Chapter 3 - Unmasking the Serpent
Leaving Mariana under the watchful care of the hospital nursing staff and taking Mateo in his stroller, I drove back to the house at 10:00 PM. The street was quiet, illuminated only by the pale glow of sodium streetlights. My house was fully lit, soft yellow light streaming through the living room windows. From the outside, it looked like a picture of domestic tranquility. On the inside, it was a crime scene of emotional abuse.
I unlocked the front door quietly.
Doña Carmen was sitting on the leather sofa, a glass of warm milk in her hand, watching her favorite late-night telenovela. On the coffee table lay three empty plates, a pile of discarded napkin papers, and Mariana’s personal journal, which my mother was casually flipping through with a disdainful smirk.
When she heard the door close, she didn't even turn around right away.
"So, you've finally decided to return," she said in that sweet, condescending tone she had perfected over decades. "I hope you left that dramatic girl in the hospital where she belongs. Honestly, Diego, you spoiled her too much. In my day, women gave birth in the fields and were back to work the next morning. She fainted on purpose just to get your attention away from your mother."
I didn't answer. I pushed Mateo’s stroller into the nursery, closed the door gently, and walked into the living room. I stood directly between her and the television.
"Get up," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it carried a razor-sharp edge that made her pause mid-sip.
Doña Carmen blinked, a flicker of surprise passing through her dark eyes before she recovered her mask of maternal authority. "What did you say to me, Diego? Is that how you speak to the woman who suffered nine months to bring you into this world?"
"I said, get up," I repeated, stepping closer. "And put down my wife's journal."
She scoffed, tossing the journal onto the table as if it were trash. "That silly notebook? It’s full of complaints about me! She’s trying to poison your mind against me, son! I am your mother! I came here out of the goodness of my heart to keep your household from falling apart because that weakling you married couldn't handle a simple baby!"
"She collapsed from malnutrition and dehydration, Carmen," I said, dropping the title 'Mother' entirely.
Her eyes narrowed at the drop in address. "She fainted because she's weak!"
"She fainted because you locked the pantry!" I roared, the rage exploding out of me like a dam breaking. "She fainted because you forced her to cook three-course meals for you while her body was still healing from an operation! She fainted because you deliberately kept her awake at night, because you lied to her, because you tortured her emotionally while I was working to pay for the roof over your head!"
"Don't you dare speak to me in that tone!" Carmen stood up, drawing herself up to her full, short height, pointing a bony finger at my chest. "I am Doña Carmen! I raised three children alone! You owe me your life! This house belongs to my son, which means it belongs to me! You will not disrespect me for some outsider who isn't even worth half of what I am!"
"This house belongs to Mariana and me," I said, leaning down until I was eye-to-eye with her. "Your name is on nothing. Your money built nothing here. You were a guest—a guest who acted like a parasite."
"I am your mother!" she shrieked, her face turning purple with rage. "You will obey me! You will throw that useless woman out and let me raise Mateo properly! She is unfit!"
"The only person leaving tonight is you," I said coldly.
She laughed, a harsh, cackling sound. "You wouldn't dare. Where would I go at this hour? What will the family say? What will the neighbors say when they find out you threw your own mother into the street late at night?"
"I don't care about the neighbors, and I don't care about the family," I replied, walking over to the coat closet and pulling out her silver suitcase. "You have thirty minutes to pack the rest of your things. If you are not out of this house by 10:30, I will call the police and have you removed for trespassing and physical endangerment."
"You're bluffing," she hissed, though a flicker of genuine fear finally registered in her eyes.
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"Try me," I said, pulling out my phone and dialing the three digits for emergency services, holding my finger right over the call button. "Twenty-nine minutes."
For the first time in my life, I saw the mask slip completely. Doña Carmen wasn't a saintly matriarch; she was a bitter, controlling woman who couldn't stand seeing her son love another woman more than he feared her. She spat on the tile floor, cursed my name, and stomped toward the guest bedroom, muttering venomous insults with every step.
