Today I want to tell you what happened when my husband went on a trip and my mother-in-law showed up unannounced. I’ve never liked late-night calls. Decent people don’t bother people at that time, unless it’s urgent. That’s why every time the phone rings in the middle of the night, I shudder, expecting bad news.

I was about to fall asleep when my husband’s cell phone broke the silence in the bedroom. He sighed and picked it up.

“I don’t recognize the number,” he said, looking over his shoulder at me.

“Turn it down. If it’s important, they’ll call tomorrow,” I growled, burrowing under the covers.

But the phone kept ringing. I sighed and uncovered my head.

“Answer me now!” I asked, resigned to the knowledge that the dream had vanished.

My husband listened for a while and then announced that he would be leaving in the morning.

“What?” I asked, suddenly coming to my senses. “Where are you going?”

—Javi’s dead. Heart attack. His wife called, she needs me to come in. I’ll ask for time off work tomorrow. Javi, Javi… He wasn’t even forty yet…—David got up and went to the kitchen.

The next morning, I saw him off with a spare shirt and his razor. I didn’t know Javi well, so I didn’t accompany him.

While I sipped my coffee, I planned my day: should I start by cleaning or washing the curtains? Weekends are never a day off for women. I decided not to cook. Three days without eating well wouldn’t hurt me. Worst case, I’d fry some eggs. And when David came back, I’d whip up something good.

But my plans fell apart. I’d barely gotten ready when someone knocked on the door. I thought it was my neighbor asking for something, and I opened it without a care.

There was my mother-in-law, and behind her, her second husband, Ramón.

“I see you’re not happy,” she said without moving from the threshold. “We were just passing by and decided to stop by. But if you’re busy, we’ll leave.”

As if he ever warned us before coming.

“No way, come in,” I replied, forcing a smile as I let them in.

“We won’t be staying long, will we, Ramón?” my mother-in-law said, taking off her mink coat. Ramón caught it in midair before it hit the ground.

“Keep your shoes on. I haven’t cleaned yet. It’s always a pleasure to see you, Doña Carmen. You look so good!” I said in the best voice I could.

“And David? At work? But it’s the weekend. He doesn’t take care of himself. It wouldn’t hurt if you worked either, so he wouldn’t have to kill himself on Saturdays.” Her tone wasn’t a reproach, it was a direct judgment on my leisure time.

“I work, but from home…” I tried to justify myself. I could have screamed, but she always developed selective deafness when it suited her.

My mother-in-law scanned the room with a critical eye, discovering every last grain of dust in the closet and David’s shirt forgotten on a chair.

“New curtains? Nice, but the others were fine. You’re spending too much. And the new sofa? What happened to the old one?” Without waiting for an answer, he sat down and tried out the seat. “Isn’t it very clear?”

They say memory worsens with age, but my mother-in-law’s was getting sharper. Who would have thought she remembered the curtains we had months ago!

I left her enjoying the couch while I ran to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge. A simple cup of tea wouldn’t be enough. I knew she’d call all her friends later to tell them how badly I’d treated her. And that I’d left her “Davidito” half-starved. Well, no, I wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

I opened the fridge. Salad vegetables, something’s something. I took meat out of the freezer and put it in the microwave. While it thawed, I started a quick cake.

I put the cake in the oven, sautéed the meat in the pan, and started chopping vegetables. The aroma of fresh baked goods filled the house. I waited for my mother-in-law to appear in the kitchen… but she didn’t.

A shout, a mixture of indignation and joy, made me run back into the living room, not knowing what to expect. Doña Carmen was standing next to the china cabinet, holding a porcelain vase from the old Lladró factory.

“This is an antique! Is this how you spend my son’s money?” he exclaimed, looking at me as if I had cockroaches on my face.

I started to explain that it was a gift from my grandmother, but… the cake! I flew to the kitchen, got it out in time, and turned the meat over. Thank goodness.

When everything was ready, I set the table with the nice dishes and called my guests.

“We didn’t come to eat, just to see you,” said Doña Carmen, sitting down. But her eyes darted from the plate of meat to the cake, and back again.

Ramón picked up his fork and stabbed into a piece. I’d left knives out of protocol, but he was the kind of person who ate without fuss. He chewed and closed his eyes, enjoying himself. At least someone appreciated him! But then came my mother-in-law’s icy comment.

—How can you, Ramón? It’s Lent!

Ramón coughed, as if the bite had turned into poison. I was petrified. I had completely forgotten about Lent!

With a trembling voice, I explained that David loved meat, and the nearby supermarket only had hake. Was I going to give them frozen fish?

“If they had warned me, I would have bought something better…” I stammered.

Meanwhile, Ramón continued eating discreetly.

“Do you want salad, Doña Carmen?” I asked, smiling casually. Thank goodness I didn’t dress it with mayonnaise, as she couldn’t tolerate it.

With an indulgent gesture, he accepted some. He tried a piece of cucumber and swallowed it without complaint. Miracle!

Ramón reached for more meat, but his wife’s look stopped him. He put down his fork, resigned. I felt sorry for him.

David’s father couldn’t stand his wife’s temper and left when he was eight. A few years ago, at a gathering, Doña Carmen met Ramón, her first love, now a widower, and married him.

I served the tea in the prettiest cups, a gift from my mother. I cut the cake and gave the best piece to my mother-in-law.

“I forgot the cinnamon last time, remember? Try it now, you’ll notice the difference,” I lied shamelessly.

“Oh yeah?” she replied, surprised.

Ramón, taking advantage of his distraction, grabbed another piece of meat and gobbled it down almost without chewing.

The water boiled and I poured the black tea. Doña Carmen glared at me.

“Is it too hot? Should I put cold water on it?” I jumped nervously.

“Black tea is bad for you. Don’t you know that?” she blurted out, as if I were stupid.

“During Lent?” I asked innocently.

His gaze could have frozen the Mediterranean.

Ramón wanted more. In the end, after so much criticism, Doña Carmen said goodbye with a “take care of yourself” that sounded like a threat, leaving me exhausted but with the satisfaction of having survived another unexpected visit, while Ramón winked at me secretly before leaving.

Part 2: The Interrupted Rest

I thought that after the impromptu visit from Doña Carmen and her silent squire Ramón, I’d finally have some peace. The house smelled of freshly baked cake, the living room was like something out of a magazine (albeit with the energy squeezed from my soul), and the tea—black, heretical, and sinful during Lent—was still steaming in the cups.

I took off my shoes, plopped down on the light-colored sofa that had caused my mother-in-law such a fuss, and closed my eyes for a second.

“It’s over!” I said to myself, as if surviving a mother-in-law was comparable to a tropical storm.

But the universe, which sometimes disguises itself as a meddling mother, had other plans.

Toc-toc-toc.

Three knocks. Sharp. Authoritative. The door knocks again.

I dragged myself over to it with the same enthusiasm as someone going to the dentist. I opened it… and there was my sister-in-law Lucía , with her eternal “I just woke up looking so perfect” air, holding a cloth bag that seemed to weigh twice her height.

“Hello, brother-in-law! Don’t you know what Mom told me? That they came to see you and came away horrified!” She entered as if she lived there, without waiting for an invitation or any dissimulation.

“Lucia? Were you in the area too?” I asked with a frozen smile.

—No, but Mom told me she noticed you were… I don’t know, weird. Like, out of sorts. I wanted to come check on you. Also, I brought some baby clothes for you.

—As a baby?

—Oh! David didn’t tell you? Mom says it’s about time. That you’re old enough. If not now, when?

I took a deep breath. I held back. This wasn’t the time to scream. Not while the cake knife was still on the table.

Lucia dropped the bag on the sofa.

—They’re things from when Martina was little. Pajamas, blankets… They’re almost new. Mom says it’s best to have them ready, just in case.

“Thanks, but I’m not pregnant,” I said, trying to sound friendly.

“Well, you never know!” he replied with that family-characteristic, superior smile.

I offered to make him some tea. He said he’d rather have a coffee with oat milk, no sugar, and “a pinch of cinnamon if you have it, because his digestion has been bothering him lately…”

I swallowed my sarcasm along with my pride and prepared it for her. When I returned to the living room, she had already scattered all her clothes on the couch.

—Oh, I loved this bodysuit… Although of course, if your baby is a boy, I don’t know if this pink one with teddy bears will look good. Or do you not mind the colors?

“Lucia,” I began. “I have no immediate plans to be a mother, and even if I did, I think I’d prefer to buy her her own clothes…”

“And throw all this away? What a waste!” he sighed, as if the apocalypse had just been announced.

Before I could answer, my phone rang . It was David.

—Hi, love. How’s everything?

—Good. I outlived your parents, and now your sister is here.

—Lucia? Again? I leave you alone for a day and your house is already full?

—And you? Are you back yet?

—No, but I have something to tell you. I’ll call you later. Take care.

He hung up.

I returned to the living room, and Lucía was now inspecting the kitchen. She opened a cupboard and took out the jar of rice.

—Is this white rice? But it’s so fattening! You should switch to brown rice. Mom says…

“Lucia!” I interrupted, feigning calm. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

She turned around, surprised.

—Do you have anything gluten-free?

I breathed through my nose. I counted to ten. I smiled.

—Yes. Air. I have plenty of it. I can serve you a good plate.

Lucia laughed, not noticing the irony.

—Oh, brother-in-law, you’re so cute! Mom says you’re very nice, although a bit lazy around the house.

And then I knew: This wasn’t just a normal afternoon. It was a divine test. Like Job, but with mothers-in-law and sisters-in-law instead of sores.

Finally, Lucía left, but not before reminding me that we should go to Pilates together and that the pants I was wearing didn’t look very flattering on me “with those hips you have.”

I closed the door. I leaned my forehead against the wood. I laughed. A little hysterically. A little crazy. But I laughed.

“Thank you, God,” I said to the ceiling. “For giving me patience. Because, honestly, I don’t have any strength left.”

Part 3 – The shadows behind the silence

From the day I discovered the letter in Javier’s drawer, my world was never the same. Although I tried to remain calm, every word written on that yellow sheet of paper echoed in my head: “I swear I’ll leave her soon. Just hold on a little longer.”

Will I leave her?

I was “the one .” The woman who looked after his daughter, who had put her career on hold, who spent all night awake while he claimed to be working overtime.

I tried not to react impulsively. I began to observe. To take notes. To ask questions gently and smile as if I knew nothing. Because now I knew something bigger: it wasn’t enough to confront it. I had to understand everything.

One Tuesday afternoon, while Martina was sleeping, I took Javier’s phone. It had the code. I’d always known it, but I’d never used it. Until that day.

What I found broke me .

Photos. Messages. Audio recordings. A relationship that had been going on for a year . Even before Martina was born.

The mistress… her name was Camila. She worked with him. Not only did she know he was married, she also mocked me in some messages. They called me “the saint” or “the martyr,” while planning getaways and hotels with names I couldn’t erase from my head.

I felt nauseous.

But I didn’t cry.

Not that time.

That night, I waited awake for him. When he came in, he pretended to be tired. He took off his shoes and asked if there was any dinner left.

I replied,
“Yes. But it cooled off… like everything else between us.”

He looked at me, confused. I threw the unlocked phone at him. He stared at the screen, remained silent. He didn’t try to deny it.

He just said,
“How long have you known?”

—Enough to understand that this wasn’t a mistake. It was a decision. And now, it’s my turn to decide.

Final Part – When silence screams the truth

Javier didn’t say anything for several seconds. He just looked down, like a child trapped in an old lie.
“I didn’t know how to tell you the truth,” he murmured.
“Of course you knew,” I replied calmly. “You just never thought I’d dare to seek it out.”

He sat down on the couch, covering his face with his hands.
“Camila… it’s nothing serious. It was… a mix-up. A mistake.
” “A mistake doesn’t last a year, Javier. A mistake isn’t repeated in hotels, it doesn’t have a name, and it doesn’t make fun of your daughter’s mother.”

He looked at me then with red eyes, as if he expected me to forgive him out of habit. As if he believed that, out of love or fear, I would stay.
But that day, something in me broke. Or rather: something in me woke up .

“Tomorrow morning you’re leaving. You’re taking your things. I’m not leaving this house, I’m not hiding. I didn’t do anything wrong,” I told him with a firmness that surprised even me.

He tried to speak, but I raised my hand.
“I don’t need explanations anymore. I need peace.”

**

The next day, as he left with a suitcase and a sluggish look, I was preparing breakfast for Martina. The little girl smiled at me with her jam-covered face, and for the first time in a long time, I smiled back effortlessly .

Weeks passed. Then months. I filed for divorce. I sought therapy. I went back to teaching. My friends returned to my life, the ones I had unwittingly pushed aside while losing myself in an empty marriage.

And one rainy afternoon, while I was drinking coffee and looking out the window, I found myself thinking this:

“It doesn’t hurt the end… it hurts the time I denied myself to hold on to something that was already broken.”

**

The last time I saw Javier was at a meeting with the lawyer. He apologized. This time without excuses, without fake tears.
“I lost the best woman I’ve ever had in my life.”
I looked at him with compassion, not resentment.
“You didn’t lose me, Javier. I found myself .”

And at that moment I knew the worst was over.

That now my real life was beginning.

---

END