My youngest son, who is a pilot, called me. “Mom, something strange is happening. My sister-in-law is in the house.” “Yes,” I replied. “She’s in the shower.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Impossible, because I have her passport in my hands. She just boarded my flight to France.” At that moment, I heard footsteps behind me.

Me. 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. This morning, like any other day, I was rushing to wash the dishes after breakfast. Esteban, my oldest son, had left.

to work early, leaving the house in silence for my grandson Mateo, that clever little seven-year-old devil who had already been taken by the school bus.
And Araceli, my daughter-in-law, Esteban’s wife, had just come up the stairs. Her soft voice reached my mother. I’m going to take a shower for a while. Yes. I nodded, smiling. I had barely finished putting away the last plate. When the landline rang, I dried my hands on my apron and walked quickly to

The cheerful, young voice of Iván, my youngest son, filled the line.
Mom, I’m just calling to say hello. I had a little free time during a layover at the airport. Hearing his voice was like a hug for my heart. Iván is my pride and joy, a young copilot who’s always on the go, living the dream of conquering the skies that he’s had since he was a child. I smiled and said,

I asked a couple of things about his flight, about how he was doing.
He laughed out loud and told me that everything was going well, that work was going smoothly. But suddenly his tone changed, as if he was hesitant to say anything. “Hey, Mom, something really strange happened. My sister-in-law is home.” I was surprised. I looked toward the stairs where I could still hear the water running in the bathroom. Of course.

Yes, son. Araceli is taking a shower upstairs. I answered very confidently.
Araceli had spoken to me less than ten minutes ago and was wearing that white blouse she always wore around the house. How could I be wrong? But on the other end of the line, Iván remained silent for a long time, so much so that I could even hear his breathing. Then his voice became very

serious, full of astonishment.
Mom, it’s impossible because I have her passport here in my hand. She just got on my flight to France. I laughed, thinking that she must have been mistaken. Oh, son, you must have been dressed wrong. I just saw Araceli. She even told me that she was going to take a bath. I tried to explain to her calmly so

I tried to calm him down, but he didn’t laugh. He
didn’t answer me like always. He told me in a slow voice, as if he were trying to sort the story out in his head, that when all the passengers had boarded, he ran out to look for some papers he had forgotten and by chance found a passport lying near the door.

boarding pass.
At first he thought about giving it to the airport staff, but when he opened it to see who it belonged to, he froze. The photo was of Araceli. Her name was there, clear as day. There was no mistaking it. My heart started beating faster, but I tried to stay calm. Are you sure, Iván? That

“The passport could be someone else’s.”
I told him, though a sting of unease had already lodged in me. Ivan sighed, his voice now a mixture of bewilderment and firmness. “Mom, I just went down to the passenger cabin to check if it’s her. She’s sitting in first class next to a man who looks very rich and elegant.”

They were talking very closely, as if they were a couple.
Iván’s words were like a stab. I froze, pressing the telephone receiver to my head, spinning around as if they were a couple. Impossible. I had just heard Araceli’s voice from the floor above. I had just seen her in the flesh in this very house. But right at that

At that moment the sound of water in the bathroom stopped. The door to the 4th floor opened and Araceli’s voice came down the stairs.
Soft, but loud enough to make me jump. “Mom! Who’s speaking?” I panicked. My heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to jump out of my chest. I quickly answered a friend of mine, my voice shaking, and I quickly went into the living room to avoid Araceli’s gaze.

poked his head out from the stairs, his hair still dripping wet.
I closed the door and whispered into the phone, trying not to let my nervousness show. Ivan, I just heard Araceli. She’s here. She just showered. Are you sure you didn’t make a mistake? On the other end, Ivan fell silent again, then his voice grew harsher. Mom, it’s impossible. I have her.

right in front of me on this plane. I can see her clearly. I fell silent, my mind blank. I hung up the phone, my hands shaking so much I almost dropped the receiver.
The room suddenly felt stifling, even though the sun was shining brightly outside. I sank into the armchair, trying to breathe deeply, but my chest felt tight with an unanswered question. If Araceli was here. Who was the woman on Iván’s flight? What if the woman on the flight was Araceli?

Who was the person in my house? A few minutes later, Araceli came down to the kitchen.
She was wearing a very clean, light blue dress, her hair still damp, and she smiled as sweetly as ever. Mom, I’m going to the market early today. Do you want me to bring you some vegetables or something? Her voice was kind, familiar, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. I looked at her, trying to force a

smile, but inside I felt like I was carrying stones.
Yes, my dear, bring some tomatoes, please. I answered with a dry throat. Araceli nodded. She took her palm basket and left the house. Her silhouette disappeared behind the gate. I stood there, watching her leave with a whirlwind in my soul. I didn’t believe Iván was lying to me. My son didn’t

I had no reason to make up such a story. He had always been an upright young man, very sensitive and loving with his family.
But Araceli, the daughter-in-law with whom I had lived for so many years, was also standing before me. Flesh and blood. Unmistakable. I asked myself. Had I missed something? Was there some secret in this house that I, an old woman, had never noticed? I sat silently in the living room as the light from the

Midday filtered through the curtains, casting faint swathes of light on the tile floor.
The old armchair where I always sit to knit or read stories to Mateo. Now it also seemed heavier. Iván’s call kept echoing in my head. Each of his words was like a hammer blow to my heart. I looked around the room where the Esteban and I hung the family photos.

Araceli on her wedding day.
Mateo, a newborn, and Iván’s radiant smile when he first put on his pilot’s uniform. All those memories now seemed covered in a hazy, blurred, and filled with doubt. I am Estela Márquez, a 65-year-old widow living in a quiet, middle-class neighborhood in the city.

From Mexico.
My husband, Don Rafael, left ten years ago, leaving me with the two children I love more than life itself. Esteban, the oldest, is a very hardworking architect, always immersed in his plans and projects. Iván, the youngest, is my pride for having made his dream of being a pilot come true. My life revolves around

Around Esteban’s small family, my daughter-in-law Araceli, my grandson Mateo.
And the peaceful days in this house. Araceli, my daughter-in-law, was always the perfect model in my eyes. She was beautiful, hardworking, always impeccable, from her way of dressing to how she cared for Mateo. I still remember their wedding day. A big party held in the backyard of her parents’ house.

Although Araceli’s family wasn’t wealthy, they did their best to make sure everything was perfect.
Araceli walked into my house with a confident smile and a bright look, as if she had been born to be a wonderful wife and mother. I thought how lucky I was to have a daughter-in-law like her. After Araceli left for the market, I sat there, unconsciously clutching the edge of the bed.

from the tablecloth. Ivan’s call made me review small details that had seemed normal to me before.
There were days when Araceli left the house saying she was going to the market or to see a friend, but when she came back she seemed like a different person. One day she was all sweetness, hugging Mateo and singing him to sleep. But other days she was in a bad mood and yelled at me just because I forgot to put the salt shaker back in her

place.
I used to think it was the mood swings of a young woman. But now I wasn’t so sure. My heart was in knots as if someone were stirring up all the memories I treasured so much. I remember once, a few months ago, Araceli took a pen to write the list of

sent with her right hand.
Her handwriting was very straight and careful, but the next day I saw her using her left hand and she wrote with more scribbles as if she weren’t used to it. I asked her, “Since when do you write with the other hand, mija?” She laughed and answered quickly. “Oh, no more. I’m practicing for fun, Mom.”

I nodded without giving it any importance, but now that detail had become a sharp piece in my mind.
I was lost in my thoughts when I heard the door open. Mateo came running in with his backpack, dancing on his back. He hugged me tightly, saying in his little sparrow voice, “Grandma. Today the teacher congratulated me because I drew very beautifully.” I stroked his head, trying to smile, but

I still felt a weight on my chest. Mateo sat down and took out his notebook to show me.
Grandma. Look, yesterday my mom helped me do my homework with her right hand and her handwriting turned out really nice. But today she wrote with her left hand and it came out uglier. The boy pointed to two pages in his notebook, one with neat handwriting and the other with crooked handwriting. I looked at the letters and felt my head bulge.

My heart sank.
Your mom must have been busy today. She must have been tired, and that’s why she wrote like that, I said, trying to hide my confusion. But Mateo looked up with his innocent eyes. Grandma, my mom is very strange. Some days she hugs me really tight, but other days she doesn’t even look at me. The words

My grandson’s death was another stab wound. I hugged him trying to comfort him, but in my head everything was starting to get tangled up.
Just at that moment the doorbell rang. I got up, opened the door, and saw Doña Remedios, my good neighbor, standing there with the plate that Araceli had brought her the day before. She smiled at me with that usual friendly smile, but her eyes were filled with curiosity. Estela, your daughter-in-law is so lovely. But yesterday I realized

She realized she gave me the plate with her left hand, and according to what you told me, she’s right-handed, right? How strange.
Or is it that she uses both hands? I forced a smile and replied, “Maybe Remedios, you’d like to come in for some tea.” She nodded and went in, but her comment stuck in my throat. It wasn’t just me; even the neighbors had noticed the difference. I served her the tea. We talked about

anything, but as soon as he left I collapsed on the couch with my hand on my chest.
I froze, feeling like the world was crashing down on me. That afternoon I went out into the garden with the watering can in my hand, trying to make the water fall gently on the daisies I’ve tended for years. The sun was beginning to set. The shadows of the trees lengthened in the yard, but my soul didn’t.

I found peace.
Mateo’s words, Doña Remedios’s words, and Iván’s firm voice on the phone continued to swirl around in my head like pebbles thrown into a calm lake, creating ripples that wouldn’t stop. I watered the plants, but my mind wasn’t there. I wondered, “Am I too old to realize this?”

the strange things that happen in my own house? Or have I deliberately turned a blind eye, wanting to believe in the happy family I always dreamed of? Araceli returned from the market carrying her palm basket.
But what caught my attention was that she was holding it with her left hand. I remembered perfectly well that Araceli always used her right hand, from the way she held the knife to chop vegetables to the way she combed Mateo’s hair. Did I just stand there, watching her put the basket on the kitchen table and

I asked her in a low voice, “What did you buy, Araceli?” My voice tried to sound natural, but inside a wave of suspicion grew.
She smiled and answered very politely. “Yes, Mom. I brought some tomatoes, cilantro, and a fresh fish. Tonight I’m going to prepare the grilled fish that you like. How does that sound?” Her voice was soft, as always, but I couldn’t help but notice her hands. Her left one? No, her right one. I nodded and shook my head.

I turned around pretending to clear the table.
But my heart was pounding. I was either imagining things or these little details were trying to tell me something. At dinner time, the whole family gathered at the table. Esteban was tired after a long day at work, but he still smiled at Mateo and asked him how he was doing.

had gone to school.
Araceli ate slowly, delicately, and even turned to Esteban to remind him of my love. Next week is Mateo’s parent-teacher meeting, so you can save the day. I looked at her, trying to find the daughter-in-law I was so proud of, but Iván’s voice kept echoing in my head.

She’s sitting in first class next to a man.
I bit my lip trying to swallow my anguish, but it felt like a stone stuck in my throat. Just three days later, everything was different. Mateo dropped a glass of water during dinner, and water splashed all over the tablecloth. I quickly grabbed a rag to clean it up, laughing. It’s okay.

son. Just be more careful. But Araceli, sitting across from him, suddenly frowned and said in a cutting voice.
Mateo, why are you so clumsy? Be more careful. I stood there, staring at Esteban. He frowned too and said in a low voice. Araceli: It was an accident. Nothing more. She turned around with a spark of anger in her eyes. You always defend him and I end up looking like the bad girl in the house. The atmosphere in

The table became heavy.
Mateo lowered his head, his eyes filled with tears. I hugged him, feeling a deep pain. It had been just a few days. Araceli had tenderly reminded him about school, and now he seemed like a completely different person. I sat next to him, watching in silence, trying to put the pieces together in my head. Today

I was irritable. The other day I was a sweetheart. Today I used my left hand.
The other day I used my right. These small differences, one by one, were accumulating in my mind, like the pieces of a puzzle that I still couldn’t see complete. I told myself I had to calm down, but every time I looked at Araceli, I saw a stranger, as if she weren’t the daughter-in-law I’d been with.

I had lived so many years.
A few days later I took Mateo to school. He held my hand as we walked along the usual cobblestone street. Suddenly he stopped, looked at me, and said in a sad voice, “Grandma. Yesterday my mom taught me how to write. And she was very patient. Her handwriting turned out really nice, but today she didn’t even want to look at my

homework.
He told me to do it myself. I bent down to look into his light eyes and felt my heart sink. Your mom was busy. Son, don’t be sad, I told him, but my voice was shaking. Mateo nodded, but his gaze was still filled with disappointment. I hugged him, feeling enormously helpless.

She’s seven years old.
How could I understand something I couldn’t even decipher? That night we sat down to dinner again. Suddenly, Araceli took a small notebook out of her bag and began writing something with her left hand. Esteban, who was serving himself food, suddenly laughed. Hey. Since when do you write with your left hand?

You look fine, weirdo. Araceli stopped dead in her tracks, a forced smile on her lips.
Oh, no more. I’m testing my love. She quickly put the little notebook back in her bag, but I noticed a flash of panic in her eyes. Esteban shook his head and said nothing more. But I knew he’d noticed something strange, too.
I sat there, gripping the spoon, trying to keep a straight face, but inside, doubts grew like a slow fire. One morning, I took the empty spice jar and crossed the usual cobblestone street to go to Doña Remedios’s house. Araceli had borrowed it a few days before.

weeks saying it was to make the mole poblano that Esteban likes so much. I knocked on the door and Doña Remedios opened it with her usual friendly smile.
Estela, come in, let me make you some coffee, she said, still holding a rag. I gave her the jar, thinking I would thank her and leave, but she pulled me to sit on a wooden chair in her kitchen. The atmosphere was warm, smelling of roasted coffee, but I couldn’t relax. Doña Remedios

She looked at me with doubtful eyes and lowered her voice. Estela, don’t get angry about what I’m about to tell you.
Your daughter-in-law has changed her character. One day she greets me nicely, happily, and even asks me about my children. But yesterday she stopped by. I signaled to her, and she didn’t even notice me, as if she didn’t know me. Doña Remedios’s words were like another stone in the troubled lake of my heart. I forced a smile and answered her.

She must have been in a hurry.
Remedios, you see how young people are these days, but inside I was a mess. I knew that Doña Remedios didn’t just talk for the sake of it. She’s a very sentimental person, always paying attention to details. If even she noticed how strange Araceli was, then my suspicions were no longer true.

My imagination.
I stayed a little longer. I took a sip of coffee. It was cold now, and I said goodbye to leave with a heavy heart. On my way back, I stopped by Don José’s bakery, where I always buy sweet bread for Mateo. Don José was serving, and when he saw me, he smiled. “Doña Estela, what are we going to give the champion today? Should I ask for some?”

shells and suddenly asked me, “Are you Esteban’s mother, right? His wife came the other day, very friendly. She even told me how delicious my bread was.
But this morning she came again with a sour face. She bought the bread and didn’t even say thank you. She left straight away. I stood stiff, clutching the handle of my bag. “You must have been tired, José,” I answered with a trembling voice. I thanked her quickly and left. Don José’s words

They were another knife, cutting deeper into the doubts growing inside me.
When I got home, I made some tea and sat on the porch. The wind blew softly, carrying the scent of daisies from the garden. I looked toward the street that leads to the market, where Araceli always went. Suddenly, I saw her returning carrying her grocery bag, but she greeted me with a dry voice.

Good afternoon, Mom.
No smile, none of the joy she had yesterday, when she bragged to me about getting a cheap bunch of cilantro. I nodded and answered in a low voice. “Are you back yet?” But inside, I couldn’t help but watch her more closely. The blouse she was wearing today was navy blue, different from the white blouse she wore when

She left.
I tried to ask her in a soft voice. “Why did you change your blouse?” Araceli paused for a second and then answered quickly. “Oh, I got it on and had to change it.” She smiled half-heartedly and quickly went into the kitchen. I stood there with the cup of tea in my hands, feeling like a rock was crushing me.

the chest.
The words of Doña Remedios, of Don José and the way Araceli answered everything forced me to stop ignoring things. That night we were all having dinner. Mateo told things about school in his cheerful little voice, but I noticed that Araceli just nodded without answering him, like other times when

Esteban asked, “Have you finished eating so your mom can clear the dishes?” Mateo suddenly turned to me and said innocently, “Grandma!” Oh, my mom didn’t sing me to sleep. Yesterday she did sing me the “Vejita” song that you always sing to me, and it sounds really nice.

I looked at Araceli, who was serving herself food without reacting, but Mateo’s words were like a pin prick in my heart. That lullaby, that beautiful little sky I used to sing to Esteban and Iván. Only Araceli and I knew it in this house. So why did he sing it yesterday and not today?

Why did she change so quickly? I got up to clear the dishes, but my mind wasn’t there anymore.
I remembered the times Araceli would leave the house saying she was going to see a friend, but come back with a strange look on her face. One day she brought a bouquet of fresh flowers saying it was a friend’s gift, but another day she got angry when I asked her, “Where did you go today that you came back so late?” I used to

I used to think they were unimportant things, but now they seemed like pieces of a much bigger secret. I didn’t want to believe that Araceli was hiding something from me.
But every word, every gesture of hers, made me doubt. That night, after cleaning the kitchen, I sat at the dining room table and took an old notebook out of a drawer. My hand trembled as I wrote the first line. 3:00 p.m. Araceli goes to the market. She returns at 6:00 p.m. She brings

Blue blouse. Irritable attitude.
I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew I couldn’t keep pretending nothing was happening. I kept writing. Yesterday she sang Mateo to sleep, tender, today cold. She didn’t sing to him. Each word was a heavy stroke, as if I were recording my suspicions in reality. My old notebook was now

Full of notes about Araceli.
Each letter was a piece of my doubt, as if I were painting a picture I didn’t dare look at. I sat in the kitchen, staring at the notebook with a heavy heart. I couldn’t keep all these thoughts inside any longer. They were like waves rising and falling, leaving me alone in my confusion.

I needed someone to talk to. Someone who understood me, who wouldn’t judge me, who wouldn’t jump to conclusions.
I immediately thought of Carmela, my soul mate, the one who’s been with me since we were young, when we’d sit knitting under a tree and tell each other about our lives. I picked up the phone, my voice shaking. “Carmela, are you free this afternoon?” Let’s go to the little cafe on the corner. “I need you.”

speak. Carmela instantly accepted her voice, as warm as ever.
Estela knew something was wrong with you. Wait for me. I’m on my way. I felt a little relieved, but the worry still weighed heavily. I put on my old shawl and left the house for the small café on the corner where Carmela and I had shared so many joys and sorrows.

The place was still the same, with its dark wooden tables and that delicious smell of freshly roasted coffee. I chose a table in a corner where the lighting was dim so no one would hear our conversation. I sat there cuddling the hot cup of coffee but with my soul frozen. I wondered how I was going to

tell all these suspicions? How dare I admit that I’m doubting my own daughter-in-law? Carmela arrived wearing a light sweater and carrying a bag of fresh vegetables.
She sat down. She looked me straight in the eyes, with that sharp but loving gaze. Estela, no, just looking at your face. I know something big is wrong with you. Come on, spill it. What’s causing you such a troubled soul? I took a deep breath, trying not to let my voice crack, but every word caught in my throat.

I recounted everything in a nutshell.
Ivan’s call from the airport, Araceli’s passport, the woman identical to her on the plane, and all the little details I’d noted, from how she switched hands when writing to her mood that changed from day to night. I took the notebook out of my bag and handed it to her. Look, here it is.

I wrote everything down.
I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I can’t play dumb anymore. Carmela turned the pages with a frown. She read slowly with her fingers, going over my shaky handwriting. “Did you notice everything?” Estela said in a serious voice. “Every time she goes out and comes back it’s like she’s a different person. What do you think?”

What is it? I shook my head, clutching the coffee cup.
I don’t know, Carmela. I just know I’m scared. Scared that Araceli is hiding something. Scared that my family will fall apart if I dig any deeper. But I can’t stop. I have to know the truth. For Esteban. For Mateo. Carmela put her cup on the table and looked at me determinedly. Women can’t be fooled.

Easy, Estela. What does your instinct tell you? I’m sure there’s something fishy going on here.
You have to get to the bottom of this. I hesitated, my voice dropping to a whisper. But what if I’m misjudging her? What if I’m hurting Esteban? Carmela interrupted me firmly. Listen to your instinct. If you don’t uncover the truth, you’ll always live with the doubt, and you won’t be able to protect Mateo or me.

Esteban.
Just then, Doña María, the woman who sells vegetables at the market and whom I know, came into the café, recognized me, and smiled. Doña Estela, what a coincidence! Last week I saw your daughter-in-law at the market. She greeted me very kindly. She even bought me an extra bunch of cilantro for cooking. But today

In the morning it happened again. Very serious. She didn’t even say hello. She bought her vegetables and left.
“Is something wrong with your daughter-in-law?” I forced a smile and answered. “She must be tired, Maria.” But inside I felt like I was drowning. Yet another person, who noticed how strange Araceli was acting. I thanked Doña María. I watched her leave and turned to Carmela. Sure. With panic reflected in my eyes,

Carmela took my hand, and her voice softened. “
You see, Estela, it’s not just you. Even the neighbors realize it. Stop kidding yourself. Keep writing everything down. And if necessary, you’re going to have to follow her. Not to hurt her, but to protect your family.” I nodded, but I felt my heart sink.

I knew Carmela was right, but the idea of ​​following my own daughter-in-law made me feel like I was betraying my family. I’d spent my entire life taking care of this home, and now I had to do something I never imagined. Investigate one of my own. That afternoon I returned home still with the

My head was in a mess. Araceli came out of the house carrying her familiar blue basket. Mom, I’m going to the market for a moment. She said softly.
I nodded, but as soon as she disappeared behind the gate, I opened my notebook and wrote. 3:00 PM Araceli goes to the market. She’s carrying a blue basket. Normal attitude. I stood there, looking at the clock, counting every minute. At six, Araceli returned. But the basket she was holding was now red.

I was surprised and asked her, “Did you change the basket?” She smiled and answered, “Quickly, the other one broke and a friend lent me this one.” I nodded.
But my hands trembled as I added in the notebook. “Come back at 6:00 p.m. Bring a red basket.” You’re a little rushed. My notes piled up. Each line was a step closer to the truth, but also a step away from the image of the old mother who only knows how to love and trust. The end.

This weekend, Esteban left for early overtime, and Mateo was at school on an activity, leaving the house silent, just for me and Araceli.
I was clearing the dining room table, trying to keep busy and banish the doubts that were gnawing at me. But then Araceli came down from her 4th floor wearing a pale yellow floral dress, as fresh as she had been in her first days as a married woman. “Mom, I’m going to the market for a bit,” she said softly.

She grabbed her usual palm basket and left. I nodded, smiling, but inside, a voice urged me on. Follow her, Estela, go find the truth.
I didn’t think twice. I grabbed my old shawl. I put it over my head to cover my face a little and left the house silently, keeping a safe distance behind Araceli. The sun was beating down, sweat soaking my back, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to know where I was really going.

What she did.
Araceli walked quickly along the cobblestone street that leads to the market, but suddenly, instead of turning right, as usual, she turned left into an alley behind a working-class area. The houses were old, tightly packed together, with peeling walls and thatched roofs.

rusty sheets. I slowed down, my heart beating a mile a minute, trying to hide behind some bicycles parked on the sidewalk.
Araceli didn’t turn around; she kept walking. She went into an even narrower alley, where the sunlight barely reached. I hid behind a mechanic’s shop where a man was deeply involved, tightening nuts. I saw Araceli stop in front of an old wooden door, knock softly, and

Then enter and disappear.
I stood there, breathing heavily and my head spinning. What was my daughter-in-law doing there? This wasn’t the market or the house of any of the friends she’d mentioned. I wanted to walk over there, knock on the door, ask her directly, but my feet felt rooted to the spot. I had her.

Afraid of the truth. Afraid that what I was about to discover would shatter everything.
In the end, I turned around and went back home full of questions. Each step heavier than the last. I barely pushed open the front door when I froze. Araceli was standing in the kitchen, chopping vegetables in a white blouse completely different from the floral dress she had worn.

He had left.
He was frowning and looked at me with cold, sharp eyes. Where did Mom go, she’s just getting back? I froze, my mouth dry, unable to say a word. Just a few minutes ago I had seen her enter that alley in a yellow dress. How could she have come back so quickly? And this

blouse? Did I stutter? I went.
I went for a walk. Nothing more. Araceli nodded without saying anything else, but her gaze gave me chills. I went up to my 4th floor pretending to go get something, but in reality it was to escape that gaze, to calm my heart that was beating wildly in my chest. That night I was sitting knitting when Mateo

She came running into my 4th grade
with her cheeks red from playing so much in the yard. She hugged my legs, sobbing. Grandma. Oh! My mom scolded me just because I dropped a pencil. Not like yesterday. Yesterday she was really nice. She even hugged me. I took Mateo in my arms, stroked his head, but inside I felt like I was burning. You

Mom was tired. Son, don’t be sad, I said, but my voice was shaking.
Mateo hid his face in my shoulder and whispered, “Grandma, I want the mom from yesterday.” I hugged him tighter, tears about to fall. “Seme.” My grandson’s words were like a razor, digging deeper into the suspicions I was trying to suppress. That night I couldn’t sleep. I stayed in bed.

bed with my eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. The images repeated themselves over and over in my head.
Araceli, in the floral dress, entering the alley. Araceli in the white blouse standing in the kitchen, and Iván’s voice is on my flight. I took the notebook out of the drawer and wrote a sentence that I didn’t even dare believe. Maybe they are not the same person. That sentence felt like a curse and

It made me tremble.
The next morning I decided to return to that alley. I couldn’t bear the doubt any longer. I took the family photo that hangs in the living room, the one where Araceli smiles radiantly next to Esteban and Mateo. I held it tight and left the house, determined but scared to death. The alley was the same as yesterday,

Quiet and gloomy.
I stopped next to a corn stand where a middle-aged woman was fanning the coals. I showed her the photo and asked, “Excuse me. Have you seen this girl around here?” The woman looked at her closely and then pointed. “Oh, yeah, right. She goes in and out of the house at number 14 often. That one over there.”

I thanked him.
My heart pounding in my throat, I walked straight toward that house. House number 14 appeared before me, with stained walls, a peeling wooden door, and a pot with a wilted daisy on the windowsill. I stood there with trembling hands, feeling like the world

My whole body held its breath with me.
I knocked on the door and each knock sounded like a hammer blow to my chest. The door opened and I was speechless. In front of me was a woman identical to Araceli. From her face, her body to her long black hair. The only difference was her frightened look and her hands that trembled as they held a

rag.
I stammered, my voice breaking. Araceli. The girl jumped. She gripped the rag tightly and tried to slam the door shut. But just at that moment, another voice came from inside. A soft but firm voice. Isidora, don’t hide anymore. You also know this is wrong. I looked up.

and I saw a young woman come out of a corner of the 4th floor, standing right behind the woman who looked just like Araceli.
She was thin, with her hair tied back, and had an intelligent but kind look. She looked at me and smiled slightly. Let me introduce myself. I’m Luciana Varela, Isidora’s 4th-grade classmate, Doña Estela. Please, come in. It’s time you knew the truth. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my legs from shaking, and walked in.

to that cramped tin house.
The walls were stained, the cement floor cracked, and a faint smell of disinfectant floated in the air. In one corner, an elderly man was coughing weakly, lying on an old cot, covered with a threadbare blanket. I felt the space crushing me, but I walked over and sat down in the chair anyway.

The wooden frame Luciana pointed out to me.
The woman, identical to Araceli, lowered her face, her voice barely a whisper. Forgive me, I’m not Araceli. My name is Isidora. I stared at her, my mind in turmoil, unable to say anything. Isidora. The name was strange, but the face was all too familiar. I clenched my hands, trying to keep my voice steady.

Firm. You explain to me why you look so much like my daughter-in-law and why you appear in my house.
Isidora looked up with guilt in her eyes, but didn’t answer immediately. Instead, Luciana sat down next to her. She poured a glass of water from an old plastic jug and began to talk. Isidora is very poor, Doña Estela, Luciana said in a calm and clear voice. Her adoptive parents are

Very sick, especially the gentleman lying there.
A few years ago, Isidora met Araceli by chance at a market. They were like two peas in a pod, and Araceli took advantage of that. She suggested that Isidora pretend to be her, that she replace her for a few hours whenever she needed it. Isidora didn’t want to, but Araceli paid her.

very well and her family needed the money for the medicine.
I looked at Isidora and saw that she had her head down, squeezing the rag so tightly that her knuckles turned white. I pressed her with a voice full of disbelief, replace her for what? Why would Aracely need someone to impersonate her? Isidora looked up with a voice

trembling.
I don’t know, everything, ma’am. She only told me, “Just stay home for a few hours. Do some things like go to the market, take care of the child,” and she would give me money, a lot of money, enough to buy my parents’ medicine. Me. I didn’t dare ask any more. She lowered her head and the tears began.

rolling down her cheeks.
I looked at her, feeling my chest tighten. Every strange detail of the past few months. Suddenly, the change in handwriting made sense, sometimes sweet, sometimes sour. The voice, sometimes honeyed, sometimes cold. Everything fit together now, like the last pieces of a puzzle that I

had refused to see. Luciana continued, her gaze sharpening.
I don’t know if this helps, but I once saw Araceli with a very elegant man. His name is Salvador Quiñones. I heard the name when they were chatting in a café. They called each other “My love” very affectionately. At that moment, Isidora was waiting outside in the car, not understanding anything. The name Salvador Quiñones

It was like a knife in my heart. I remembered Iván’s words.
She’s sitting in first class next to a rich man. The small room seemed to spin around me. I tried to stay calm, but my hands were shaking so much that I knocked over the glass of water. Luciana rushed to clean up, but I just shook my head, my voice choked. Her. Araceli

He’s deceiving my family. Isidora burst into tears, her voice breaking.
Forgive me, ma’am, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just wanted to save my parents. I looked at this young woman with a face identical to Araceli’s, but with a look of pain and regret. I wanted to get angry. I wanted to scream. But when I saw Isidora, I only felt pity. She wasn’t the mastermind.

I was just a piece in Araceli’s game.
Everything was falling apart before my eyes. I stood up, trying to make my voice sound firm. Isidora. Do you know where Araceli is? Do you know what she does when she asks you to pretend to be her? Isidora shook her head, still crying. I don’t know, ma’am. She just told me to do what she asked.

and that she would pay me. I didn’t dare ask any more.
Luciana put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her and then turned to me. Doña Estela, I know this is very painful for you. But Isidora is also a victim. She had no choice. I looked around the humble house, listening to the weak voice of the man on the cot. I understood the desperation

Isidora’s, but that didn’t erase the feeling of betrayal I felt.
I clenched my fists trying to hold back the tears. I don’t blame you, Isidora, but I need to know the truth. I need to protect my son and my grandson. I got up feeling like the world was falling down on me. Thank you, Luciana, for telling me the truth. I’ll be back. I left the house and the bright sun outside

It blinded me.
But my heart was frozen. The next morning I went back to that small alley where the stained walls and the peeling wooden door had become an obsession in my mind. The sun was still beating down, but I felt cold inside, as if I were carrying an icy wind from

Unresolved doubts.
I knocked on the door of number 14, clutching the family photo as if it were an amulet giving me the courage to face the truth. This time Isidora didn’t seem so scared. She opened the door, still looking timid but calmer, and invited me in. Doña Estela was waiting for her.

Please come in. The house was still small, with that smell of disinfectant and the weak cough of the man on the cot.
I sat down on the old wooden chair and looked at Isidora. She was wearing a simple blouse, her hair loosely tied back. She looked tired but no longer scared. I took a deep breath and said in a low voice, “Isidora, I want to meet your adoptive mother. I need to understand all of this better.” Isidora nodded and led me to a

corner of the 4th floor
where a very thin woman, with completely white hair, was lying in a bed with cloudy eyes staring at the ceiling. It was Doña Felicitas Morales, Isidora’s adoptive mother. I took her skinny hand and introduced myself. I am Estela Márquez, the mother of Esteban, Araceli’s husband. Doña Felicitas

She looked at me, breathing heavily, and said in a weak voice, “Isidora is not my daughter by blood. She is a girl I adopted when she was a newborn.”
Her words were like a hammer blow to my head. I froze, my heart beating faster, but I tried to keep my voice calm. “Please tell me how it all happened.” The woman coughed and then, slowly, began to tell me a story I wasn’t ready for. Many years ago

years, I was a nurse in a village hospital. She began with a trembling voice.
A very poor family. She had twin girls. They were so poor they couldn’t support both of them. The mother was crying. She said she could only keep one and the other. They were going to abandon her. My heart broke. I couldn’t let them abandon that child. So I adopted her. That’s Isidora. He stopped to

He coughed for a long time and then looked at Isidora with immense love.
I raised her as if she were my own, but I know she’s always wanted to find her real parents. I have nothing to give her but my love. And this house? I sat there, clutching the edge of my chair, my head spinning. Do you know who Isidora’s biological parents are?

I asked, my voice trembling. Doña Felicitas shook her head.
I only know that they were a poor family from a nearby village. I didn’t ask too many questions. I just wanted to save the girl. I looked at Isidora and saw her with her face downcast, tears streaming down her face. Doña Estela, I don’t know anything about my biological parents, she said, her voice choked. But when I met Araceli, I thought that

She better know something. She’s so much like me, but she never told me anything about it.
I felt like I was short of breath. I asked Doña Felicitas to let me see her old papers in the hopes of finding some clue. She pointed to an old wooden wardrobe. Isidora took out a yellowed paper envelope and gave it to me. Inside was a copy of some hospital papers with the date of

Isidora’s birth date.
I read them quickly and felt my heart stop. Isidora’s birth date was exactly the same as Araceli’s. The same one I’d seen on her papers when she married Esteban. I grabbed the documents with trembling hands and looked at Isidora. You, you and Araceli could be sisters.

Twins. I said, my voice fading.
Isidora burst into tears, covering her face. So Araceli is my sister. Why didn’t she tell me anything? Why did she make me do all that? I looked at her, my heart breaking. I remembered the days when Araceli came to my house radiant and confident, as if she had been born to be a wife and mother.

Perfect. I had loved her.
I had believed that she would bring Esteban happiness, but now I knew that she had not only deceived my family, but that she had also taken advantage of her own sister, using her as her double to hide secrets that I didn’t even dare imagine. I stood up, put my hand on Isidora’s shoulder and my

Her voice, though firm, couldn’t hide the pain. Isidora, from today on, I’m not going to let anyone else take advantage of you.
I’m going to help your parents with their illness, but in return, you have to cooperate with me. I need to bring this truth to light. For Esteban, for Mateo. Isidora nodded, still crying. I’m going to help her. I don’t want to live this lie anymore. I looked at her and saw sincerity in her eyes, and for the first time, I felt a

A ray of hope in the midst of the storm. I left the house. I walked down the alley with my soul in turmoil.
I passed by the bustling market where people were shopping and laughing. But in my mind, Doña Felicitas’s words echoed like bells. Two twins, one abandoned, the other a servant. And now their destinies had crossed in my own family. I returned home with my soul in disarray. Like a

field after a storm.
The truth about Araceli and Isidora. The twins’ secret was a rock crushing my chest. I was facing a crossroads I wasn’t prepared for. Confronting my daughter-in-law, the woman who had deceived us all, and revealing the truth to Esteban and Mateo. That night I called Iván. My

My voice was firm, even though my heart was trembling. Iván, you have to come to the house tomorrow night.
There are some things I need you to clarify. Iván was surprised. I could hear the concern in his voice. “Mom, did something serious happen?” I said curtly. “Just come here, son. I need you. And if you can, bring Araceli’s electronic passport.” He didn’t ask any more questions. He just said, “Yes, Mom, I’ll be there.” I hung up and sat down.

feeling like the whole world was crashing down on me.
I knew that tomorrow night would be one no one in this family would forget. The next day, I got up early and prepared a big family dinner. I put a white tablecloth on the table and lit some candles. I cooked the mole poblano that Esteban loves so much and the grilled fish that Mateo always asks for.

I wanted this dinner to be special, not to celebrate, but to mark a before and after. I was in the kitchen chopping vegetables, but my mind was elsewhere. Between that gloomy alley and Isidora’s words, I told myself I had to be strong for Esteban. For Mateo. But

Each cut of the knife felt like a cut to my own heart.
Esteban came home as it was getting dark, tired from work. When he saw the table set, he was surprised. And now what are we celebrating? That you made so much food? Mom? I smiled, trying to look calm. I just wanted us all to have dinner. Delicious. Sit down, son. Araceli came in wearing her light blue dress,

A soft smile, but with a hint of nervousness in his eyes.
Mateo ran to hug my legs. “Grandma, the fish smells so good!” I stroked his head with a lump in my throat. I knew that after tonight, Mateo’s innocent smile might never be so carefree again. We sat down at the table, and at first, the atmosphere was lively. Esteban

He was telling us about work. Mateo talked excitedly about the drawing he did at school.
Araceli nodded, commenting from time to time, but I noticed her hand was shaking a little as she held the spoon. I took a deep breath and signaled to Iván, who was waiting outside. He came in, and right behind him was Isidora, wearing a simple dress. Her face was identical to Araceli’s, but with a look

filled with anguish. Everyone at the table fell silent.
Mateo looked confused from Araceli to Isidora and asked innocently, “Why are there two moms?” Esteban turned pale, dropped his spoon, and Araceli jumped up screaming. “What’s all this about, Mom?” I stood up, holding onto the edge of the table to keep from shaking. “Sit down, Araceli.”

I said slowly but firmly. I need to get everything straight.
I started to tell, and each word tore me apart inside. Ivan’s call from the airport when he saw her on a flight to France. Even though she was still at home, the times I changed hands to write her character. Sometimes sweet, sometimes sour. And finally, my visit to the alley where I met

Isidora and I discovered the secret of the twins.
Are you and Isidora twin sisters? I said, looking her straight in the eyes. Did you take advantage of your sister to hide the truth? Tell us what the truth is. Araceli was trembling, her face as white as a sheet. She screamed, trying to defend herself. She’s making it all up to humiliate me. How dare she? But Ivan

He came over and placed a stack of papers on the table with force. “
This is a copy of the electronic passport with the entry and exit stamp for France,” he said in a harsh voice. “You can’t be home and fly to France at the same time.” Araceli stared at the papers with her lips pressed together, unable to say anything. Mateo, sitting next to her, suddenly intervened in a voice

innocent but full of pain.
It’s true, Grandma. Some days my mom is an angel and other days she’s very mean. I don’t like the mean mom. My grandson’s words were like a stab, and I had to hold back tears. The air in the room felt so heavy it was hard to breathe. I nodded and signaled to Luciana,

who had just entered through the back door.
He stood there with his sharp gaze and counted in front of everyone. I saw Araceli with Salvador Quiñones. They called each other “My love.” And it was she who hired Isidora to pretend to be her and deceive the family. Esteban turned to his wife, his voice choked. “It’s true, Araceli. Tell me. Is it true?”

Araceli bit her lip in silence for a long moment and suddenly shouted with her voice full of fury. Yes, it’s true.
I have a lover. I’m fed up with this poor life. Fed up with being the daughter-in-law in this house. Salvador gives me a life 100 times better. And you, Esteban, are useless. Her words were like a bomb that exploded in the room. Esteban froze, clenching his fists so tightly that they

They gave him white names. Mateo burst into tears and ran to hug me with a trembling voice.
“Grandma, what did my mom say?” I hugged him tightly and tears rolled down my cheeks. I looked at Araceli, my heart broken. She was standing there, with a cold look, without a hint of regret. Esteban stood up with a trembling voice. Araceli D. Do you really think that? She turned around without

answer.
Isidora, who had been silent to one side, suddenly spoke in a low but clear voice. Sister, you didn’t have to hurt them like that. I only wanted to help you, but I didn’t know it would come to this. Araceli glared at her, but didn’t say anything. She just turned and left. The door closed with a bang.

The door slammed, leaving the room plunged into a painful silence. After that night of confrontation, the air in my house felt as if its life had been stolen from it.
The living room, once filled with Mateo’s laughter and Esteban’s chatter, was now suffocatingly silent. I had lived my whole life for my family, but now I felt like someone who had just survived a hurricane. Standing amidst the rubble of the home that had so

Be careful.
Araceli left after shouting those bitter words, leaving Esteban with a blank stare and Mateo with innocent tears. I knew everything had changed forever. A week later, Esteban and Araceli went to court for the divorce. I didn’t go, but Esteban told me later in his voice.

dry, as if she’d lost her soul. Mom didn’t look at me or Mateo.
She signed the papers and left with that man, as if we’d never existed. I sat down next to her. I held her hand, trying not to cry. Araceli didn’t ask for custody of Mateo, as if the boy had just been part of a play she’d grown tired of. My heart ached,

Not only for Esteban, but for Mateo. A seven-year-old boy who didn’t deserve to be abandoned like that. Don’t worry, son, I told him, my voice trembling.
I’ll always be here, and Mateo will never lack love. But deep down, I knew this wound would take a long time to heal. Esteban broke down, became quiet, and spoke little. He just buried himself in his work or sat and watched Mateo play in the yard.

I looked at my son and saw in his eyes the same sadness that Don Rafael had in his last days, when he knew he could no longer stay with us. I wanted to hug him, tell him that everything was going to be okay, but I didn’t know where to start. Luckily, Isidora appeared silently like a small light in

the darkness. She came to the house every day.
She brought containers of hot food. She sat with Mateo to play and dried his tears when he asked, Aunt, where did my mom go? Really? I looked at Isidora, I saw that face identical to Araceli’s, but with a completely different heart. She was sweet, patient, and always found

The way to make Mateo laugh.
One afternoon, I saw Mateo run to hug Isidora with his cheerful little voice, “Mom, Isidora, teach me how to draw a bird.” I was surprised, my heart sinking. The boy called her “Mom” with a carefree smile I hadn’t seen on him in a long time. Isidora laughed and stroked his head.

Of course, my love. But you have to draw it really beautifully for me to see it. I stood there, tears streaming down my face.
Mateo’s innocent words were like medicine that eased my pain. I knew that Isidora had not only replaced Araceli in those days of deception, but was becoming part of our family with her own sincere heart. One night, while I was cleaning the kitchen, Esteban

He called me into the living room.
He was standing there, holding a small ring with trembling hands. His gaze was a mixture of nerves and determination. Isidora was at his side, her face flushed and her eyes shining. Esteban knelt down, his voice breaking. Isidora: I don’t want to waste any more time. You brought us light.

me and Mateo.
Would you accept being my wife and Mateo’s mother? Isidora burst into tears, looking at me as if seeking my approval. I approached, took her hand, and nodded gently. You deserve it, mija. You have been part of this family for so long. She hugged me.
Her tears wet my shoulder, and I knew that this was the moment when my family was beginning to heal. Esteban and Isidora’s wedding. It was soon after, something small but full of love. I was in the yard watching the red roses tied to the fence, listening to Mateo’s laughter as he used his

little suit, being his dad’s little godfather. Ivan flew back from a work trip and stood next to his brother with a smile as radiant as the day he first put on his pilot’s uniform.
I sat in the front row with tears rolling down my cheeks. They weren’t tears of loss, but of happiness. I looked at Isidora in her simple wedding dress, holding Esteban’s hand, and I knew my family had found a true heart. After losing a fraud,

Life after that returned to calm.
Isidora maintained her simple life, caring for Esteban and Mateo with all her love. She cooked warm meals and sang Mateo to sleep with the same beautiful little sky I sang to my children. Every night, she sat next to Esteban, listening to him talk about his plans and projects.

With a look of pride, Mateo no longer asked about his other mom. He just snuggled up to Isidora, calling her mom. With a radiant smile, he looked at my family and saw how the wounds were slowly healing. Late one night, I sat on the porch. The wind blew gently in the

garden. Mateo’s laughter could be heard from inside, mixed with Isidora’s sweet voice.
I peeked in and saw Esteban concentrating on his work while Isidora made him a cup of tea, set it aside, and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. I smiled, feeling my heart finally at rest. I thought about the long road I had traveled since my first doubts, since the call from

Ivan to that dark alley where I discovered the truth.
The truth had been cruel, but as Don Rafael used to say, the truth will set you free. Estela. And so it was. The truth set us free. It brought us Isidora and gave us a new, much brighter, happier beginning. The story you just heard has been altered in names and locations to protect the

the identity of the people involved.
We don’t tell this to judge, but in the hope that someone will listen and stop to reflect. How many mothers are suffering in silence within their own homes? I really 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

Facing it all to find your voice? I want to know 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.