Don Alfonso Gutiérrez was a very wealthy man. He owned houses, cars, land, hotels, and a large company, but he was growing old and frail. One day, as he sat quietly in his room, he looked at a family photograph and wondered, “Who in this house truly loves me? Who will stay by my side when I am sick and helpless?” So he summoned his trusted lawyer, Juan Salazar, and his personal physician, Dr. Manuel Ortiz, to Don Alfonso’s hacienda.

He sat him down in his office and said in a low voice, “I want to pretend I’m very ill. I want to see who in my family truly loves me, who will take care of me if I’m dying.” The lawyer was surprised but nodded. “That’s a wise idea, sir, but please hide some of your money. I’ll open another account and move half your fortune. That way, if someone pretends, they won’t find everything.” Don Alfonso smiled and agreed. The doctor also nodded. “I’ll tell your family you have cancer and only six months to live.”

I’ll act as if it’s true. That’s how the plan began. The next morning, Don Alfonso started coughing violently, stayed in bed, and stopped going out. He refused to eat properly and looked very weak. His wife, Doña Beatriz Herrera, and their children—Francisco Gutiérrez, the eldest; David Gutiérrez, the second; Cinnia Gutiérrez, the eldest daughter; and Rosario Gutiérrez, Rosita, the youngest—were very worried. “Let’s call the doctor!” Cyntia cried. Dr. Manuel Ortiz arrived soon, examined him in front of the whole family, and then, with a sad face, said, “I’m sorry, your father is very ill. He has cancer. He may not live more than six months.” Everyone was speechless.

“What?” Rosita cried through her tears. “No, Papa, please, don’t leave me.” Even Francisco and David seemed shocked. Doña Beatriz placed her hand on her chest and sat down slowly. For the first few days, the family acted as if they cared. They brought him food, visited him, sat by his side, and spoke kindly to him. But after a week, things changed. Doña Beatriz stopped going into his room, saying she couldn’t bear to see him suffer, that it broke her heart.

Cintia said she was too busy. David claimed he had to travel for work, and Francisco, the eldest son, began to show more interest in the company. One day he came into the office with some papers and said to his father, “I think I should rest. Let me run the company now.” Don Alfonso looked at him silently and nodded, but deep down he was watching and taking notes. Francisco became the new face of the company, threw lavish office parties, and started spending money recklessly.

He bought a new car and went on vacation. Cynthia also took money and bought wigs and expensive clothes. David began to splurge on a young woman he met online. Meanwhile, Don Alfonso stayed in bed pretending to grow weaker every day. The only one who stayed with him all day was his youngest daughter, Rosita, who fed him, cleaned his room, sang to him, and even slept on the floor next to his bed. “Dad, I’ll never leave you.

“I’ll be by your side.” She wept one day as she held his hand. One night she went to her mother. “Mama, let’s take Papa abroad. Perhaps there’s hope.” But Doña Beatriz shook her head. “No, no, it’s too expensive, and if he dies there, we’ll have wasted money.” That night, Rosita wept again by her father’s bedside, holding his hand and wiping the sweat from his brow. On the other side of the house, Francisco was throwing a big party and inviting friends, saying that soon everything there would be his.

But unbeknownst to him, her father continued to watch, listen, and pretend. Every morning, Don Alfonso’s hacienda was unusually quiet. In his large upstairs bedroom, the old man lay helpless on his soft bed. His face looked tired, his chest rose and fell slowly, his cough was dry and deep, as if something inside him were breaking. And his lips trembled as he whispered, “Ah, Rosita, thank you, my child, Rosita.” His youngest daughter was beside him, tenderly holding his hand.

Rosita smiled through her tears. “I’m not going anywhere, Papa.” She wiped his sweaty face with a warm towel, helped him drink water, and carefully fed him corn porridge with a small spoon. Sometimes, when he coughed too hard, she gently patted his chest and wept silently when he wasn’t looking. But what no one knew was that Don Alfonso Gutiérrez was pretending. He wasn’t really dying. He wanted to know who truly loved him and who was just waiting for his death to inherit his wealth.

One afternoon, when Rosita went out to rinse the towel, Don Alfonso turned to the wall and whispered to himself, “This is how my life will end. This family for whom I sacrificed everything. They don’t even notice me. They don’t care if I’ve eaten. Not even Doña Beatriz, my wife. I gave them my life, my sweat, my name, and now they count my days. They don’t even ask, ‘Dad, how are you today?’” A tear rolled down his cheek as he groaned softly. “Oh, God, what did I do wrong?”

While the old man coughed upstairs, the music blared downstairs. Francisco Gutiérrez, his eldest son, had turned a guest room into a party zone. He drank red wine, laughed with friends, and made loud calls as if he already owned the whole house. He didn’t care about his father, not even once at the company. One morning, Francisco walked into the company office as if he were the boss. He stood before the board members and said proudly, “Good morning.

My father is very ill and won’t be back today. I’m in charge.” Some employees applauded timidly, others looked uncomfortable. Don Diego Ramírez, an older man who had worked for Don Alfonso for 28 years, stood respectfully. “Sir, the boss is still alive. Shouldn’t we wait for his advice?” Francisco slammed his fist on the table. “You’re going to tell me how to run my father’s company?” Miss Linda Martínez, another employee, stood slowly. “We just want the company to be safe.”

Perhaps form a team to support him until the boss speaks. Francisco turned to the human resources manager. Fire them all. I don’t want to see their faces tomorrow. Within minutes, the bodyguards entered and began escorting people out. Don Diego shook his head. Are you firing me? I served your father like a brother. I don’t care, Francisco shouted. Get out. David Gutiérrez, the second son, rushed to the office upon hearing the news and burst into the boardroom. What’s wrong with you?

Why are you acting like Dad’s already dead? Francisco leaned back in the CEO’s chair. Wake up, David. Dad’s six months old. I’m just preparing ahead of time. Are you ruining everything he built? David shouted. You think you’re smarter because you went abroad, Francisco retorted. David stepped closer. Stop this madness, or I’ll stop you. Francisco shoved him. David punched him in response. The guards intervened and separated them. Later that day, Rosita learned about the fight.

She was devastated. She called them both into the living room. With tears in her eyes, she said, “Why are you fighting? Do you know Dad isn’t well? Why are you fighting over his money and the company when what he needs now is our love? Didn’t Dad give us a good life? Hasn’t he sacrificed enough for us? Why betray him now?” Francisco lowered his gaze. David remained silent. “If anything happens to him, God won’t forgive us,” she said, and left crying. That afternoon, while Rosita was feeding her father, someone knocked on the door.

It was Juan Salazar, the family lawyer. He came in, sat down, and said quietly, “Your children fought today.” Francisco fired all his long-time staff. The company isn’t safe. Don Alfonso smiled weakly. “Let them show their true colors,” he replied. “I’m still watching.” Just then, loud voices were heard from downstairs. It was Doña Beatriz and Cyntia. “I want to sell that land,” Cyntia shouted. “Why are you keeping it if Dad is about to die?” Doña Beatriz replied coldly, “Let him die first, then we’ll sell it.” Don Alfonso heard everything.

His heart beat faster, not from illness, but from the deep pain of knowing that his wife and daughter showed him neither love nor care; they only awaited his death. That night, Rosita entered the room with a tray of hot atole. “Papa, please eat something,” Don Alfonso Gutiérrez whispered. He looked at her with tired eyes and said softly, “Thank you, Rosita, you’re the only one who stayed.” She sat beside him and wept silently. “If anything happens to you, Papa, I’ll never forgive myself.” He touched her hand weakly.

The next day, Francisco Gutiérrez called another meeting at the company. “I have a new idea. We’re going to launch a luxury fashion line—clothes, handbags, perfumes. I want it to be huge.” A worker raised his hand. “But, sir, we don’t have that kind of money right now.” Francisco laughed. “Then borrow it. I told you to. It’s still my father’s company.” When David Gutiérrez heard about the risky project, he was furious. He stormed out of the office and ran home. He went into his father’s room and saw Rosita holding his hand.

“Rosita, give us a minute,” he said. “No,” she replied, “whatever you want to say, say it here.” David looked at his father lying there, weak and silent. “Dad, Francisco is ruining everything.” Don Alfonso opened his tired eyes, looked at him, and then turned his face away without saying a word, because he was still pretending, watching, and keeping his secret. Days passed, and the old man continued to pretend to be very ill, still in the same bed in his silent room. Rosita stayed with him, feeding him, cleaning his body, telling him stories.

But outside, things were getting worse. One morning, David sat on the balcony, furious. He had just returned from work and was deep in thought. “So Francisco thinks he can take over everything and ruin what our father built. I won’t stand idly by.” The next day, David got dressed and went to one of his father’s largest hotels in the city, the Gran Sol Hotel. The manager, Don Felipe Vargas, was surprised to see him. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said, standing up.

“I’ve come to tell you that this hotel is for sale,” David blurted out. “What?” exclaimed Don Felipe. “With all due respect, this is one of the finest hotels your father ever built. He was very proud of this place. Please don’t sell it; this hotel means a great deal to him.” David’s expression changed. “You’re questioning me about my father’s property? You must be joking. If you try to stop me again, I’ll fire you myself.” Don Felipe bowed his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but I wasn’t at ease.”

As soon as David left, he picked up the phone and called the family lawyer, Juan Salazar. “Hello, sir. David wants to sell the hotel. It doesn’t feel right. The boss is still alive.” “Don’t worry,” Juan replied. “I’ll take care of it.” The next day, Juan sent trusted people who discreetly bought the hotel, pretending to be strangers. When David sold it to them, they kept the documents and gave them to the lawyer, who put them safely in his safe for Don Alfonso, because he knew that David was only pretending.

But David didn’t stop there. He also sold one of the large tracts of land in Jalisco that his father had left untouched for years. The same thing happened. Juan sent his men to buy it and locked the deeds in his safe. David was happy, believing he had made money, but unbeknownst to him, his father still owned both the hotel and the land. Three days later, the news reached Cyntia Gutiérrez. She burst into the living room where David was watching television and shouted, “David, you sold Dad’s hotel and the land!”

“Are you crazy?” David turned around, surprised. “Cintia, don’t yell at me. I’m not an idiot,” she shouted and slapped him hard across the face. “That land was for me. Don’t you ever sell anything again.” David Gutiérrez slapped Cintia Gutiérrez back, and they both started pulling at each other’s clothes. Chairs fell, vases broke, and one of the maids ran to call Rosita. “Miss Rosita, come quickly. Your brother and sister are fighting.” Rosita ran in and saw them shouting and struggling.

“What’s wrong with you two?” she exclaimed, weeping. “Why are you fighting over our father’s property when he’s still alive?” David shouted back. “He really is alive. Look at him lying there like a corpse every day.” Rosita’s eyes filled with tears. “Dad worked so hard to give us a good life. Is this how you repay him? Fighting and selling everything. Please, stop.” Cinttia snorted and stormed out of the room. David stormed out as well. Two days later, Doña Beatriz Herrera, their mother, entered Don Alfonso Gutiérrez’s room.

Her face showed disgust. “This room smells like death,” she said sharply. “I can’t breathe in here because it smells like someone’s already dead.” Don Alfonso coughed softly and turned his face away. Doña Beatriz shook her head. “You’re sick, not dead yet. Clean yourself up and open the windows. Do you think we’re all going to die here because you’re sick?” She clapped twice and shouted, “Come on, security!” Rosita came running in. “Mom, what’s wrong?” Doña Beatriz turned to her. “I can’t stand this room anymore. Your father will sleep in the guest room from now on.”

It doesn’t even smell this bad in a hospital. But this is my father’s room, Rosita cried. You can’t do this. Be quiet, Doña Beatriz shouted. I’m still his wife. I decide what happens in this house. The chauffeur and bodyguards entered. Take him away, she ordered, take him to the guest room now. Don’t touch my father, Rosita shouted, standing in front of the bed, but the men advanced slowly, confused. Don Alfonso remained silent, pretending to be too weak to move.

When they gently lifted him, he looked around with sad eyes. His heart was heavy, not from illness, but from the pain his family was inflicting on his soul. Weeks passed, and the once-flourishing company began to suffer. Francisco Gutiérrez’s wasteful spending and careless decisions were showing. The accounts were empty, profits were falling, loyal customers were leaving, employees were grumbling, bills were piling up, and suppliers refused to deliver merchandise until they were paid. The new luxury fashion line that Francisco launched with a huge billboard was a complete flop.

The clothes were too expensive, the styles poor, and nobody was buying. They desperately needed money. Francisco sat in his office, stressed and sweating. Where will I get money now? If the company goes under, I’m finished. Then, a wicked idea came to him. I’ll sell the Gran Sol Hotel. That hotel was the most popular and expensive in the city. His father had built it with pride and always called it his golden home. That afternoon, Francisco called a family meeting.

Everyone gathered in the living room while Don Alfonso remained lying in the guest room, coughing as usual. Francisco stood before the family with a feigned serious expression. “The company is facing serious problems. If we don’t act quickly, we’ll lose everything. So I’ve decided we must sell the Gran Sol Hotel and put the money back into the company.” But before he could finish, Cintia stood up, shouting, “Which Gran Sol Hotel? The one David already sold!” The entire room fell silent.

Francisco turned sharply. “What did you say?” Cintia crossed her arms. “Did you hear me right? Ask your younger brother.” David stood up slowly. Doña Beatriz’s eyes widened. “David, is it true you sold the hotel without telling me, your mother?” David looked furious. “Mom, don’t yell at me. Did you ask Francisco about all the money he squandered on the company, on parties, and on his silly fashion fad?” Francisco jumped up and grabbed her shirt.

“Thief! You sold Dad’s hotel and kept the money!” David shoved him back. “Don’t touch me! I won’t stand idly by and watch you waste our father’s hard work chasing women and throwing money around like water!” David Gutiérrez shouted. They both started fighting; chairs fell, glasses shattered. Doña Beatriz Herrera screamed, and the maids ran out of the house. Cinttia Gutiérrez yelled, “They’re both crazy! They want to kill each other!” Rosita ran over crying. “Why is there no peace in this house?”

Why? Our father is sick upstairs, and you’re all fighting like animals. He looked at everyone with tears in his eyes. Why do we treat Dad as if he were already dead? Why are we so cruel? Money has blinded you all. The room fell silent. No one said a word. That night, lawyer Juan Salazar quietly entered Don Alfonso Gutiérrez’s room. Rosita had just finished cleaning and went out to get hot water. Juan sat near the old man and whispered, “Sir, I must tell you something.” Don Alfonso slowly opened his tired eyes and nodded weakly.

“It’s about David,” Juan said. “He sold the Gran Sol hotel and a piece of land in Jalisco, but I stopped strangers from buying them. I used my people to get the deeds and kept them safe.” Don Alfonso blinked slowly, his heart heavy but grateful. “Thank you,” Juan whispered. He added, “Your children are tearing each other apart. Sir, it’s getting worse. But don’t worry, I won’t let them destroy everything you worked for.” Don Alfonso closed his eyes as another weak cough escaped his lips.

His mind wandered. This is what I raised my family for, to fight for things while I still have breath. But Francisco Gutiérrez wasn’t finished. He planted himself in the middle of the room, gripping David’s shirt tightly. His face was red with anger. “Bring the hotel money, David. We need it for the company.” David broke free. “For what? So you can use it for another pointless party. Or take some girl to Paris again. I won’t give you a single cent.”

Francisco lunged again, but Rosita stepped between them. “That’s enough, you two. What’s wrong with you? Dad’s upstairs, sick and weak, and you’re groveling for money like animals.” David shook his head, grabbed his keys, and stormed out of the house. Francisco turned to his mother, his hands trembling. “Mom, did you hear? He sold Dad’s hotel and kept the money. What do we do now?” Doña Beatriz waved her hand calmly. “Leave him be. He’s stubborn.”

If he doesn’t want to bring the money, then let’s sell another house or a car. Francisco turned sharply. Which car? It certainly won’t be mine. Doña Beatriz didn’t blink. Sell your father’s white Chevrolet pickup truck. Just then, Rosita came in, returning with water for her father, and froze. Mom, what did you just say? Doña Beatriz turned around. Did you hear him? Tell him to sell that truck. We need money. Mom, Rosita said, tears welling in her eyes. That’s Dad’s favorite truck, and you want to sell it while he’s still alive?

Doña Beatriz snorted and stood up. “You don’t understand. We need funds to keep the company afloat before it all collapses.” Rosita shook her head. “Then tell Francisco to bring back the old workers he fired. Those people know the company’s roots. They can help rebuild it.” Francisco scoffed. “Never. They were rude and useless.” “They were loyal!” Rosita shouted, “Loyal to Papa! And if he trusted them, you should too.” Two days later, the gates of Don Alfonso’s hacienda slowly opened as three large cars drove in.

It was the extended family: his younger brother, two cousins, and an elderly man from the village. They all came down carrying fruit and drinks. “We heard the chief isn’t feeling well,” said the younger brother. “We came to see him. It’s been too long.” Before they had taken five steps, Doña Beatriz rushed out of the house, her shawl flying behind her. “What are you doing here? Who invited you?” The elderly man calmly stepped forward. “Ma’am, we just came to see our brother and pray with him.”

Pray. Pray for whom? When he was healthy and rich, they didn’t come. Now that he’s sick, they arrive like vultures, shouted Doña Beatriz Herrera. The cousins ​​lowered their gaze, ashamed. We didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Doña Beatriz clapped loudly. Go back to your village. There’s no room here. We don’t need fake family love. Leave this house before I call security. But please, we can’t even greet you. I said leave now, shouted Doña Beatriz. One of the guards by the gate stepped forward and opened the door wider.

Without another word, the visitors returned to their cars and left. From an upstairs window, Rosita had seen everything. She painfully wiped her eyes and looked at her father, who lay silently in bed, his heart broken. Although he didn’t move, a single tear rolled down her cheek. That afternoon, the house remained tense after the drama with the extended family, but the worst was yet to come. David Gutiérrez burst into the living room, breathing heavily.

He had just returned from work, his face burning with anger. “Mom!” he shouted. “Where’s Mom?” Doña Beatriz came out of the kitchen with a glass of orange juice. “Why are you yelling like that?” David pointed angrily. “Why did you give Francisco permission to sell one of Dad’s houses and his truck?” Doña Beatriz rolled her eyes. “David, you always have to yell. I gave the order because we need money to save the company. Or do you want people to laugh at us?”

David moved closer. “Mom, with the way Francisco runs things, what makes you think the company won’t fail again even if we sell 10 houses?” Doña Beatriz frowned. “Don’t talk like that. He’s your older brother. Show him some respect.” David raised his voice. “Respect? He’s not acting like an older brother. The problem started when he fired the people who had worked with Dad for years. The company was doing very well, and then he started firing the old employees and replacing them with his useless friends who don’t know anything about how a company grows.”

He started acting like the new owner, wasting money, buying unnecessary things, and showing off as if Dad were already dead. Now you’ve given the order to sell Dad’s white Chevrolet truck and the house. Doña Beatriz yelled back, but you were asked to bring the money from the hotel you sold, and you refused. David threw up his hands. Mom, please, don’t start. If you keep letting Francisco, he’ll sell all of Dad’s properties one by one, and the company still won’t grow.

There was a moment of silence. Then David added, “You know what? It’s time. Let’s call the lawyer, attorney Juan Salazar, to come and read Dad’s will. That way, everyone will receive what’s rightfully theirs, and no one will touch what doesn’t belong to them.” Doña Beatriz was silent for a while and then nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll call him early tomorrow.” The next day, at 10 a.m., the room was full. Cintia Gutiérrez sat to one side looking at her phone.

Francisco stood with his legs crossed, smiling arrogantly. David stood with his arms crossed, waiting. Rosita sat in a corner, worried and silent, and in the middle, Doña Beatriz sat like a queen. The door opened, and lawyer Juan Salazar entered, carrying a leather folder. “Good morning, everyone,” he said calmly. “I was told you requested the reading of Don Alfonso Gutiérrez’s will.” “Yes,” David replied quickly. “We want to know what each of us is entitled to before everything disappears.”

Juanca scraped the folder and opened it. “Unfortunately,” he said, looking around. “Your father hasn’t written a will yet.” “What?” Cintia exclaimed. Juan continued. “Yes, he was planning to do so right before he fell ill. He even asked me for an appointment, but he became too weak before we could meet.” Francisco stood up furiously. “So there’s no will at all.” Juan raised a finger. “Even if there were one, it wouldn’t be read while he’s still alive.” “The law is very clear on that,” said attorney Juan Salazar.

Doña Beatriz Herrera looked at him, confused. So, what now? Juan looked at each of them and said, “Now you wait and take care of your father. He’s still alive. Stop fighting. Stop selling things, stop tearing the family apart.” Rosita looked up, her eyes filled with tears, and nodded slowly, but Francisco Gutiérrez just snorted. David Gutiérrez rubbed his forehead in frustration. Cinttia Gutiérrez rolled her eyes, and upstairs in the quiet guest room, Don Alfonso Gutiérrez was making himself comfortable in bed, listening through the small crack in the door that Rosita always forgot to close.

She heard everything, and as she coughed softly, a small, sad smile touched her lips. “They’ve shown me who they really are,” she thought to herself. A week after the failed attempt to read the will, Don Alfonso’s hacienda remained tense and silent. Everyone moved about with heavy faces, barely speaking to one another. But Doña Beatriz had something else on her mind. That afternoon, dressed in her finest lace gown and gold earrings, she left the house and went to visit her wealthy friend Margarita López, a woman known for her boldness and sharp tongue.

They hugged in the entryway like old schoolmates. “Oh, Beatriz, I heard your husband is very ill,” Margarita said as they sat down in her luxurious living room. “I hope he gets better. But tell me, what does the doctor say?” Doña Beatriz sighed. “The doctor says it’s cancer, and the worst part is, he might not survive. It’s as if I were already a widow.” Margarita leaned forward. “Oh, this is serious. How are you coping?” Doña Beatriz crossed her arms. “Coping? What? No, I’m just sad.”

I’m alone. No one to talk to. No one to hug me, he just coughs all day. Margarita raised an eyebrow with a mischievous smile. That means he can no longer satisfy you. Doña Beatriz lowered her voice. I’ve been thinking about that part. Margarita laughed. You’re still young, Beatriz, and you’re beautiful. You don’t need to suffer for a sick old man. If I were you, I’d look for a young man, someone strong, someone who can satisfy you. Doña Beatriz’s eyes sparkled. Two days later she met Benito Cruz, a handsome and charming man in his early thirties.

She met him at a spa she frequented, where he worked as a gym instructor. They exchanged numbers and soon began seeing each other at hotels around the city. Benito treated her like a queen, always complimenting her beauty, massaging her feet, and whispering sweet nothings. “I don’t know how I survived before I met you,” Doña Beatriz told him one afternoon. Benito smiled. “You deserve to be loved, my sweet mama.” They kissed. From that day on, Doña Beatriz completely abandoned her ailing husband. She stopped going into his room, stopped checking on his meals, and left everything in Rosita’s hands.

Her days were now filled with laughter, wine, makeup, and hotel visits with Benito. But it didn’t end there. Doña Beatriz wanted to keep Benito close. One morning, she surprised the entire family by bringing him to the hacienda. Everyone was in the living room when she entered with him, carrying a small leather briefcase and smiling proudly. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to Benito Cruz,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He’s our new personal chauffeur.” Cintia turned sharply. “Mom, I thought we already had a chauffeur.” Doña Beatriz waved her hand.

“Yes, but Benito will be my personal chauffeur. He’ll take me wherever I want, whenever I want.” Francisco raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. David rolled his eyes and muttered, more like his personal plaything, but Doña Beatriz remained unfazed. She ordered the housekeeper to give Benito a room in the servants’ quarters and said, “He starts today. Any problem?” No one answered, but inside the mansion, the tension grew even stronger. And somewhere upstairs, Don Alfonso lay silently in his room, unaware of what other storm had just entered his home.

That night, the air at Don Alfonso’s hacienda was heavy and still, but Rosita couldn’t sleep. She had gone to the kitchen to look for her mother and noticed that the light in the main room was still on. When she turned to go back to her room, she heard strange whispers and giggles coming from the servants’ quarters behind the house. Curious, she walked slowly toward the small building barefoot, her heart pounding. The closer she got, the louder the sound became.

Suddenly, a soft moan. Her eyes widened, she pushed open the door, and what she saw froze her. There was her mother, Doña Beatriz Herrera, sitting on Benito Cruz’s lap, both half-dressed and whispering to each other like teenagers. “Mom.” Doña Beatriz jumped in fright. Benito quickly grabbed his shirt. Rosita screamed, her voice breaking with rage and tears. “Mom, what is this? This is the chorer you hired. This is what you do while Dad lies weak in that room.”

Benito stammered, and I… I… I’m alone. Get out! Rosita shouted. And get out of this house now! Benito ran off, not even fully dressed, his sandals flying in different directions. Doña Beatriz tried to speak, but Rosita interrupted her. You abandoned Papa, your own husband, for this! Breathing heavily, Doña Beatriz said, “What did you expect me to do, Rosita?” “I’m alone. Your father is dying. He doesn’t even speak to me anymore.” Rosita’s face was red with tears. Mama, he’s still alive.

You left him as if he didn’t matter. You chose your pleasure over the man who gave you everything. Doña Beatriz raised a finger. Never tell anyone what you saw. Not even your brothers. Rosita turned and left, trembling, angry, devastated. The next morning, Rosita sat beside her father’s bed, watching him sleep with tears streaming down his cheeks. She whispered to herself, “There’s no reason to keep him here anymore. No one cares.”

Perhaps, just perhaps, something in the village can help.” She dried her tears, packed a few things, and quietly arranged with the hacienda driver. By nightfall, she had driven Don Alfonso Gutiérrez back to the village of San Miguel, where he was born. As soon as Don Alfonso arrived, the news spread quickly. The chief is sick. The chief has returned home. His extended family—uncles, cousins, elders, and even neighbors—came out to greet him. Some brought fruit, others pulque, others old herbs.

They sat in the courtyard, shaking their heads sadly. “Ah, this man was so generous to us. He gave me money to clear my cornfield. He built the community school in San Miguel.” They began to contribute money, food, and advice. An old woman said, “There’s a very powerful healer here. His medicine is more potent than the drugs at the hospital. We’ll call him.” “Let’s try.” Another added, “We mustn’t lose our chief like this.” Rosita watched, moved and surprised. So many people love my father, and yet, in his own home, they turned their backs on him, she thought.

The next day, the healer Tomás Pérez arrived, a tall, dark-skinned man with white soot on his face and a long satchel full of roots and jars. He entered the small room where Don Alfonso lay. He observed him silently. Then he turned to Rosita. “Let me speak with him alone.” She nodded and left. The healer sat beside the old man and leaned in. “I see strength in your eyes,” he said slowly. “You are not as weak as they told me.” Don Alfonso sighed.

Because I’m not sick. The healer straightened up abruptly. What? I don’t have cancer, Don Alfonso said in a low but firm voice. It was all a plan, a test. The healer blinked. A test. Don Alfonso nodded. To know who truly loves me, who would be with me if I were helpless. Only my lawyer and my doctor know. I kept it hidden from my children, my wife, and everyone else. I needed to see their hearts. The healer looked deeply into his eyes, then smiled slowly.

You are wise, Chief. Very wise. You wanted to see beyond the surface. Don Alfonso slowly closed his eyes. Now I know. The healer remained motionless for a moment. The healer, Tomás Pérez, looked at Don Alfonso Gutiérrez with great respect. “Chief,” he said softly, “you are not just a rich man, you are a man of profound wisdom. Many fear death, but you used it as a mirror to see true hearts.” Don Alfonso nodded wearily. “Thank you, my friend, but what I have seen has broken my heart.”

The healer placed a warm hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t alone. He still had a daughter who truly loved him, his daughter Rosita. She was the light in his darkness. He should hold on to her. Outside the room, Rosita paced nervously around the yard, looking at the bag of herbs, her heart pounding. “Please let it bring good news,” she whispered. Finally, the healer came out. She ran to him. “How are you? Are you alright?” The man smiled gently. “Your father is stronger than you think.” Rosita’s eyes lit up.

“Do you mean the herbs are already working?” The healer chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. “Keep doing what you’re doing. Your love is already healing him.” Rosita was confused, but nodded anyway. “Thank you.” Back at Don Alfonso’s ranch, Francisco Gutiérrez was pacing the house like a furious lion, reviewing documents and shaking his head. “The company is dying,” he muttered. “No money is coming in. The investors are leaving.” He burst into the living room where Doña Beatriz Herrera and Cyntia Gutiérrez were watching television.

Mom, Cynthia, if we don’t act fast, the company will close completely. Doña Beatriz shouted, “Act fast again, Francisco, we’re not going to sell anything. Close that fashion brand you started.” Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you sell your car this time?” Francisco glared at her. “Don’t talk nonsense.” David Gutiérrez came in from outside and overheard them. He let out a bitter laugh. “We’re not going to sell anything. Maybe sell that house of yours.” Francisco jumped up. “At least I’m trying to save the company, unlike you who do nothing.”

David pointed at him. “Save the company. You’re the one who ruined it. Since you took over, all you’ve done is squander money and show off.” “Keep talking,” Francisco snorted. “He’s jealous because I’m the firstborn.” “Jealous!” David shouted. “Are you crazy?” They lunged at each other again. Cintia yelled, “Stop it! Idiots! They’re going to knock the house down!” Doña Beatriz simply got up slowly and left. She was tired of all the shouting, but she didn’t know the storm was just beginning. In the village, for the first time in many weeks, Don Alfonso left the small shack with Rosita’s help.

He was no longer pretending. He was truly tired, not from illness, but from a broken heart. The extended family gathered, applauding. The boss is improving, thank God. We will continue to pray. An old man took Rosita aside and said, “My child, your father’s spirit is strong. Take care of him, and he will live a long life.” Rosita smiled, though her eyes were moist. “Thank you, sir.” That night, Don Alfonso sat under the stars in a wooden chair covered with a thick serape.

He looked around the quiet courtyard, the smell of woodsmoke, the soft chirping of crickets, and the peace, something he hadn’t felt in years. He whispered to himself, perhaps this is the beginning of something new. That afternoon in the village, the sky turned orange as the sun disappeared behind the palm trees. The courtyard was calm with the breeze caressing the trees. Don Alfonso sat silently under the Seiva tree in the village square, staring at the dusty ground.

Rosita came out with a bowl of sweet potato stew and placed it beside him. “Papa, eat something. Haven’t you had a bite since this morning?” He looked at her. His eyes were tired, but there was peace in them now. Rosita said gently, “Sit down, my child. There’s something I must tell you.” Rosita blinked. “What is it, Papa?” ​​Don Alfonso sighed and took her hand. “I must tell you the truth. Everything you saw—the illness, the doctor’s report, the cough, the weakness—” He paused.

Rosita looked at him, confused. He continued. It was all a test. I was never sick. I don’t have cancer. Rosita gasped. “Dad, what was I pretending?” Don Alfonso Gutiérrez said slowly, “Because I wanted to know the heart of everyone in our family. I wanted to know who truly loves me when I can no longer give money, when I can no longer speak, walk, or stand. I wanted to see who would wipe away my tears and who would fight for my treasures.” Rosita froze, her eyes wide. “So all this time…”

Don Alfonso nodded. “You were the only one who stayed by my side,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “You fed me, you bathed me, you even brought me to this village hoping to find a cure. But I wasn’t sick, I was observing. And you, you made me proud.” Rosita covered her mouth, more than surprised, speechless. That same night, Don Alfonso asked the elders and the extended family to gather under the Seiva tree in the village square.

This time he stood up unaided and raised his voice, “My people, I have something to confess.” The elders and cousins ​​exchanged surprised glances. “I was never sick, I never had cancer.” They all gasped. “It was a plan,” he continued. “I wanted to test my family, to know who truly loved me and who only loved my wealth.” The elders looked at him in silence. Don Alfonso raised his hands, and now I know, but I want to thank you. The way you rallied around me, your love, your support, your prayers.

I’ll never forget it. Then he turned slowly, especially you, my daughter Rosita. You stayed by my side even after everyone else left. Everyone applauded. An old man stood up. “Chief, you’ve taught us something great. This world is full of hypocrites. You are truly wise.” Another woman added, “Your daughter is a blessing. May God bless her even more.” Don Alfonso smiled for the first time in many weeks. The next day, the morning sun rose bright and strong. Rosita helped her father pack his small suitcase.

He dressed in a clean cotton suit, walked with a confident stride, and smiled at everyone in the yard. When they reached the car, the neighbors gathered again. “Chief, have a good trip. Come visit us again. We love you, Chief.” Don Alfonso waved to them, blowing kisses as the car slowly made its way along the dusty Tierra Roja road toward the city. It was like a dream. When the car entered the grounds of Don Alfonso’s hacienda, the gatekeepers gasped in astonishment.

The boss and his wife watched in disbelief as the old man stepped out of the car without a cough, without a limp, without any weakness. He was strong. He was alive. He was back. Rosita stood beside him, holding his suitcase. “Let’s go inside, Dad,” she said gently. He nodded. “It’s time.” But the real shock awaited them inside. In the living room, Cynthia Gutiérrez was looking at her phone when she heard the door open. She turned indifferently, then froze. Her mouth dropped open. Dad jumped up and ran to him.

Dad, are you walking? Are you okay? You’re not coughing anymore. He hugged him tightly. I can’t believe it. I thought, I thought. Just then, David Gutiérrez came down the stairs wearing headphones. He took them off, surprised. What’s going on here? He saw his father standing strong, not weak, not dying. Papa Francisco Gutiérrez followed him with a bottle of wine in his hand. When he saw his father, the bottle fell and shattered on the floor. You, you’re okay. Don Alfonso looked at his three sons and gave a small smile.

Good afternoon. From the kitchen, Doña Beatriz Herrera’s voice boomed. “Who broke something again in this house?” She stopped as she entered the living room, her eyes meeting the man she thought would never walk again. Her heart nearly leapt from her chest. “Darling,” he gripped the wall for support, glancing at Don Alfonso and then at Rosita. “Are you all right? Are you strong? You’re walking with a steady stride.” Rosita stood proudly beside him. “Welcome home, Papa,” she said gently.

Don Alfonso Gutiérrez nodded and walked straight to his master bedroom without saying a word. The entire house fell silent, like a graveyard. Everyone turned toward Rosita like bees around honey. Cintia Gutiérrez took her hand. “How? How did this happen? What did you do?” David Gutiérrez added, “Dr. Manuel Ortiz said he had terminal cancer and was going to die, yet he’s standing there like nothing happened.” Francisco Gutiérrez scratched his head. “This has to be a miracle.”

Doña Beatriz Herrera whispered, “It’s like I’m dreaming.” Rosita looked at them calmly, but coldly. “I didn’t perform a miracle. I only gave our father what he truly needed: love, care, and peace. If you have any more questions, go and ask him.” She turned and went upstairs, leaving them completely bewildered. That night, Don Alfonso sat alone in his room, opened a drawer beside his bed, and took out something surprising: a small black device, a CSTV camera.

He opened a secret box under the bed and took out two more. One by one, he connected them to a screen, and there they were: clear images, recordings of everything that happened in the room while he pretended to be sick. Everything, absolutely everything, recorded. He took a deep breath. Then he picked up his phone and dialed, “Hello, Attorney Juan Salazar. Come to the house tomorrow morning. We need to talk. Bring all the documents I gave you. It’s time. Downstairs.” The rest of the family was in the living room in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

The atmosphere was heavy, oppressive. No one spoke, no one moved. David’s head was bowed. Cintia bit her nails. Francisco’s hands were clenched into fists. Doña Beatriz stood in the corner, arms crossed, her gaze restless. Attorney Juan Salazar, the family lawyer, sat with a brown folder in his hands, his face serene. Then Don Alfonso entered, firm, erect, imposing. He walked to the center of the room and stood like the lion he had always been.

“I already explained everything to the lawyer,” he began. “Now it’s time to tell you.” They all looked at him, eyes wide, breaths held. “I never had cancer,” he said clearly. “I was never sick. It was all a test. A test of love, a test of loyalty, a test to know the hearts of my wife and my children.” He stopped and looked at them slowly, one by one. “And you showed me who you really are.” His voice trembled slightly. “Only one person was with me.”

One person, from beginning to end, cared for me like a true daughter. That person is Rosita. She turned sharply to Francisco, David, and Cynthia. I gave them a quality education. I gave them a life of luxury, travel, a company—everything they asked for. And yet, the moment they thought I was dying, they didn’t wait. They started dividing up my properties as if I were already in the coffin. She took a step toward Francisco. You, Francisco. My company was strong, it was doing very well.

What did you do? You fired the loyal workers who built the company with me. Men and women who sacrificed years. You threw them out like trash and brought in your friends. You threw parties with company funds. You ruined what took me 40 years to build. You sold my house and my truck. You ruined everything I built with sweat and tears. Francisco covered his face in shame. Don Alfonso turned to David. And you, you had the nerve to sell one of my largest luxury hotels and one of my most valuable pieces of land.

You sold them like they were toys. Why? Because you didn’t struggle to build them. Thank God for the kind of lawyer I have. He secretly bought them back just to protect my legacy. David fell to his knees, weeping. “Dad, please forgive me.” Don Alfonso continued coldly. “That hotel and that land were meant to be your inheritance. You sold them with your own hands. You have the money now. Fine, use it. Find a job somewhere else because you’ll never set foot in my company again.”

Then he turned slowly to Francisco. You too. The company money you squandered, the house and car you sold—that was your inheritance. Now it’s gone. Don Alfonso Gutiérrez raised his voice sharply. You have nothing more to do with me. Leave my company. Find your own way and get another job. Tears streamed down Francisco Gutiérrez’s face. Dad, please. Don Alfonso raised his hand. Enough. Then he turned to Cyntia Gutiérrez. You tried to sell my land too.

The only reason you didn’t succeed was because you didn’t have the documents. From today on, you receive nothing from me until you earn it through your own efforts. If you want to prove something, do it with actions, not words. Only then will I forgive you and give you a share of your inheritance. Cintia fell to her knees, weeping. Then, Don Alfonso slowly turned to his wife. And you, Doña Beatriz Herrera. After everything I did for you—the comfort, the love, the loyalty—you had the nerve to bring a young man, a stranger, into my house and sleep with him while I pretended to be in my sickbed.

Doña Beatriz tried to speak. “Darling, please, I’m not your darling,” he roared. “You have 24 hours to leave my house. Pack your things and go. I don’t owe you anything anymore.” She fell to the floor, moaning, “Please, I beg you, forgive me.” But Don Alfonso turned to Licenciado Juan Salazar. “Call security. Make sure she leaves in peace, but for good.” Then Don Alfonso smiled and took Rosita’s hand. “Licenciado, this is why I asked you to come today.”

All my remaining properties, my estates, my houses, my businesses, everything I own now belongs to Rosita. The children gasped. Cintia froze. Francisco gripped the sofa to keep from falling. David wept silently. Don Alfonso continued. Rosita was the only one who showed me love, who believed in me, who carried me like a baby when I pretended to be an invalid. And that is why she is now the sole heir to my wealth. He turned back to Licenciado Salazar with immediate effect.

Rosita is the new CEO of my company. Call all the employees, especially those loyal men and women Francisco fired. Tell them to come back. Their jobs are waiting for them. The lawyer smiled. It’s already underway, sir. A year later, the company had emerged stronger than ever. Under Rosita’s leadership, business doubled. New branches opened. Awards and accolades poured in. The loyal old employees returned and worked joyfully, calling her Doña Rosita the Wise.

Don Alfonso sat in his office, proud and at peace, watching his daughter preside over board meetings with confidence and wisdom. David and Francisco found jobs elsewhere and tried to rebuild their lives. Cintia continued searching for ways to show her father she had changed. Doña Beatriz was never heard from again. But Rosita remained steadfast, respected, honored, and loved, because when the test came, she passed it with flying colors.