I said, my voice choked with emotion. “I don’t know where all this started, but I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore.”
Luis lowered his head. Tears streamed down his thin cheeks. “Mom, I was wrong,” he whispered. “I didn’t protect you, and I let you suffer too much.” I hugged him tighter, feeling like it was just the two of us left in the world, clinging to each other through the storm that had just passed.
In the following days, newspapers began to cover the story. Headlines screamed, “Drug trafficking ring dismantled at local hospital!” They wrote about a group of doctors and pharmacists involved, in which Fernanda, Mr. Carlos, and Mrs. Rosa were key figures.
Medication.
His health improved slowly but steadily. One afternoon he took my hand, bowed his head, and said in a broken voice, “Mom, I was blind. I trusted Fernanda and almost let you lose everything.” I stroked his head like I did when he was a child and said, “Son, the important thing is that you’re still here.”
That’s all I need.
But in my heart, a scar had formed, not only from Fernanda’s betrayal, but because I had let myself be led to the edge between life and death without asking questions. I returned to my small house where Juan was still immobile in his wheelchair. I sat beside him and told him everything, from the
Mario’s recording up to the scene of Fernanda being handcuffed.
I don’t know if he understood everything, but when I finished speaking, I saw him blink and two tears rolled down his gaunt cheeks. I took his hand, squeezed it, and for the first time in years, I felt a small response from him. A weak squeeze. As if he were trying to tell me he understood. I burst into tears, not from
It wasn’t the pain, but the fact that I knew, despite everything, I still had him.
I still had my family. Mario became the little hero of the neighborhood. The day he came home, he ran to me, hugged me around the neck, and whispered, “Grandma, I’m sorry it took me so long to talk, but at least I got here in time to save you.” I laughed through my tears, hugging the boy, feeling the warmth of his
small body.
You’re the bravest person I know, I told him, giving him back his hair. Mario smiled, the first smile I’d seen from him in days. I looked into his eyes and saw that his innocence was still there, though tainted by what he’d had to witness. I promised myself I would protect Mario, give him a childhood that
No one could steal from him.
Last night I sat in my small room under the flickering light of the oil lamp. I opened my old diary and wrote the last lines. Blood doesn’t always make you family. Sometimes it’s the truth that shows you who truly deserves the name. I lost a lot, but I found myself
myself. I closed the journal, put down the pen, and listened to the rain pattering on the patio roof.
I felt an eerie calm, as if the storm had passed, leaving a clear sky. I looked out the window. I saw the pale moonlight illuminating the patio and knew that even if the road ahead was long, I would never again let myself be blinded. I had reclaimed my own strength, and that was the most valuable thing I had ever known.
No one could take me away.
The story you just heard has been changed in names and places to protect the identities of those involved. We don’t share 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
Best.
Meanwhile, on the end screen, I’ve included two of the channel’s most beloved stories. I’m sure they’ll surprise you. Thank you for staying with me until now.
