Miguel and I had been married for seven years. Our marriage wasn’t a fairytale, but I always did my best for our son, for the home I had chosen. From our wedding day, 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 assistance with every meal and every nap. 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 what was most painful was that it came from the person I was supposed to share it with: my husband, Miguel.

Miguel would go to work, and when he came home at night, he’d stay up playing on his phone. I did all of his mother’s care—the food, the water, the medicine—all by myself. He 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 goes to work. But then I found out that Miguel wasn’t just going to work. He had someone else. It all came to light when I accidentally saw a message: “I’m coming over again 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 scene.

I simply 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 had gone to live with that woman. Despite my calls and messages, he didn’t answer. Doña Carmen, confined to her bed, knew nothing. She still believed her son was busy with work and would return in a few days.

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

I packed her medications, hospital papers, and an old medical notebook in a cloth bag. That evening, I lifted her into a wheelchair and said gently, “Mom, I’m taking you to Miguel’s for a few days so you can get some fresh air. Being in one place all the time is boring.” She nodded softly, her eyes shining like a child’s. She didn’t know she was about to be “returned” to her own son, who had chosen to abandon her.

Upon arriving at the small apartment, I rang the doorbell. Miguel opened the door, and inside stood the other woman, wearing a silk nightgown, her lips red. They were both speechless as they watched me push the wheelchair, with Doña Carmen seated in it, her expression radiant. 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 silent. 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, pale-faced, still held a spoonful of yogurt she hadn’t touched. She glanced quickly at the wheelchair and Doña Carmen, who still didn’t understand what was happening and smiled innocently at her son. Miguel approached awkwardly and tried to grab my hand to stop me.

I stepped aside, as calm 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 wipes, and the diaper rash cream. I wrote down all the dosages in the notebook.”

I placed 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, standing motionless for a few seconds, then replied in a low voice: “You ignored her for seven years, what do you call that? I cared for her like my own family, not because of you, but because she’s a mother. But now I’m leaving, not out of spite. I’ve just… done my part as a human being.” I turned and looked the other woman directly in the eyes, smiling gently: “If you love him, love him completely. This is part of the package.”

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

Because I was a decent daughter-in-law.” Then I bent down and stroked my mother-in-law’s hair one last time: “Mom, be a good girl here. If you feel sad, I’ll come for 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 mingled with the soft aroma of massage oil. That night, I slept soundly, dreamless. The next morning, I got up early and took my son out for breakfast. A new beginning, no tears, no resentment, just the peace of a woman who had given all her love and learned to let it go at the right time.