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 execute the plan. How kind of you,” I replied keeping my voice firm. “But we’re perfectly fine, aren’t we, Ricardo?” “Abutamente.” He agreed. In fact, we are even thinking of traveling soon, maybe a season on the coast, in Cancun. I saw Alejandro and Sofia exchange a quick glance. “Travel. Now!” questioned Alejandro. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Dad. And mom’s doctors and your routine exams.

All excellent, I answered for Ricardo. We can travel peacefully. Sofia smiled, but her eyes remained cold. Need help planning that trip? Can I search for hotels, packages? It won’t be necessary, I cut off. We already take care of everything. The dinner went on with that underlying tension. In each seemingly innocent question, he acknowledged the true intention behind it. They were assessing our mental state, trying to establish control, looking for ways to physically get closer to us. When I served dessert, a flan that I carefully made in front of Ricardo, Alejandro took up the matter again.

“I was talking to a lawyer,” he said casually. On broader powers. Do you know what it looks like for emergencies? What kind of emergencies? Ricardo asked in a controlled voice. Well, if one of you needs to be hospitalized or if you know, things get worse with mom’s memory. The attorney suggested a full power of attorney that would give me authority to make medical and financial decisions for you. I looked at my son studying his face, that same face that I kissed as a baby, that I comforted as a child, that I proudly photographed at his graduation.

How had he become the mask of a calculating stranger? It won’t be necessary, son,” I finally said, “we have already updated all our documents recently. We even made some changes to our will and insurance beneficiaries.” Alexander’s expression froze for an instant. Changes. What kind of changes? Nothing to write home about, just making sure everything is in order in case something happens to us. Sofia put her hand on Alejandro’s arm as if holding him back.

It’s always good to check those documents, she said softly. They consulted a lawyer. Dr. Mauricio, the one you recommended, Ricardo lied with impressive naturalness. It was very helpful. There was no Dr. Mauricio, but the lie achieved its objective. Both seemed momentarily destabilized. At 10:00 p.m., Alejandro looked at the clock and announced that they had to leave. “Tomorrow I’ll work early,” he justified. But I knew the real reason. They needed to recalculate their plans. After many fake hugs and empty promises to visit us more often, they finally left.

As soon as the door closed, Ricardo and I collapsed on the couch, physically exhausted from the effort to keep up appearances. “They’re suspicious,” Ricardo whispered. “They realized that something changed.” I agreed, getting up to take the tape recorder. We rewind the recording listening to the whole conversation again. The implications were clear. Alejandro and Sofía were still determined to go through with the plan, but our recent moves, the doctor’s consultation, the bank changes, the mention of the will, had made them cautious.

They’re going to try something soon, Ricardo said. They can’t wait much longer now that we’re starting to take protective measures. We need more concrete evidence, I said. The recording helps, but it’s still not enough for the police. What if we tried to get them to confess, to confront them directly? I shook my head, too risky. They would deny everything and become more vigilant. That night we checked all the locks three times before going to bed. Still, I slept with a phone next to the bed and a chair leaning against the bedroom door.

Precautions that I never imagined I would need 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 Sofia getting out of her black van alone at 8:00 a.m. on a weekday when she should be at work. Ricardo, I called urgently. Sofia is here. He quickly rose to a sleepy stand. Where is Alejandro? I don’t know. I’m going to open, but stay close. I went downstairs trying to control the rhythm of my breathing.

Why would Sofia come so early without warning? What did he want? I opened the door before I even rang the doorbell. His face registered surprise for a moment, quickly replaced by a rehearsed smile. Teresa, excuse me for coming so early. I was passing through on my way to work and I thought about leaving these documents that Alejandro separated for you. He was holding a yellow folder. What documents?, I asked without trying to take it about that power we talked about yesterday and some articles about treatments for early Alzheimer’s that can help slow the progression of the disease.

He extended the folder again. Alejandro is really worried about you. I looked at the folder for a long moment. It was a trap. It had to be. Maybe ready-made documents with my forged signature, like the life insurance we discovered. Why don’t you come in? I invited while maintaining my casual tone. We can have a coffee and check it together. Sofia visibly hesitated. In fact, I’m late for work. I just wanted to leave this for you to read calmly. I insist, I said opening the door wider.

Ricardo just made fresh coffee. It will only take 5 minutes. Reluctantly he entered. I led her to the kitchen where Ricardo was already there, appearing calm while drinking her coffee. Sofia, what a pleasant surprise he said. He brought some documents for us to sign, I explained, emphasizing the word “let’s sign.” Ricardo understood immediately. “That’s great,” he replied. Let’s take a look. Sofia looked increasingly uncomfortable as Ricardo took the folder and began to examine the documents. I watched her intently, noticing how her eyes followed his every move, how his fingers drummed nervously on the table.

“Interesting,” Ricardo muttered after a few minutes. “This power would give Alejandro full control over our finances and medical decisions. It would practically render us legally incapable.” It’s just a precaution,” Sofia quickly justified, “Considering Teresa’s condition.” “What condition would that be exactly?” I asked directly. “Well, the memory lapses, the confusion.” She hesitated, apparently realizing she was on dangerous ground. Alejandro noticed several episodes. “Curious,” I commented. Dr. Pablo didn’t find any of that yesterday. Doctors can make mistakes, he replied, regaining his composure.

That is why it is important to get a second opinion with a specialist. Ricardo put the documents back in the folder and pushed it towards Sofia. We appreciate the concern, but we are not going to sign this. In fact, we have already begun proceedings to revoke the limited power of attorney we gave to Alejandro last year. The shock on his face was genuine and momentary, quickly replaced by a look of studied concern. But why does Alejandro only want to help? We’re sure they do,” I replied, “but we’d rather stay in control of our own lives.”

Sofia stood up abruptly. “I have to go. I’m really behind.” “Sure,” I said, accompanying her to the door. “Tell Alejandro that we will call later to talk about these documents. ” As soon as she left, Ricardo and I looked at each other. The same conclusion is evident to both. they’re accelerating the plan,” he whispered. “Yes, I nodded. And that means we have to act now.” After Sofia left, Ricardo and I carefully examined the documents she had brought. As we suspected, power would give Alexander absolute powers over our finances, property, and medical decisions.

There was also a voluntary hospitalization form for a nursing home, actually an institution for older adults with severe dementia, with spaces for our signatures. “They don’t even try to hide anymore,” Ricardo muttered, his fingers trembling as he flipped through the papers. “They’re practically 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 each document, creating digital copies that I sent to the email of Estela, my longtime friend and the only person outside our house that I completely trusted.

I briefly explained the situation and asked him to keep the files safely, without talking to anyone about it. What do we do now?, Ricardo asked when I finished. We need a plan. They are clearly making progress. Sofia’s surprise visit, these documents, we can’t wait any longer. We decided it was time to seek professional help. Not the police, we didn’t have enough definitive evidence yet, but a lawyer who could guide us on how to legally protect our assets and, more importantly, our lives. We chose a lawyer we did not know before and who had no connection with 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 center of the city we explained the whole situation to Dr. Lucia, the discovered messages, the bank accounts, the fraudulent life insurance, the manipulated medical records, the documents that Sofia had brought that morning. The attorney listened to us carefully, taking occasional notes and asking for specific details. When we finished, he took a deep breath before speaking. Gentlemen, we are facing an extremely serious situation. What I have been described amounts to various crimes: conspiracy, falsification of documents, attempted fraud, and most seriously conspiracy for murder.

Do we have enough evidence for the police?” asked Ricardo. The messages are the most conclusive evidence, but since they obtained them by accessing Sofia’s cell phone without her authorization, there is a risk that they will be considered illicit evidence. However, considering the gravity of the situation and the imminent danger to you, I believe we can build a strong case. What should we do first? Asked. We will immediately prepare legal documents revoking any existing powers of attorney and blocking 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 are going to file a detailed complaint presenting all the evidence we have so far. We spent the next two hours signing documents, formalizing statements, and planning each step. Dr. Lucia was thorough, ensuring that every legal aspect was covered. Now, he finally said, let’s go to the most urgent issue, his physical safety. I strongly suggest that you do not come home today. Ricardo and I exchanged alarmed looks. Do you think we are in danger?

I immediately asked, although I already knew the answer. Based on what they told me, they did realize that they are taking protective measures. Sofia’s surprise visit this morning suggests urgency on her part. If I were you, I would spend a few days in a hotel using a different name until we can get a protective order. We left the lawyer’s office with 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 Raul Salas, listened to our story with growing concern. “This is extremely serious,” he said after examining the evidence. I will assign an investigator to the case immediately and request discreet surveillance for your residence. When we mentioned that the lawyer had suggested not to go home, the commissioner agreed emphatically. In fact, it would be safer for them to stay elsewhere for now, but first I would like to send a team to install discreet cameras in their house with their consent.

Of course. If they try to get in or do something, we’ll have concrete evidence. We agreed to the plan. We would return home briefly, only to collect some essential belongings while police officers set up surveillance equipment at strategic points. We would then go to a hotel in the city center, far from our neighborhood, using fake names as suggested. On the way back, Ricardo remained silent, staring out the taxi window. When we were almost arriving, he finally spoke. I never imagined that the day would come when I would be afraid of my own son.

I squeezed his hand. There were no words that could ease that pain. Our house seen from the outside looked strangely normal. The same windows, the same garden that we had cultivated for years, the same mailbox that Alejandro had painted as 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. The plainclothes policemen arrived discreetly in a common car. They entered through the back door and worked quickly installing small cameras in strategic places.

living room, kitchen, hallways, entrances. 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, medicines, important documents. I avoided looking at the family photographs on the wall, the objects that told the story of our life together. Every memory was now tainted by betrayal. “We are ready,” announced the police officer responsible for the facility. The cameras are virtually invisible to the naked eye, but they capture everything in high definition.

If someone comes in, we’ll know. He gave us a small card with a phone number. This is a direct line to our team. Any emergency, call immediately. When we were about to leave, my cell phone rang. It was Alejandro. I looked at the policeman who nodded, indicating that he should answer normally. “Hello,” I replied trying to sound natural. “Mom, where are they? I passed by his house and no one answered. My heart raced. He had come to our house while we were away. Why? We are shopping at the mall.

Lied. We needed a few things. Ah, I understand. It’s just that I was worried. They never leave without warning. The falsehood in his voice made me nauseous. It was a last-minute decision. We are already returning home. Perfect. Because I have a surprise for you. I’m waiting for you here. I froze. I was in our house at that very moment. A surprise? I asked, keeping my voice firm. Yes, I brought that wine they like. I thought about spending the afternoon together talking about those documents that Sofia left in the morning.

The policeman signaled me to keep the conversation going. How kind, son. We’ll arrive in half an hour or so. Perfect, I’m waiting for you. When I hung up, the policeman was already communicating with his colleagues. Suspect at the scene. I repeat, suspicious on the spot. Keep your distance, but be prepared. Turning to us, he explained, we’re going to let him in. Watch what he does. If you try to plant something, drugs, poison, anything, we’ll have it on video. It would be irrefutable proof. The plan made sense, but the idea of Alejandro wandering around our house, possibly setting some trap, terrified me.

What if he discovers the cameras?, Ricardo asked. Highly unlikely. They are the size of a button and placed in strategic places. In addition, we have agents positioned discreetly on the block. We went to a nearby café where we eagerly awaited news. With each passing minute, I imagined what Alejandro would be doing in our house, setting some trap, planting evidence against us, rummaging through our belongings in search of something. After 40 minutes that seemed like an eternity, the policeman received a call. He listened intently, nodding in the affirmative.

He went out, he reported as he hung up. And we have something interesting in the recordings. We quickly returned to the delegation where we were taken to a room with several monitors. Commissioner Salas was already there watching the recording of the cameras installed in our house. Mr. Pérez, he greeted us gravely. I think they should see this. On the screen we saw Alejandro entering the kitchen with two plastic bags. He looked around, verified that he was alone, and then began to act methodically.

He took several medicine containers out of the bags and put them in our medicine cabinet, mixing them with ours. He then opened a bottle of wine, probably the surprise he mentioned, and added some kind of white powder, mixing carefully before putting the cork back in. Finally, he took out of his pocket a small electronic device that we didn’t recognize and installed it discreetly under the kitchen table. “Probably a microphone or camera.” “Oh my God,” I muttered with my hands covering my mouth.

Watching my own son on video deliberately prepare what appeared to be our death was an indescribable pain. “Now we have more than enough evidence,” said the commissioner. “I am going to issue arrest warrants for Alejandro Pérez and Sofía Pérez immediately. What? What did you put in our medicine cabinet?” asked Ricardo with a trembling voice. We need to analyze it, but by appearance they are controlled medications. possibly in high doses. The substance he added to the wine will also be analyzed, but he would bet on some kind of powerful sedative.

The commissioner put his hand on my shoulder. Mrs. Perez, I know this is extremely painful, but I need you to understand. Their son was actively trying to kill them today. If only they had come home and had that wine. I couldn’t hold back my tears. The reality of the situation finally hit me with full force. They weren’t just suspicious text messages or documents. It was my son in our kitchen deliberately poisoning drinks and medicines that he knew we would use. What happens now? Ricardo asked, hugging me while I cried.

“We’re going to arrest them today,” replied the commissioner. With this evidence there is no possibility of provisional release. They are safe now, but I still recommend that they stay at the hotel for a few days until we sort everything out. As we were leaving the precinct trying to process everything that had happened, a police officer hurriedly approached. Commissioner Salas, we have just received a call. Alejandro and Sofía Pérez are at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Pérez at the moment. They seem agitated. They are looking for them.

The commissioner reacted immediately. Tactical team, ready. Let’s go now. Turning to us, he explained. You probably realized that something is wrong, that you didn’t come home as promised. We’re going to arrest them right now. Can we go with you?, I asked, surprising myself. Part of me wanted to run away. Never see Alejandro or Sofia again. But another part, perhaps the strongest, needed to be there, to witness the end of that nightmare. The commissioner hesitated, but ended up agreeing.

They can stay in the police car at a safe distance, but they won’t interfere in any way. On the way home, with my heart pounding uncontrollably in my chest, I wondered how I had gotten to this point. How my son, whom I hugged in my arms as a baby, had become that stranger capable of coldly planning my death. When we arrived, several police cars were already discreetly positioned around our house. On the radio we heard that Alejandro and Sofia were still in there, apparently arguing about what to do.

“They realized that something is wrong,” said a policeman. They are trying to call Mr. and Mrs. Pérez’s cell phones repeatedly. In fact, my cell phone had rang several times in the last few minutes. Always Alejandro. I ignored every call following the instructions of the police. Commissioner Salas personally coordinated the operation by speaking quietly on the radio with the various agents positioned. Teams in position, he finally announced. Let’s get into it in a minute. That’s when we saw movement. The front door opened and Alexander hurried out, followed by Sofia.

They were both carrying backpacks and looked agitated, looking around nervously as they made their way to the car parked in the wax. “They’re trying to run away,” Ricardo muttered. In an instant, several police officers came out of hiding, surrounding the couple with guns drawn. “Police high, hands where we can see.” I saw the shock on Alejandro’s face, the panic in Sofia’s eyes. For a moment, Alexander seemed to consider running, but quickly realized that he was surrounded. Slowly, they both raised their hands.

Within seconds they were restrained, handcuffed and put in separate vehicles. Everything was so fast and organized that it seemed unreal like a movie scene. Commissioner Sala approached our car. It’s done. Both are in custody. charged with attempted murder, conspiracy and various other crimes. We found the adulterated wine and medicines he planted. Let’s analyze everything. I looked out the window of the police car and saw my son being carried away, handcuffed, in the back seat of a patrol car.

Our eyes met for a brief moment. I saw no remorse in his eyes, only anger and perhaps surprise at being caught. At that moment, a strange sensation overcame me. It wasn’t relief, it wasn’t satisfied revenge, it was just a deep emptiness, as if something fundamental had been ripped from me. We returned to the delegation where we made more formal statements. The police had found various incriminating items in Alejandro and Sofía’s backpacks. The original medicines from the containers he had planted in our house, plus doses of the powder he put in the wine, plane tickets abroad dated for the next day, and a considerable amount of cash.

“They were ready to flee,” the commissioner explained. “You probably realized that 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 held my hand tightly as we listened. Each new detail was like a knife piercing my heart. “You can watch it if you want,” the commissioner offered after finishing the bureaucratic procedures. “They are in separate cells awaiting transfer.” Ricardo shook his head.

It wasn’t ready yet and I respected that. But something inside me needed to look into my son’s eyes 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 it here. We will be watching through the glass and if you feel any discomfort, just raise your hand and we will interrupt you immediately. I nodded, sitting up straight and with my hands folded on the table to hide his trembling.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Alejandro entered handcuffed and escorted by a policeman. His face was pale, his eyes red, his hair disheveled. He seemed to have aged 10 years in a few hours. The policeman made him sit in front of me and he came out, standing just outside the door. For almost a minute we remained silent, just looking at each other. Alejandro was the first to speak. “They set me up,” he said in a low, bitter voice. This is all a big misunderstanding.

Don’t lie to me, I replied calmly. No, now it’s over. Alejandro looked away, his jaw tense. What do you want me to say? I want to know why. Why your own father and me? What did we do to deserve this? Alejandro laughed humorlessly. You wouldn’t understand. Try to explain to me. I have all the time in the world now. He stared at me again, something cold and calculating in his eyes that I had never noticed before. Money, Mom, it was always for money. You have both the house, the pensions, the investments, the insurance.

And what do they do with all that? Nothing. living their mediocre lives, saving every penny as if they were going to live forever. I felt the blow of his words, but I kept my composure. And that justifies killing us. It was Sofia’s idea at first, he admitted as if it absolved him in some way. She works in finance, she realized how much you were worth and she was tired of waiting. Why wait decades for an inheritance? He said, when we can start our real life now.

And you agreed like that, so easily did he shrug his shoulders. It wasn’t right away, but she convinced me that it would be better for everyone. You were already old. Eventually they would start to have health problems, they would suffer. It would be a favor. In fact, the coldness with which he spoke made my blood run cold. 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 responded as if that mattered.

They would just fall asleep and not wake up without suffering, like the wine you prepared today. Alejandro was silent for a moment. How did you find out? Were the messages on Sofia’s cell phone, right? That idiot technician. Yes, it was the messages, but even without them we would have figured it out eventually. You weren’t as smart as you thought, son. He squirmed in his chair, handcuffs jingling. And now, are you going to testify against your own son? To send me to prison? Were you going to make it look like 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, I really looked at him trying to see beyond the rage, beyond the coldness, looking for any vestige of the child we raised. I found nothing. I don’t recognize you, I finally said. My voice almost a whisper. The child we raise, love, protect, where is he? I’m here, Alejandro replied. a flash of excitement crossing his face.

This is me. I just grew up. I just got tired of waiting my turn. I got up slowly. You’ll have a good lawyer. We’ll pay for that. It’s the last act like your parents. But don’t expect anything more from us, Alejandro. What you did has no turning back. Mom called me when I was already at the door. You don’t understand. I just wanted a chance to really live. I turned one last time. We gave you every chance, son. Education, love, support. The choice of how to live was yours and you chose this.

I left the room feeling as if each step required enormous effort. In the hallway I found Ricardo waiting with red eyes, his face marked by tears that he did not even try to hide. “What did he tell you?” he asked quietly. The truth is that I finally answered, he did everything for money. Our death would be only a means for him to have the life he deserves. Ricardo closed his eyes, a deep pain contorting his face. How did we not notice? How did we not see what it became?

I had no answer. The same question tormented me. How parents who were present at every important moment, who celebrated every achievement, who taught values and principles, were able to raise someone capable of coldly planning the murder of their own parents. We left the delegation in silence, heading to the hotel where we would spend the next few nights. On the way, Ricardo spoke little, absorbed in his own thoughts. I knew I was reliving 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 be shared, even after so many years together. I went to bed exhausted, but sleep did not come. Images of Alexander as a child mingled with the vision of him, putting poison in the wine, creating a waking nightmare from which he could not escape.

When I finally fell asleep, it was a hectic dream, full of confused dreams, where I ran through endless corridors, chased by shadows with my son’s face. I woke up startled to the sound of my cell phone. It was Commissioner Salas. Mrs. Perez, excuse me for calling so early. We need you to come to the delegation as soon as possible. There was a development in the case. The deep tone in his voice alarmed me. Did something happen? I prefer to explain it personally. It is better that they come as soon as possible. I woke Ricardo up and told him about the call.

Within 30 minutes we were in the delegation being led directly to the commissioner’s room. Salas received us with a grave expression. Mr. and Mrs. Pérez, I am grateful that you have come so quickly. I have complicated news. What happened? Ricardo asked in a tense voice. Sofía Pérez requested to make a complete statement in exchange for a reduction of sentence. She is willing to testify against her son. I felt a lump in my throat. What did he say? According to her, the original plan was only to steal from them, divert money from the accounts, obtain powers to control the assets.

The idea of physically eliminating them arose only in the last few months, when Alejandro realized that you could discover the deviations. Ricardo squeezed my hand tightly. She also claims, the commissioner continues, that Alejandro was also planning to kill her after you were dead and he had access to all the money. The revelation fell like a bombshell. “My son was planning to kill his own wife,” I whispered. According to her, yes. She found messages from him with another woman, discussing how he would split the money after Sofia’s problem was resolved.

I closed my eyes. trying to absorb that new layer of horror. It was not enough to plan our death. Alexander was willing to eliminate anyone who stood between him and money. “There’s more,” Salas said, his tone even deeper. We analyzed the powder he put in the wine. It is a mixture of powerful sedatives and a substance called Oleander, extremely toxic, causes cardiac arrest and we found evidence that he had tried before. How is that?, Ricardo asked. Samples of her hair, Mrs. Perez, revealed traces of the same substance, likely administered in small doses to simulate natural health problems.

That would explain the memory lapses he claimed you had. They were not lapses, they were symptoms of gradual poisoning. The room seemed to revolve around me. I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself as the cruel reality struck me. My son had already begun to poison me slowly, methodically. For how long, I managed to ask. It is difficult to specify, but from what the samples indicate, at least three months. Three months. I went over the little cues I’d ignored. More frequent headaches, moments of dizziness, sleepless nights.

I chalked it all up to stress, to age, never imagining that I was slowly being poisoned by my own son. And Mr. Ricardo? asked the commissioner, turning to my husband. “I feel good,” he replied confused. “Still, we recommend toxicological testing. If the lady was targeted, he may have started acting against you as well. We leave the delegation even more affected than before.” The idea that Alejandro was not only planning to kill us, but that he had already started the process, was unbearable.

Every meal we shared over the past few months, every cup of coffee he graciously prepared, every medication he reminded me to take, it all could have been part of his macabre plan. Let’s go to the hospital right 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 observation for 24 hours. The results when they arrived confirmed the suspicions.

I had detectable levels of Oleander in my body, though not enough to cause permanent damage. Ricardo was clean, suggesting that Alejandro had focused on me first, probably because as a woman with a history of health problems I had breast cancer years ago. My death would seem less suspicious. You were lucky, ma’am, the doctor explained. The gradual poisoning was stopped before it caused irreversible damage. With proper treatment and time, your body will completely eliminate the toxin. Luck. It was a strange word to describe the situation.

I was lucky because I found out that my son was poisoning me before he managed to kill me. In the days that followed, the case took on proportions we never imagined. The story of the son who planned to murder his parents by inheritance attracted national media attention. Reporters surrounded the hotel where we were staying. They called constantly. They tried in every way to get a statement from us. We rejected all interviews, all appearances. Our pain was too deep, too personal to be transformed into a public spectacle.

Dr. Lucia, our lawyer, became our official spokesperson, managing all the legal aspects and keeping the press at arm’s length. It was she who brought us the news that Alejandro would be accused of attempted homicide with the aggravating circumstances of premeditated poisoning and Vile motive. If convicted, he would face decades in prison. A week after Alejandro and Sofia’s arrest, we finally felt safe to return home. The police had removed all surveillance equipment, but installed an alarm system connected directly to the precinct.

Just as a precaution, as Commissioner Salas said. Going back into that house was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Each room held memories, some beautiful, others now tainted by the knowledge of what Alexander had become. In the living room, family photographs seemed to mock us. Alejandro as a child smiling on his first day of school. Alejandro is a proud teenager with his swimming trophy. Alejandro as an adult at his wedding to Sofia. Moments that captured a life that we now knew had been, at least in part, an illusion.

Ricardo walked slowly around the house, touching objects, looking at photographs, as if trying to reconcile the happy past with the devastating present. “We need to move,” he finally said. “I can’t live here knowing what happened in this kitchen, in this house. I agreed silently. The house, which had been our refuge for decades, was now steeped in betrayal and danger. That night, lying in our bed, hand in hand in the dark, Ricardo expressed the thought that was tormenting me. Will we ever understand what happened?

How did our son become this? I don’t know, I answered honestly. Maybe some things have no explanation. Maybe some people just choose the wrong path, regardless of how they were raised. We talked to him, Teresa, so many times about honesty, about hard work, about family. How was it not enough? Maybe for some people nothing is enough. Perhaps the emptiness within them can never be filled. We remained silent for a long time, each absorbed in his own thoughts.

Finally, Ricardo spoke again. What do we do now? How do we move forward after this? It was the question I had been asking myself. How to rebuild a life when one’s foundations were destroyed? How can we trust again when the betrayal came from the one we loved the most? One day at a time, I responded by squeezing his hand. We start again in another place supporting each other. In the weeks that followed, we put the house up for sale, began the process of finding a new home, and tried to somehow rebuild a sense of normalcy.

We found a small apartment in the center of town, completely different from the spacious house where we raised Alejandro, and slowly began to transfer only the items that didn’t bring back painful memories. Meanwhile, the court case was advancing. Sofia 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 accusations, claiming that it was all more than 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 had to say. The letter was short, written in the familiar handwriting you would recognize anywhere. Mom and Dad, I know you probably 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 spare them the suffering of growing old, of becoming dependent, of losing their dignity.

I don’t expect forgiveness. I know that what I did is unforgivable in your eyes, but I want you to know that it was not out of hatred, it was out of ambition. Yes, out of greed perhaps, but also out of a distorted form of love. One day, when they’re ready, I’d like to see them 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 vestige of the son I knew, but all I saw was more manipulation, more attempts to justify the unjustifiable.

For love,” I murmured, folding the letter. He tried to kill us for love. Ricardo, who finally decided to read it too, shook his head sadly. “He still doesn’t understand, maybe he never understands.” I put the letter in a drawer and never answered. Maybe one day, when the pain wasn’t so acute, when I could think of Alejandro without feeling that devastating mix of love and betrayal, I’d find the words to answer. 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 arduous task of rebuilding our lives.

We sold the house for less than market value. We wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible and settled in 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 confirming the gradual poisoning, Sofia’s testimony, the falsified documents.

Condemnation seemed certain. Still, the thought of testifying against my own son terrified me. How would I sit in that courtroom and tell the world how I had methodically planned our death? How would she look him in the eye as she sealed her fate? Ricardo and I discussed this extensively with our therapist, Dr. Marta, whom we began visiting weekly after all the tragedy. You are not responsible for your choices, he constantly reminded us. Testifying is not a betrayal, it is simply telling the truth.

But he is our son,” Ricardo argued. “Through it all, he’s still our son.” Yes, he is his son and he is also a grown man who made terrible decisions. Both realities can coexist. One afternoon, while organizing some boxes that we hadn’t yet unpacked in the new apartment, I found an old photo album. I sat down on the floor and began to look at it slowly. They were photos of Alejandro, as a baby, then as a child, as a teenager, always smiling, always surrounded by our love.

In one specific photo, I was about 5 years old and proudly holding a drawing I had made, three stick figures representing our family with a solente on top. “For the best mom in the world,” the drawing said in crooked children’s letters. The tears came uncontrollably. Where was that child now? At what point did that loving creature become someone capable of planning the death of his own parents? Ricardo found me crying over the open album. Without saying a word, he sat down next to me and hugged me.

We stood there, both crying over the loss of the son we loved. Not because of his physical death, but because of the death of what we thought he was. The following week we received an unexpected visitor. Estela, my friend from the library who had helped me document the evidence against Alejandro, brought with her a folder with clippings from old newspapers. Teresa, Ricardo, started excitingly. I found something they 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 shouted: “Elderly man dies in mysterious circumstances, niece inherits fortune after uncle’s death. Police investigate suspicious deaths, but file the case due to lack of evidence. What is this?” I asked in confusion. “Look at the photo.” Estela pointed to the image of a young woman being interviewed. It was Sofia, a few years younger, but unmistakably her. Before she was called Sofia Silva and moved to Guadalajara, she was known as Carolina Santos in this small town. And the man who mysteriously died was her uncle, who raised her after her parents died.

Ricardo took the clippings by reading quickly. She inherited everything. Police suspected poisoning but were unable to obtain conclusive evidence. Exactly, Estela confirmed. And do you know what the suspicious substance was, Oleander? I replied feeling a chill run down my spine. Estela nodded gravely. The same poison they found in your system, Teresa, the same one that Alejandro put in the wine. The implication was clear and devastating. Sofia was not only Alejandro’s accomplice, she was probably the intellectual author, the person who brought the idea, who taught the technique, who had already done this before.

Why are you showing us this now?, Ricardo asked. Because his agreement with the prosecutor’s office is almost finalized,” Estela explained. She is going to spend only a few years in prison in exchange for her testimony against Alejandro. Not fair, right? When she probably killed before. We took the discovery to Dr. Lucia, our lawyer, who immediately contacted the prosecutor of the case. Investigations were reopened into both the death of Sofia’s uncle and possible other similar cases in his past.

Within weeks, Sofia’s deal was on hold and she was facing additional allegations. The police found a diary in his apartment detailing not only the plan to kill us, but also notes about the uncle’s death and plans to eliminate Alejandro after gaining access to our money. The picture that emerged was even bleaker than we imagined. Sofia was a calculating sociopath who had deceived Alejandro, manipulating him into planning our death. She had used it as a tool, intending to get rid of him as soon as she got what she wanted.

Alejandro, upon learning of this during a preliminary hearing, collapsed. According to his lawyer, he eventually realized the extent of the manipulation he had suffered, although this did not absolve him of his guilt for actively participating in the scheme. It was at that moment that we made a difficult decision. We would visit Alejandro in prison. Not for forgiveness or reconciliation. It was too early for that, if it would ever be possible, but to look the truth in the face, to try to understand.

The penitentiary was a cold and oppressive place. We follow a guard down gray corridors to a small visiting room, where we wait in tense silence. When the door opened and Alejandro entered, handcuffed and wearing the orange prison uniform, my heart sank. He had lost weight. His face was pale, with deep dark circles. He looked much older than his 35 years. When he saw us enter, immediate tears began to run down his face. “Mom, Dad,” she whispered in a hoarse voice.

“We came,” Ricardo replied simply sitting down next to the bed. There wasn’t much to say. The chasm between us was too vast to be filled with words. But to be there, to offer that little human comfort seemed important, not only to Alejandro, but also to us. “I’m so sorry,” he finally said, “for everything. I know it doesn’t mean anything after what I did, but I have to say it. Why did you try to kill yourself?” I asked directly. He looked at his own bandaged hands, because I finally understood the magnitude of what I did.

Not just the plan, the lies, the manipulation, but how much I hurt them, how much I destroyed. And I realized I could never fix it. For the first time since it all happened, I saw something in his eyes that seemed genuine. Not manipulation, not self-pity, but real understanding of the pain it had caused. You’re right, Ricardo said, his voice gentle but firm. Some things can’t be fixed, but that doesn’t mean you should give up. Why? What do I have left? Life I answered just imperfect, difficult within these walls for many years, but still life, the opportunity to maybe one day do something good with it.

We were only half an hour. We did not promise to return regularly or offer easy forgiveness. We just say goodbye, leaving in the air the possibility, however tenuous, of some kind of future relationship. On the way home, Ricardo and I remained silent for a long time, processing the visit, the conflicting emotions it aroused. Was it the right thing to do, he finally asked. I don’t know if there’s a right thing in situations like this, I replied. I just know that I don’t regret going.

4 years after discovering the conspiracy against our lives, Ricardo and I celebrated 45 years of marriage. We decided not to do anything great, just a quiet dinner at home with the few friends who stayed by our side throughout the storm. Over dinner, as I watched Ricardo tell a story that made everyone laugh, I realized something important. We were happy again, not in the same way as before. There were scars that would never disappear completely, but in a deeper, more conscious way.

We had faced the worst that life could offer and survived. We had rebuilt some of the chaos, found meaning after the destruction. And perhaps most importantly, we had chosen not to allow betrayal to poison the rest of our lives. Alejandro was still in prison, where he would spend many more years. After the suicide attempt, he seemed to have found some sort of purpose. He began studying law through a prisoner program with the idea of eventually helping other inmates.

We visited occasionally, not often, but enough to maintain a tenuous connection. Sofia was serving her sentence in a maximum security penitentiary, refusing any contact with us. According to what we heard, he continued to deny responsibility for all his crimes, always blaming others. As for us, we learned to carry our story without letting it fully define us. When we met new people, eventually the truth came out. Our city wasn’t that big and the case had been notorious, but we found that most people were compassionate, respectful of our pain.

Some nights I still wake up with a start, remembering that moment at the electronics store when Chui turned the screen of the cell phone towards me and my world collapsed. Sometimes Ricardo still has nightmares where Alejandro manages to complete his plan, but those shadows of the past appear less often now, overcome by the light of the present, the small joys of everyday life, new friends, rediscovered hobbies, love that survived the unthinkable. On the evening of our 45th anniversary, after all the guests had left, Ricardo and I sat on the balcony of our apartment gazing up at the starry sky.

Who knew, he commented, holding my hand. That after all we would be here together. Survivors. I smiled, squeezing his hand. More than that, Ricardo corrected. Living. And he was right. We weren’t just surviving. We were living fully, consciously grateful. We had 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 anew, even after the worst devastation, that love, true love, not the distorted version that Alexander claimed to feel, can survive even the worst storms.

5 years after that fateful afternoon at the electronics store, I look back and see 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 in spite of everything. And perhaps that is the greatest victory, not allowing hatred, bitterness or fear to be defined. To choose compassion, courage and hope every day, even knowing how dark the world can be.

Chui unknowingly gave me more than a chance to physically survive that afternoon. It gave me the opportunity to discover a strength that I didn’t know I had. The strength not only to unravel a conspiracy, but to rebuild a life from scratch, to love again, to trust despite the scars. And for that I will be eternally grateful.