Miguel and I had been married for seven years. Our marriage wasn’t a fairy tale, but I always worked hard for our son, for the home I had chosen. From the day of our wedding, I agreed to live with my mother-in-law, Doña Carmen, a woman who had suffered a stroke, was paralyzed on one side, and needed attention for every meal and every sleep. At first, I thought it was simple: she was my mother-in-law, I was her daughter-in-law, and caring for her was my duty. But I didn’t expect that burden to last so long, and the most painful thing was that it came from the person who was supposed to share it with me: my husband, Miguel. Miguel went to work, and when he returned at night, he would stay up playing on his phone. I did all the caring for his mother—food, water, medicine—on my own. I always said, “You’re better at taking care of Mom than I am. If I do it, she’ll suffer more.” I didn’t blame him.

I thought it was simple: the wife takes care of the house, the husband, the work. But then I discovered that Miguel wasn’t just going to work. He had someone else. Everything was revealed when I accidentally saw a message: “I’m going back tonight. Being with you is a thousand times more fun than being at home.” I didn’t scream or cry. I didn’t make a fuss.

I just asked him gently, “What are you going to do about your mother, whom you’ve ignored all these years?” Miguel remained silent. The next day, he moved out. I knew he’d gone to live with that woman. Despite my calls and messages, he wasn’t responding. Doña Carmen, bedridden in her room, knew nothing. She still believed her son was busy with work and would be back in a few days.

I looked at her, at the one who had once criticized every bite I ate and every nap I took, and who told me I was “not worthy of being her daughter-in-law.” I felt a lump in my throat. I wanted to let it all go, but then I thought: a person must have dignity. A week later, I called Miguel: “Are you free? I’ll take your mother to you so you can take care of her.” On the other end of the line, there was a silence of several seconds, and then he hung up. That afternoon, I silently cleaned Doña Carmen, changed her clothes, and folded her bedclothes.

I packed her medications, hospital papers, and an old medical notebook in a cloth bag. At night, I put her in a wheelchair and said gently, “Mom, I’m going to take you to Miguel’s house for a few days to get some fresh air. Being in one place all the time is boring.” She nodded gently, her eyes shining like a child’s. She didn’t know she was about to be “returned” to her own son, who had decided to abandon her. Upon arriving at a small apartment, I rang the doorbell. Miguel opened the door, and inside was the other woman, in a silk nightgown, her lips red. They were both speechless as they watched me push the wheelchair, with Doña Carmen sitting in it, her expression filled with joy. I gently pushed the wheelchair into the living room, arranged the blankets and pillows, and placed the medicine bag on the table. The house smelled of perfume, but it was coldly quiet. Miguel stammered, “What are you doing?”

I smiled very gently: “Don’t you remember? Mom is yours. I’m just your daughter-in-law. I took care of her for seven years, that’s enough.” The woman behind Miguel, her face pale, was still holding a spoonful of yogurt she hadn’t brought to her mouth. She glanced quickly at the wheelchair and at Doña Carmen, who still didn’t understand what was happening and smiled innocently at the sight of her son. Miguel approached awkwardly and tried to grab my hand to stop me.

I stepped aside, as calmly as if I were finishing a task I had planned for a long time. “Here’s the medical history, the monthly prescriptions, the diapers, the pads, and the cream for the cold sores. I wrote down all the doses in the notebook.”

I put the notebook on the table and turned to leave. Miguel approached, his voice rising noticeably: “Are you going to abandon my mother? What you’re doing is inhumane!” I stopped, without turning around, I stood motionless for a few seconds, and then I answered in a low voice: “You ignored her for seven years, what do you call that? I took care of her like my own family, not because of you, but because she’s a mother. But now I’m leaving, not out of spite. Just… I’ve done my part as a human being.” I turned around and looked the other woman straight in the eyes, smiling softly: “If you love him, love him completely. This is part of the package.”

Then I took out a deed of ownership of the house and placed it on the table: “The house is in my name only. I’m not taking anything. He only took her clothes. But if in the future you need money for Mom’s medical bills, I’ll continue to contribute a portion.

Because I was a decent daughter-in-law.” Then I leaned over and stroked my mother-in-law’s hair one last time: “Mom, be a good girl here. If you feel sad, I’ll come find you again…” Doña Carmen smiled, her voice trembling: “Yes, come back and visit me again when you get home…” I left the apartment. The door closed behind me, leaving behind a silent room, the scent of perfume mingling with the soft aroma of massage oil. That night, I slept soundly without dreams. The next morning, I got up early and took my son to breakfast. A new beginning, no tears, no hard feelings, just the peace of mind of a woman who had given all her love and learned to let it go at the right time.