Soulless.
My heart was heavy, as if a dark cloud hung over my head, and Fernanda’s words, Luis’s pleading gaze, swirled in my mind, giving me no peace. But then, one afternoon, when Mario, my nine-year-old grandson, came home, the first crack appeared in the wall of
I was trying to maintain a sense of trust.
Mario came in, his sneakers stained with mud and his little hands still sticky from the paint in his art class. He left his old backpack in a corner, sat on the floor, and took out the plastic cart I had bought him at the flea market last year. I looked at him, trying to smile, but my mind was a
I jumped as if I’d been slapped.
The spoon I was holding almost slipped from my grasp, but I managed to catch it, trembling. “Why do you say that, Mario?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, but my heart was pounding. I looked into his clear eyes, filled with a worry that seemed too much for his age.
Mario didn’t answer right away. He lowered his head and continued playing with his toy car.
But I saw him clench his hand as if it were holding something. I wanted to hug him, ask him more, but I could only manage a nervous laugh. “You think too much, my boy. Your father is sick, and the doctors are treating him.” But my smile was forced, and Mario didn’t smile back. He just looked at me. He stood up in
Silence. He grabbed his backpack and ran home.
Mario’s question was like a stone thrown into a calm lake in my heart, creating ripples of doubt. I stayed there in my small kitchen, staring at the vegetables on the table, unable to concentrate. I thought about Luis, about the pill bottles Fernanda always brought, about how she controlled
Everything related to my son. I told myself I was probably imagining things.
Fernanda was Luis’s wife. I loved him. I wouldn’t hurt him. But deep down, I knew something wasn’t right. That afternoon it happened. César brought his toolbox, saying he was there to fix the kitchen lightbulb that had been flickering the night before.
I saw him climb the ladder, turn things around, and tighten them, and the light from the new bulb illuminated the whole kitchen. But then, as I came down with the old bulb in my hand, César looked at me with unusual seriousness. Mom said softly, almost in a whisper, “My sister-in-law is acting very strange. I saw some things in my brother’s medicine cabinet.”
unlabeled pill bottles, and she hides them very well.
I jumped and dropped the plate I was washing in the sink, splashing water on my blouse. “What are you saying?” I asked, my voice trembling. César came down the ladder and stood in front of me, his eyes filled with worry. “Mom, I’m afraid my brother’s illness isn’t normal.”
I’m afraid someone. By the way, he didn’t finish the sentence, but his look said it all.
I stood there, my hands wet, feeling like the ground was sinking beneath my feet. I wanted to scream, to tell César he was overthinking things, that Fernanda couldn’t do something so terrible. But I couldn’t speak. I just stared at César, Mario’s question echoing in my mind.
The thought echoed again. What if my dad is sick because someone is giving him medicine? I tried to dismiss it, but it clung to me like a shadow I couldn’t escape. The next day at noon, I took broth to the hospital for Luis.
The white room and the pungent smell of disinfectant made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. Luis was lying down, thin, with IVs in both arms, but he still tried to smile when he saw me. “Mom, are you home?” he said weakly.
I put the bowl on the bedside table, and just as I was about to give him the first spoonful, I saw Fernanda at the bedside holding a glass of water. She discreetly dropped a strangely colored pill into the glass. It was such a quick movement that if I hadn’t been watching closely, I wouldn’t have noticed.
Did they prescribe any new kidney supplements for Luis? He was surprised and checked his chart.
No, we haven’t prescribed anything new. His current medication is sufficient. His answer froze me. I stood in the hospital corridor listening to the announcements over the loudspeaker, but my mind was blank. Fernanda had lied. What was that pill? Why did she have to hide it?
As evening fell, Mario returned to my house.
This time he didn’t play with his toy car. He sat down in a chair and took an old cell phone with a cracked screen out of his backpack. “Grandma,” he said in a low but firm voice, “I want you to hear this.” He typed something and handed me the phone. A recording played. It was Fernanda’s voice whispering, but
Clearly. After the transplant, the test results will be perfect.
Don’t worry. She won’t dare refuse. I dropped the phone. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. I looked at Mario, my little grandson, and saw that his eyes were red, as if he were just as scared as I was. I found it on my mom’s old cell phone. He said, his voice trembling. I don’t know.
What it is, but I thought you should know. I hugged Mario, trying to hold back my tears.
You’re so brave, my boy, I whispered, but inside everything was falling apart. Proof of results. What was Fernanda talking about? I thought about Luis. About the unlabeled jars, César’s suspicious look, the strangely colored pill, the glass of water. They were loose pieces of a puzzle, but
Little by little, they were falling into place, forming an image I didn’t dare face.
That night I didn’t sleep. I sat in my quiet house, listening to the ticking of the clock. Every second, a reminder that Luis’s time was running out. One morning I went to the hospital carrying an old plastic container of hot food. The smell of rice and stewed meat wafted from around the edges.
Luis’s room was white and cold, and the smell of disinfectant was so strong it was hard to breathe.
I’d grown accustomed to the atmosphere, but that day it felt like it was suffocating me. Luis lay there with sunken eyes and a pale face, but he still tried to smile when he saw me. “Mom, you’re home so early!” he said in a voice as weak as a sigh. I put the food on the small table and tried
I smiled, but inside a storm was raging.
The doubts of the previous days. Mario’s question. César’s warning. Everything screamed in my head, giving me no peace. Fernanda was already there, sitting beside Luis’s bed, her gaze fixed on the IV bag that was slowly dripping. She didn’t look at me. She didn’t greet me. She just nodded silently, like
“What medicine is this, Fernanda?” She jumped. She almost leaped and snatched the bottle from my hands so fast it made me take a step back. “They’re just vitamins, Mom,” she said with a smile as fake as a wedding dress. “The doctor prescribed them to help your kidneys.” I nodded, but a
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