The doctor was struggling to save my daughter in the emergency room outside. Her mother-in-law coldly blurted out, “She deserves it.” I was about to respond when my daughter’s best friend approached and said, “She wants you to tell the whole hospital the real reason your daughter-in-law had the accident.” The whole hallway froze.

I’m glad you’re here. If you’re watching this video, give it a like, subscribe to the channel, and tell me in the comments where you’re listening to my revenge story. I want to know how far it’s gone. I’m sitting in my little house on the outskirts of Mexico City, with a dull, yellowish light reflecting off the already faded walls.

Tonight I’m alone, silently folding each sweater for Maria. My daughter called me yesterday in her little girl voice, complaining that it was cold and that her coat was a piece of cloth. I smiled imagining Maria’s face when she receives these sweaters. I’m sure she’d hug me right away, like when she was little.

 The clock on the wall ticked, marking 10:45 p.m. I had just sat down in my old armchair to take a sip of hot tea, feeling the warmth spread through the palm of my hand. Suddenly, the landline’s ringing sounded sharp and cold, cutting through the silence. I jumped, put down my cup, and my heart started beating a mile a minute.

Who would call at this hour? Nobody calls this late. Unless it’s to deliver bad news. I picked up the phone, my voice hoarse. Well, on the other end of the line, a woman’s voice, hurried and trembling. “Are you María’s mother? I’m Teresa, a nurse at San Felipe Hospital. Her daughter is in the emergency room.”

You have to come right away. He just had a car accident. I felt like my world was collapsing around me. An accident. My Maria. No, it couldn’t be. Just yesterday, he called me laughing, saying he’d come visit me this weekend.

 I jumped up, and the teacup slipped from my hands, shattering on the floor as liquid splashed everywhere. My hands were shaking. My head was spinning. What did Maria say? How is she? Is it serious? I almost yelled into the phone. But Teresa just repeated herself. Come right away. Quickly! I grabbed the first coat I found, my hands shaking so much I even dropped my wallet.

My mind was blank. All I could see was the image of María, her radiant smile. Her warm brown eyes. I had to get to her right now. But no taxi call came through. The network was failing, and the phone just kept saying busy. Desperate, I ran to the house of Don Enrique, my neighbor, a good man.

I banged on the door with all my might, screaming. Don Enrique, please help me. María had an accident. Don Enrique, with his gray hair, opened the door and, seeing me tremble, didn’t ask anything else. He just nodded. Get in. I’ll take you. On the way to San Felipe Hospital. I was curled up in the back seat, my hands clasped together.

Don Enrique drove fast, but to me everything seemed to be going in slow motion. My head was filled with horrible thoughts, and if Maria didn’t free her, I couldn’t bear the thought. She’s my light, my beloved daughter. Since my husband passed away ten years ago, Maria has always been by my side. Always making me laugh, no matter how difficult life was.

 I whispered to God, to the Virgin Mary, asking them to take care of her. When I arrived at the hospital, I rushed to the emergency room, almost slipping on the shiny tile floor. The smell of disinfectant hit my nose, and the noise of the machines and the murmurs of the people made me even more nervous. A doctor with a name tag that said Esteban was standing in front of the emergency room door. His face was tense.

His eyes filled with concern. I ran to him, my voice cracking. “Where’s Maria? How is she?” Before I could answer, Teresa, the nurse who called me, rushed over. She took my hand and, her voice breaking, said, “Calm down, please.” Maria suffered a severe blow to the chest.

 She lost a lot of blood, but the most important thing is that her heart just stopped. Hearing that, I froze. Her heart had stopped. No, it couldn’t be. My Maria. My healthy, vibrant little girl. She couldn’t leave like that. I clutched the cold wall, my eyes glued to the glass of the emergency room. Through it, I saw Maria lying motionless on the bed, her black hair disheveled, her face pale around her.

The doctors and nurses moved quickly. One was performing chest compressions, another held a syringe. A tangle of wires covered her body as if trying to forcefully restrain that fragile life. I wanted to scream, to run and hug her, but my feet were rooted to the ground. I could only stand there, tears streaming down my cheeks, whispering.

Maria, my little girl, don’t leave me. The minutes passed as if they were centuries. I didn’t dare blink, afraid that if I looked away, Maria would disappear. Suddenly, the heart monitor let out a soft beep, then another, then became more constant. Dr. Esteban turned around and shouted, his voice full of hope. She has a pulse.

I felt as if I’d been pulled out of an abyss. María’s heart was beating again. My little girl was still alive. I sank to my knees in the hallway, weeping profusely, thanking heaven and earth. My tears were no longer of pain, but of joy mixed with fear that still hadn’t gone away. I was sitting in one of those hard, cold plastic chairs in the hallway of San Felipe Hospital.

The icy white light from the ceiling made me shiver. A young nurse with a high bun approached and gently placed a thin blanket over my shoulders. “Save your strength, ma’am,” she said in a gentle voice. “We’re doing a brain CT scan and will monitor your blood pressure for a few more hours. Have some warm tea.” She handed me a Styrofoam cup. The warmth was palpable in my hands, but my heart remained frozen.

I nodded my thanks, trying to hold back my tears, but my head was in turmoil. I stood up, trying to take a deep breath to calm myself. Just then, I heard the click of heels on the Mosaico floor. When I turned around, I saw Rosa, Julián’s mother, my son-in-law’s mother, coming in.

She was wearing a very expensive fur coat, her lips were a fiery red, and she was holding a brand-new iPhone. She was speaking to someone in a cutting tone, before I could say anything, and she hung up and looked at me straight on, without a greeting, without a hint of concern. She blurted out a sentence that pierced me like a knife in the heart.

She deserved it. I was stunned, as if I’d been slapped, which she deserved. My daughter, the child I love more than my own life, was in an emergency room, and this woman dared to say that. I clenched my fists, trying to contain the rage boiling inside me. I was in a hospital.

I couldn’t make a scene. But before I could answer, another calm but sharp voice sounded. “So, she wants me to tell the whole hospital the real reason why her daughter-in-law had the accident.” I turned around and saw Natalia, Maria’s best friend.

 She was wearing a denim jacket, her hair loose and shoulder-length, and her gaze filled with determination. Rosa froze, her red lips pursed. Natalia didn’t wait for her to answer. She took out her cell phone and put on a video. “Watch this,” she said in an icy voice. I approached, my heart pounding on the screen. I saw Julián, my son-in-law, in the middle of a lavish party.

 Surrounding him were his mother, Rosa herself, along with Julián’s sister and brother. The entire Mendoza family. They were toasting with glasses of wine, laughing uproariously. A man, his face red from the alcohol, shouted, “Cheers! To Julián and the baby! The Mendozas are finally going to have an heir!” I was stunned, as if someone had punched me in the stomach. “What? What baby?” I blurted out, my voice shaking.

Natalia sighed and looked at me with deep sadness. “He’s her lover’s son,” she said, lowering her voice. “A friend of mine recorded this video at today’s party. She knows the Mendozas. Was she invited? I sent it to María this afternoon.” I stood there, my head spinning. María received this video and then drove there, right? I looked at Natalia, trying not to let my voice crack.

What did she say to you? Natalia nodded, her eyes red. She asked me the address of the party. I guess she thought about going to confront them. My whole body started shaking, like an electric current was running through me. So Maria, my daughter, saw that video. She knew Julian was cheating on her. She knew her entire in-laws were celebrating someone else’s baby.

That shock probably made her lose control of the wheel. I brought my hand to my chest, feeling my own heart stop. My Maria. My little girl. Strong and joyful, but also so fragile. I imagined her sitting behind the wheel, tears streaming down her face, her trembling hands reaching for that spot to demand an explanation.

And then the accident happened. I was barely recovering when Rosa spoke again, her voice full of contempt. If she didn’t know how to keep her husband, she’d better bear the consequences. In my family, we don’t want weak women, and what’s more, sterile women. That sentence was the final straw.

 I took a step toward her, ready to scream in her face, to tell her that María wasn’t a commodity for her to judge. But Natalia was quicker and stopped me with her hand. She looked straight at Rosa and in a clear, forceful voice said, “So you want me to make this video public so everyone knows how proud the Mendozas are that their son cheated on his wife.”

The hallway fell deathly silent. Some nurses standing nearby stopped talking and turned to look at us. A doctor who was passing by also stopped. Curious. Rosa turned pale, pursed her lips, and her eyes darted from side to side. She mumbled something I couldn’t understand. Something like “ball of nacos.”

 And she turned to leave, the click of her sneakers echoing in the hallway. Natalia took my hand and whispered, “Don’t listen to them. I’m not going to let them take advantage of Maria anymore.” I slumped back in my chair, feeling like the whole world was crushing me. But for the first time in my life, I saw a ray of light. Maria wasn’t alone anymore. Natalia.

That girl, whom I thought was just another friend of my daughter’s, turned out to be the person willing to defend her. And I, her 68-year-old mother. I couldn’t just stand idly by and watch things unfold. Minutes later, I was sitting on a frozen stone bench in the hospital garden, under the yellowish light of a lantern that lengthened my shadow on the ground.

 Natalia brought me here to escape the curious stares of the nurses and family members in the hallway. The night was cool, and I wrapped my old shawl around me more tightly, my hands still clutching the cup of hot tea Nurse Teresa had given me. The warmth of the cup was nothing compared to the cold that pressed against my heart. Natalia sat silently beside me and played the video on her phone again.

“Watch it again,” he said in a low but firm voice, as if he wanted me to face the truth again. The video was short, less than two minutes, but every image, every sound was like a stab to the soul. Julián, my son-in-law, standing in a crisp white shirt, raising a glass of wine with a radiant smile.

 Beside her, a young woman with a slightly swollen belly, clearly pregnant. People around her called her Lucía in excited voices. Rosa was right next to her, grinning from ear to ear and even turning around to shout in her squeaky voice. A grandchild for the Mendozas. This time it’s real.

 The sound of clinking glasses and laughter echoed as if they were celebrating a victory. I watched the screen, my heart in knots. They were celebrating while my María was in an emergency room, fighting every second for her life. Natalia leaned close to my ear and whispered, “See? They organized this party on purpose, without María knowing.”

My friend told me they even told each other not to let María know anything. I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen where Julián, the same boy who’d previously called me mamita in a honeyed voice, was hugging Lucía by the shoulders, smiling as if nothing had happened.

 I remembered the first days when Maria introduced him to me, excitedly telling me that he had promised to love and protect her for the rest of his life. I believed her. I thought that young man would be a support for my daughter. And now here he was, with another woman, while my daughter almost lost her life because of the beating her own family had dealt her. I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, almost bleeding. But I felt no pain.

The real pain was in my heart, where each stab of betrayal felt stronger and stronger. “Maria, what time did you receive this video?” I asked, my voice hoarse, almost breathless. Natalia checked her phone, opening her messages at 12:19 p.m. She answered with red eyes. Then Maria texted me to ask for the restaurant’s address.

I sent it to her immediately, but she didn’t reply. I did the math in my head. The accident happened around 1:00 p.m., according to what Nurse Teresa told me. That meant that Maria, right after watching the video, got in her car and drove straight to the party. I pictured her in the car, tears streaming down her face, her hands shaking on the wheel, her mind flooded with the pain of betrayal.

 She must have been thinking about how she was going to confront Julián, Rosa, and the whole family celebrating the Mendozas’ grandson without her. Just thinking about it made me feel like I was drowning. Natalia gently touched my shoulder, her voice trembling. “Ma’am, this isn’t just an affair, it’s a plan. Do you want to remove María from the Mendoza family?” I looked up to see her. Natalia’s gaze was firm, but also filled with pain.

 My friend told me, she continued, that Rosa has never liked María because she hasn’t given them a child yet. They wanted Julián to have another wife, one who could give them a grandchild. Lucía was Rosa’s choice. Natalia’s words were like pouring gasoline on the fire burning inside me. A plan.

 They had planned to remove my daughter from Julián’s life, as if María were an object that was no longer useful, something unworthy. I remembered the times María called me with a sad voice, telling me that Rosa always compared her to Julián’s friends, that she always criticized her for not knowing how to keep her husband. I told her: “Don’t pay attention to them, daughter, just live your life well.”

But now I realized how foolish I had been. Living well isn’t enough. It’s never enough when you’re faced with such cruelty. I understand, Natalia. I told her, my voice trembling but firm. I’m not going to stand idly by. I stood up and looked toward the hospital building where Maria was in intensive care.

If my daughter couldn’t speak, then I would do it for her. I returned to Maria’s bedside, where the cold white light of the intensive care unit seemed to freeze my heart. More than three hours had passed since the accident, but Julián hadn’t appeared.

 Not a call, not a text, not a single sign that he cared that his wife was hovering between life and death. I took Maria’s hand. It was freezing, and only a very faint warmth on her tiny fingers reminded me that she was still here. I whispered to her, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me. I’m here, Maria. Don’t be afraid. But inside, the rage and pain were rising like a tide about to sweep everything away.

I heard the click of shoes in the hallway. It was pink, and she had returned. She sat down in a waiting room chair a few feet away from me, but she didn’t even glance toward Maria’s room. Instead, she took out her cell phone and started making call after call.

 I heard her clearly in her clipped, shallow voice, as if she were talking about going to the supermarket. Okay. La Perla Spa. Schedule me a massage for tomorrow at 10:00, please. Then she made another call, sounding like a boss. Margarita cleans the living room thoroughly and prepares another 4th for the new tenant. The new tenant. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms until they hurt.

The new tenant was Lucía, Julián’s mistress, the one the entire Mendoza family was celebrating. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up and went out into the hallway, my voice trembling, but trying to remain calm. “Where’s your son, Rosa?” She didn’t even look up. She just waved her hand as if shooing away a fly. Julián is busy. He can’t always drop his business to come running.

I froze, as if I’d been slapped in the face. Busy. His wife was in the emergency room after her heart stopped, and he was busy. I took a deep breath, trying to contain the fury burning in my chest. His wife is hovering between life and death. I told him in an icy voice.

And he’s very happy with his mistress. How can he say that? Rosa raised her head and looked at me as if I were crazy. Her eyes were cold, her red lips pursed. And then she let out a mocking laugh. At least she knew how to give this family an heir. And her Maria, who’s a nervous wreck good for nothing but causing trouble.

That phrase was like a knife in my heart. My María, the daughter who had sacrificed so many years to be a good daughter-in-law. I was a bundle of nerves. I turned my face away, trying to keep my hands from shaking. I wanted to scream at her, to tell her that my María was worth more than the entire Mendoza family combined, but I knew it wasn’t the time.

I needed to save my strength to be with my daughter. Just then, I heard other heels, this time sharper. Julián’s sister, Leticia, walked in with her husband, dressed as if they were going to a party. She was wearing a tight Gucci dress, sparkly sneakers, and sunglasses, even though we were in a hospital hallway.

Her husband, a short, fat man with a fake smile, was at her side checking his cell phone. They leaned close to Rosa and whispered, but loud enough for me to hear every word. She’s still alive, Maria. Mom. If not to start preparing the property papers. I stood there, my blood running cold. The property papers. My daughter hadn’t even woken up.

I was still fighting to live. And they were already thinking about dividing up his belongings. This was the family María had once called herself. Her in-laws. I felt the ground beneath my feet. María had dedicated her youth to loving Julián, to trying to fit into that family, enduring the hints and disdainful looks from Rosa and Leticia.

 And now, while she lay motionless in bed, they were talking as if my daughter were just a nuisance that needed to be removed from the way. Before I could react, a flower delivery man entered the hallway with a huge bouquet of red roses. He looked around and asked, “Relatives of Miss Maria.” I raised my hand, even though I already sensed something bad was coming. He handed me the bouquet with a small card. I opened it and felt my heart stop as I read.

May you go soon to the other world. Maria. The card was signed by Lucia. I looked at the flowers, then at the card, feeling like my world was falling apart. It wasn’t just betrayal, it was cruelty. It was pure evil. Without saying a word, I borrowed some scissors from a nurse in front of Rosa and Leticia. I cut the card into tiny pieces and threw the whole bouquet in the trash.

The sound of the flowers falling was dry, like my heart breaking. Rosa’s eyes widened and she jumped up. “What are you doing? Are you going to pay for insulting my family?” I looked her straight in the eyes, my voice calm but cutting. “No, you’re the ones who are going to pay. For doing this to my daughter.”

 I turned around and walked toward María’s room, clutching Natalia’s cell phone, where that video was still saved. I didn’t go home that night after what happened at the hospital. I couldn’t leave María’s side, not even to get some sleep. I curled up on the hard plastic chair in the waiting room with the small blanket Nurse Teresa gave me, which wasn’t enough to keep the cold inside out. The next morning, Natalia appeared.

She brought me my bag, some personal belongings, and a warm tamale whose corny scent reminded me of the days I used to make tamales for María when she was a little girl. “Eat something to give you strength,” Natalia told me, her eyes filled with concern. I nodded, but the bite stuck in my throat. I wasn’t hungry; I only wanted one thing: to see María wake up, smile, and call me Mom.

At 7:00 sharp. Dr. Esteban came in. His voice was gentle but serious. María is stable for now. Doña Carmen still can’t wake up. But she’s already regaining neurological reflexes. That’s a good sign. Hearing him, I felt tears well up in my eyes. Stable. Those two words were like a small light in the midst of so much darkness.

I stood up and entered the Intensive Care Unit. Maria was there with a breathing tube in her mouth. Her face was pale, but still beautiful, like an angel’s. I gently touched her cheek and whispered, “I know everything, my little girl. I won’t let them bury you in silence.” I thought of the video Natalia showed me, of Julian, of Rosa, of Lucia, and especially of the man who was with Lucia at the party.

He seemed closer to her than Julián himself, and his gaze and smile stayed with me. When I first saw the video, I didn’t pay much attention to it, but now that image was like a piece that didn’t fit in my head. Something wasn’t right. It wasn’t just a betrayal. I took out my phone and texted Natalia.

The man standing next to the pregnant girl in the video. Do you know who he is? A few minutes later, Natalia sent me a close-up of the image with a message. I’m not sure, but I think he’s a friend of hers from college. His name is Joel. I saved the name and the photo, and my determination became clearer.

 I couldn’t sit in the hospital waiting while the Mendozas mocked María. I had to do something. Find the truth, no matter how painful it was. That night I went home, took a bath, and put on clean clothes. The house was so silent that it suffocated me. The only thing I could hear was the ticking of the clock on the wall. I called Tomás, my nephew, who is in his final year of law school.

I had worked as a summer assistant for Beatriz, my best friend, so I knew I was good with paperwork and research. “Tomás,” I said hoarsely. “After a sleepless night, I need you to find me someone I can trust, someone who won’t ask too many questions, but who knows how to investigate discreetly.”

Tomás immediately responded in a determined voice. “I know someone. Arturo Gálvez was a judicial police officer and is now a private detective. He’s an honest man, but a bit curt.” I nodded, even though Tomás couldn’t see me. Perfect. Get me an appointment with him. The next morning I met Arturo at a bakery near my house.

He was a man in his fifties, with graying hair and a knife-like gaze. I placed my cell phone on the table, showed him the video, and told him everything. Maria’s accident, the video of the party, Lucía’s cruel flowers. I pointed out the photo of the man named Joel. “I want to know who this man is,” I said firmly.

 What’s your relationship with the pregnant girl? What if there’s evidence? I want photos, videos, anything. Arturo raised an eyebrow and nodded. How far do you want to go with the investigation? I looked him straight in the eyes, all the way to the end. I need the truth. Arturo accepted the case. I gave him 2 million pesos upfront. The savings I’d saved up to give to María when she had a baby next year.

It was all I had, but I didn’t doubt for a second that that money could help me protect my daughter. It was worth every penny. Arturo saved the money and promised to call me when he had something. I left the bakery with a heavy heart, but also a little lighter. I had already made a start, even if it was just a small step on the way to the hospital.

I decided to stop by the house where Julián and María lived. I had a key because I often went there to clean and cook to help my daughter. The house was quiet. No one was there. I put on gloves. A habit from my days working in the sewing studio to avoid leaving fingerprints. I turned on my cell phone’s flashlight and began to search the drawers and folders in Julián’s study.

I didn’t know what I was looking for. I just knew I needed proof. Anything that might clear this up in an old wooden filing cabinet. I found a folder. My heart pounded as I flipped through the pages. It was a contract transferring a property in Maria’s name. The little house in the suburbs that my husband and I had left her.

Next to it were a series of powers of attorney with a signature that looked like Maria’s. But the handwriting was shaky. Not the way she signed. I kept looking and found bank statements showing that Maria had been regularly depositing money into another account that wasn’t Julian’s. I stood there with my hands shaking and my head spinning.

 The Mendozas hadn’t just betrayed María emotionally; they were also planning to steal her belongings. I took out my cell phone, took photos of everything, and copied them to a small USB flash drive I had with me. Carefully. I left everything as it was and locked the door as if it had never been there.

 That night, I sent all the files to Thomas, asking him to encrypt them and store them in a secure folder. I also sent a copy to Ms. Beatriz. An hour later, Beatriz called me in a serious voice. “Carmen. This is a good start. These papers prove something’s amiss, but we need a decisive blow. Are you ready?” I gripped the phone and answered in a firm voice. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get justice for my daughter.”

Four days passed since I entrusted everything to Arturo, the private detective Tomás recommended. Four endless days in which I barely slept. I sat next to María, holding her hand and whispering comforting words I didn’t know she could hear. Every day, Dr. Esteban came to give me news. María is more stable, but she still needs time.

I nodded, but there was only one thought in my mind. I had to find out the truth. I had to protect my daughter before she woke up. On the fourth night, my phone vibrated. It was a short message from Arturo, but it made my heart race. Tonight, she’s meeting that guy at a hotel in the Santa Rosa neighborhood. I’m going to record everything.

I read the message over and over again with trembling hands. Santa Rosa. An old neighborhood with narrow alleys and cheap hotels. I didn’t know what was going on, but my instinct told me this was the last piece I needed. That night I couldn’t sleep. I sat in the plastic chair staring out the hospital window. The dim light from the street.

I prayed not only for Maria, but also for myself, asking God to give me the strength to face what was coming. The next morning, I met Arturo at a small café near a church. The smell of roasted coffee didn’t calm me. Arturo, with his salt-and-pepper hair and cold gaze, placed an external hard drive on the table. “I have what you need,” he said in his deep but confident voice.

He plugged the drive into his laptop and played a video. I held my breath, my eyes glued to the screen. The image was clear. Lucía, Julián’s lover, was entering a small, shabby-looking hotel with a flashing neon sign. She was wearing a tight red dress. Her baby bump was noticeable, but she walked with confidence.

 Waiting for her. At the reception desk was Yoel, the man I saw in the party video. They hugged, laughed, and then kissed. Right there, in front of the receptionist, not caring about anything. The hallway camera recorded them going up to the room, chatting animatedly. Lucía was laughing, and Joel was patting her on the shoulder, as if they’d known each other for a long time.

After almost 40 minutes, they came downstairs. Arturo switched to an audio recording, and what I heard made my blood run cold. Joel’s voice, deep but full of arrogance, echoed. The whole Mendoza family is a bunch of idiots. They think this baby is their own. No one knows he’s my son. Lucía burst out laughing.

Her high-pitched voice. “Let them take care of it. In a couple of years, we’d come up with an excuse and leave for the United States, and that’s it.” I sat there, my hands shaking. The coffee cup in front of me was already cold. So the baby the Mendozas were celebrating, the one Rosa called the Mendoza grandson, wasn’t Julián’s son. It was all a farce, a trick to use María and steal her property.

I looked at Arturo, my voice cracking. “Is this real?” He nodded, his expression serious. “The original is on this hard drive. I recommend you give it to your lawyer and not send it to anyone to avoid problems.” I nodded, squeezing the hard drive in my hand, feeling like I was holding a bomb about to explode.

I left the café and drove directly to Ms. Beatriz’s office. She was already waiting for me, and her eyes lit up. When I walked in, I gave her the hard drive and told her everything. Did she see the video? She listened to the audio, and when it was over, she took my hands tightly. Her voice was filled with emotion. “Carmen. You just destroyed their entire facade of morality with this evidence.”

Plus the papers you found at Julián’s house. We’re going to win this case. No doubt about it. I looked at Beatriz, feeling both relief and weight at the same time. Win the case. I didn’t just want to win. I wanted the Mendozas to pay for having put my daughter through this nightmare. That night I sat alone on my balcony, under the pale moonlight that illuminated the empty street.

The sound of the old television news in the living room mingled with that of an ambulance in the distance. I thought of María during the years she lived under the Mendozas’ control. Of the times she called me with a sad voice to tell me about Rosa’s criticisms. I thought of Lucía and Joel, of their disgusting plan and Julián’s terrifying silence.

I knew a big storm was coming, but this time I was going to be the one to lead it. Monday morning, I woke up feeling a stone in my chest. I hadn’t slept well. Just a few fitful hours, my head filled with images of María in the hospital bed, Lucía’s cruel audio recording, and the forged papers I found at Julián’s house. Today was the day that, together with Beatriz, my lawyer, we would begin to act.

We had already agreed. Beatriz would file an emergency complaint with the court for forgery of property documents. I would act as Maria’s legal representative, as she still hadn’t woken up. I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was tired, my eyes red, but my gaze was no longer that of a mother who only knew how to pray.

I was ready to fight. I called Tomás, my nephew, and asked him to look for Maria’s old signatures. Anything from previous years, like receipts, letters, or old contracts. We needed to compare them with the shaky signatures on the powers of attorney Tomás had found with the acuity of a law student.

She promised to handle it carefully. I’m going to check every legal trail. Aunt Carmen told me on the phone in a determined voice. They’re not going to get away. I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me, and I felt a warmth in my chest knowing I wasn’t alone. In the afternoon, I went to a small café near the hospital, a discreet place Beatriz had chosen.

It was tucked away in an alley with old brick walls and a few wooden tables. Upon entering, I saw that Beatriz, Dr. Esteban, Natalia, and Tomás were already seated. No one smiled. No one said more than a brief greeting. I dropped my bag, sat down, and felt as if the whole world weighed on my shoulders.

On the table. In front of me was a thick folder, photos of the suspicious money transfers, the video of Natalia’s party, and the hard drive containing Arturo’s evidence about Lucía and Joel’s meeting at the hotel. Everything was there, like bullets ready to take down the Mendozas. For the first five minutes, no one spoke.

The only sounds I could hear were the hum of the air conditioner and the clink of a spoon in a coffee cup. I looked around and saw everyone’s expressions heavy, but also filled with determination. Finally, Dr. Esteban broke the silence, adjusted his glasses, and said in a deep voice, “I reviewed María’s latest CT scan. There’s been a slight improvement. She’s starting to regain her light reflexes, although very weak.”

I felt my heart pounding and tears wanting to flow. A slight improvement. Just two words. But they were like a tiny flame in the darkness. “Thank you, doctor,” I said, my voice breaking. “Then I need everything ready for when my daughter wakes up, so she can see she’s not alone.”

Natalia placed her cell phone on the table, the screen lit up with a series of notifications. “These are nine missed calls from Julián,” she said mockingly. “He started calling me last night after he found out that you, Doña Carmen, had found a lawyer.” She sighed and shook her head. “He’s scared.” I looked at the screen and saw Julián’s name repeated over and over again.

Nine missed calls. Yes. He was scared. Scared that everything he and his family had hidden was about to come out. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I wasn’t going to let him get away with being scared. Beatriz pulled out a piece of paper with a handwritten plan of action.

Every point as clear as a map. He brought her closer to me and said seriously, “Let’s do this. First, I’ll file a lawsuit against Julian for adultery, document forgery, and misuse of Maria’s assets. I’ll also ask the court to place an emergency freeze on the marital assets to prevent them from transferring anything.”

And finally, if necessary, we’ll show the video of Lucía and Joel at the preliminary hearing. She looked at me with sharp eyes. “Do you agree, Carmen?” I nodded without hesitation. Beatriz handed me a stack of papers that needed my signature to authorize it. My hand trembled a little as I took the pen, but my gaze was steady.

 I signed each piece of paper, feeling as though I was placing each stone toward building a wall to protect María. Each signature was a promise to my daughter. Mom won’t let them hurt you anymore. When I finished, I returned the papers to Beatriz and said, “Go ahead. I want them to pay.” Tomás, sitting next to me, smiled slightly. He whispered confidently, “Aunt Carmen, this time the Mendozas won’t be able to deny it.”

Everything has traces, images, witnesses. I’ve already reviewed the powers of attorney. The signatures don’t match María’s old samples. With one more legal verification, they’ll have no escape. I looked at Tomás and felt a warmth in my heart. This young man, only 22 years old, stood by me like a true companion. So let’s draw the final curtain.

I said in a lighter voice, but full of determination to shed light on that rat’s nest. Ten days after the meeting at the café, Beatriz informed me that the civil court had issued an emergency summons to Julián and the Mendoza family. The neighbors began to murmur, and gossip spread like wildfire.

They say Doña Carmen sued the entire Mendoza family. A woman from the fruit shop told me with curious eyes. I just nodded without responding. I didn’t need the neighbors’ gossip to give me strength. Every second, sitting next to María in the hospital, watching her connected to a ventilator, was enough to make me determined to see it through.

Beatriz advised me not to appear in public so soon to avoid the Mendozas’ schemes. But I couldn’t wait any longer. I wanted to confront Julián where his company felt safest, where María had been a project manager before being forced to resign under dubious circumstances.

I wanted her to know that I was no longer the old lady who only cried and prayed. That morning, I put on a long-sleeved black blouse, my brown leather bag, tied my hair back in a bun, and put on a little makeup to hide the wrinkles of fatigue. I looked in the mirror and saw a 68-year-old woman, but with a gaze as sharp as a knife. Beatriz and Tomás accompanied me like two faithful guards.

We arrived at Julián’s corporate building, an imposing glass tower in the heart of Mexico City. The young receptionist with blond hair and a forced smile tried to stop us. “Do you have an appointment, ma’am?” she asked, her voice slightly shaky. I didn’t answer. I just showed her Beatriz’s card and said coldly.

 We’re here to talk about the forgery of powers of attorney in the name of this office. The girl looked at the card, her eyes widened, and quickly dialed a number. The floor manager appeared instantly, pale, and stammered. “Come in. Come to the meeting room, please.” I walked with my head held high, feeling like I owned the place. 15 minutes later, Julian entered the room. He was wearing a gray suit, but his face was gaunt.

His jaw tightened, his hands in his pockets, as if trying to hide his nervousness. He looked at me and forced a smile, as if it were a joke. “What are you doing here, Doña Carmen? María hasn’t even woken up yet. And you’re already thinking about the papers.” His tone made my blood boil, but I didn’t answer.

 I simply signaled to Beatriz, and she opened her briefcase, laying out all the evidence one by one on the glass table. The video of Natalia’s party, the video from Lucía and Joel’s hotel, with the audio, of course. The bank statements showing María’s embezzlement and the falsified contract in my daughter’s name. Julián went pale, his hands shaking as he reviewed the documents. Rosa and Leticia, already in a corner of the room, couldn’t hide their bewilderment.

Rosa pressed her lips together, and Leticia avoided my gaze, clutching her Gucci bag. Beatriz spoke in a voice as sharp as a razor. “We didn’t come to ask permission. We came to inform you that Doña Carmen is María’s legal representative and that all these acts of forgery will be made public at the trial next week. You should prepare yourselves.” I looked Julián straight in the eyes.

My voice was calm but powerful. My daughter isn’t dead. She’s just waiting for the net of justice to close. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Rosa, behind him, couldn’t hold back any longer and intervened. You’re a nobody in this matter.

 Do you think you can take on the Mendozas? I turned to her, my gaze steady. I’m María’s mother. I spoke every word like a nail into wood. I stayed silent when they insulted her. When they stole her possessions. When they celebrated their pregnant lover. Because I knew nothing. But no one, not even an old woman like me, stays silent forever when the truth comes out.

No one in the room dared to respond. I stood up and left, leaving the confusion of that luxurious boardroom behind. Beatriz and Tomás followed me silently, but I felt their firmness as I left the building. The bright sun hit my face, but I didn’t feel any heat. I felt light, as if a great weight had been lifted from me. I had faced Julián and the Mendozas, and I hadn’t trembled.

The next morning, when I arrived at the hospital to see María, my phone kept buzzing. Natalia sent me a series of messages with links to online news stories. The first headline struck me: “Mother-in-law’s fury.” A 68-year-old woman exposes her son-in-law’s infidelity. A fortune worth millions of pesos is at risk of being frozen.

I looked through the articles and saw photos of me entering Julian’s company, along with details of the lawsuit. Someone had leaked the information. Perhaps a company employee or someone who witnessed yesterday’s confrontation. But I didn’t care. The truth. It had begun to spread like light dispelling darkness.

On the morning of the trial, I stood in front of the Superior Court of Justice of the city of Querétaro, my heart pounding in my chest. The imposing building, with its cold white stone columns, was packed with people. Press, media, and even old friends of the Mendoza family were there, whispering. I could hear the murmurs. I could really hear them.

Doña Carmen sued the entire Mendoza family. They say María almost died. I didn’t walk through the crowd with my head held high, ignoring the curious glances. Today, I wasn’t just a 68-year-old mother. It was María’s voice that would bring down the Mendozas’ theater of lies. I sat in the plaintiffs’ row next to Beatriz and Tomás.

 Natalia sat in the back, staring coldly at the living room door. I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms to stay calm. When Julián walked in, I almost didn’t recognize him. He was wearing a dark blue suit and sunglasses, but his face was gaunt, his beard growing, as if he hadn’t slept in days. Beside him were Rosa and Leticia, both dressed more subtly than usual, but unable to hide their nervousness.

I looked at them without anger, only with cold determination. Today they were going to see that María wasn’t alone. Judge Belén Rojas, a woman in her fifties, entered the courtroom. She wore thin-framed glasses and her expression was stern but fair. She banged her gavel and announced.

 Today this court will review the case of forgery of property documents, abuse of power, and evidence related to marital and financial deceit. Her voice echoed, silencing the courtroom. I took a deep breath, feeling that everything I had done—the sleepless nights, the search for papers, the confrontation at the firm—had led me to this moment. Beatriz stood up. Her voice was soft but powerful. “Your Honor, I do not represent a mere client.”

I represent a young woman lying unconscious in an intensive care unit due to pressures beyond words. And today, her mother, Mrs. Carmen Aguilar, will be the voice she can’t yet use. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I held them back, staring at Beatriz.

She signaled to the courtroom staff, and the video of Natalia’s party was projected on a large screen. Images of Julián, Rosa, Leticia, and Joel appeared clearly, their laughter echoing Rosa’s voice, shouting, “A grandchild for the Mendozas.” When the video ended, the courtroom fell silent.

I turned to Rosa, my voice calm but sharp. You said my daughter deserved it while hiding this terrible truth. Julian’s lawyer, a middle-aged man in an expensive suit, stood up to object. This video could be doctored. Edited. We request that the court verify its authenticity. But Beatriz was unfazed.

He presented a police report along with the raw data extracted from the hotel’s unedited camera footage. He then played the audio of the conversation between Lucía and Joel. Joel’s voice sounded cold and arrogant. The entire Mendoza family is a bunch of idiots. They think this baby is their own flesh and blood. No one knows it’s my son. Lucía’s laughter was sharp as a knife.

Let them take care of it. In a couple of years, we’ll be off to the United States, and that’s it. Julián’s face turned pale. He ducked his head, clutching the seat. Rosa and Leticia looked at each other in terror. The room was deathly silent. Only the labored breathing of a few could be heard. Beatriz continued, her voice growing ever sharper.

We also have Miss Maria’s financial documents, bank statements, showing constant withdrawals to an unidentified account suspected of belonging to Miss Lucia. And here, he said, examining the signatures, that the power of attorney to transfer Miss Maria’s properties was forged. The signature doesn’t match the old samples.

Judge Rojas adjusted her glasses and stared at Julián. Miss María was aware of these transfers. I stood up, although Beatriz signaled me to calm down, but I couldn’t remain silent, Your Honor. I said with a trembling but firm voice. My daughter only found out after receiving that video.

She got into her car that night intending to go to the party to confront them, but unfortunately, she had an accident on the way. That day, my daughter died clinically, but she’s still alive because she hasn’t been able to say her last word. The room fell completely silent. A reporter in the back row discreetly dried herself off.

A tear. I looked around and saw a look of compassion in the eyes of strangers. I said nothing more. I just sat down and took Beatriz’s hand. She squeezed it gently, as if telling me I had done the right thing. Beatriz continued by asking the court for an emergency freeze on all seized assets related to Julián and Rosa to protect María’s rights.

Judge Rojas nodded and declared, “The court approves the request for a temporary freeze. The public hearing will be held in two weeks.” When the session ended, I stood up and left the courtroom. Before leaving, I looked at Julián one last time. He had his head down, not daring to look at me. “I once loved you like a son,” I said in a low but clear voice. “But now you’re paying for what you did.”

He didn’t respond. He just lowered his head further. Rosa and Leticia hurriedly dragged him out. But I knew they had no way out. A week after the first hearing, I was still sitting by María’s bed. Like every day for the past three weeks, the Sunday morning sun streamed through the blinds, illuminating my daughter’s pale face.

With a damp washcloth, I gently cleaned her hands, the way I used to do when she was a child and had a fever. Her hands were cold, but I felt a faint warmth, like a reminder that she was still fighting. I whispered, “You have to be strong, Maria. Mom is here. I’m not going to leave.” As I cleaned her hand, I suddenly felt her fingers move slightly, as if trying to grab my hand.

I jumped. My heart was pounding, and I called Nurse Teresa. “Come quickly.” Maria stirred. Five minutes later, Dr. Esteban came in. His face was serious, but his eyes lit up as he examined her. He placed a hand on my shoulder and said gently, “Your natural reflexes have returned. You may wake up in the next few hours.”

Hearing this, tears flowed, but not from pain. For the first time in days, I felt real hope. I stood there, motionless, my eyes fixed on Maria. I counted every second, every minute, praying for her to open her eyes. At 4:20 p.m., like a miracle, Maria slowly opened her eyes. Her brown eyes, weak but still bright, looked directly at me.

I burst into tears and squeezed her hand. Here I am, Maria. I’m here now, my love. My voice broke. Tears flowed, but I didn’t care. My Maria was back. She looked at me. Her lips moved a little, trying to say something. I leaned closer and heard the first sentence she whispered. She betrayed me.

 Right, Mom? Her question was like a knife to my heart. I nodded. The tears flowed again, but I didn’t hide anything from her. I told her everything that had happened in those three weeks. The video of the Mendozas’ party, Rosa’s cruelty, Lucía’s evil flowers, and the audio of Lucía and Joel.

 I told her about the forged papers, the confrontation at Julián’s company, and the court hearing. María listened with red eyes, but she didn’t cry. She just squeezed my hand tightly, as if searching for an anchor. The next day, Dr. Esteban allowed her to speak for ten minutes so as not to strain her. We entered the room. Beatriz, Natalia, and I.

Maria was leaning back against some pillows. Her face was still pale, but her eyes were more alive. She looked at Natalia and said softly, “Thank you, Natalia. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have found out anything.” Natalia smiled through teary eyes. “I only did the right thing, Maria.” Then she turned to me and whispered, “I don’t remember anything after watching the video.”

I only remember getting in the car and then seeing another car’s headlights very brightly. After that, nothing. I held her hand, trying to hold back my tears. Beatriz, with her professionalism, briefly explained the legal process. Then she looked directly at María and asked, “Do you want to continue with the lawsuit as the plaintiff?” Your mother has done a lot, but now you have the right to decide.

Maria was silent for a moment. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Then she nodded. Her voice was firm, though weak. They took away all my love, my trust, my money. I can’t take it anymore. Listening to Maria, I felt a new strength within me. I was no longer the fragile girl who called me crying to tell me about Rosa’s criticisms.

My Maria was back and ready to fight. A few days later, she was upgraded to a normal 1/4. I bought her a new nightgown, pale pink with white lace—her favorite color since she was a child—when I helped her put it on. Maria smiled for the first time in days.

 “Do you still remember my favorite color, Mom?” she said, her voice breaking. I hugged her and whispered, “I remember everything that has to do with you, Maria.” Another week passed, and Maria was speaking more clearly. She was strong enough to sign the papers accrediting her as the lead plaintiff. Beatriz came with a new folder and a smile.

It’s time, Maria. We’re not just going to expose them. We’re going to make them pay. Maria nodded. Her eyes shone, fearless now. I looked at her, filled with pride. My little girl had come back stronger than I ever imagined. Before leaving, I suggested to Maria that we record a voice message to send to those who betrayed her. She took my hand. Her voice was shaky, but clear.

I don’t hate them for betraying me. I only regret ever calling them family. I felt my heart sink. Maria didn’t hate them, but I knew it hurt her. I turned on my cell phone and recorded her words, feeling it was a final declaration of war. I looked up into my daughter’s serene face and whispered, “We have one audience left, my love.”

But this time, you won’t fight alone. I left the room feeling lighthearted but determined. I thought about the years Maria lived under the Mendozas’ control. The times she tried to please them only to be met with scorn. I thought about my own journey from being a mother who only prayed to becoming a woman who dared to stand up to a powerful family.

I was 68 years old, but I’d never felt so strong. Maria had awakened, and that was my greatest victory. I clenched my fists, looking ahead, knowing that the upcoming trial would be the place where true justice would be served and where my daughter would finally raise her voice.

 The story you just heard has been modified, with names and locations altered, to protect the identities of the people involved. We’re not telling this to judge, but in the hope that someone will listen and pause to reflect. How many mothers are suffering in silence within their own homes? I truly wonder if you were in my place. What would you do? Would you choose to remain silent to keep the peace? Or would you dare to face it all to reclaim your voice? I want to hear your opinion because every story is like a candle that can light someone else’s path.

God always blesses. And I’m convinced that courage leads us to better days. In the meantime, on the final screen, I’ll leave you with two of the channel’s most beloved stories. I’m sure they’ll surprise you. Thank you for staying with me until this moment.