—You’re defending the wrong man, Valeria —she told me.
I stepped forward.
—I’m not defending any man —I replied—. I’m defending my son.
I thought that was the bottom of the horror.
But I still had to hear, in front of everyone, why my mother had decided to turn her own grandson into a punishment.
And when that truth came fully out, nothing would ever rise again from the ruins of my family.
After that, waiting for the third part was inevitable.
PART 3
In the search, they found more than I wanted to know.
They found toxic substances in my mother’s purse, bottles hidden in Paola’s apartment, measuring spoons, handwritten notes with schedules, amounts, and expected reactions. It was not a fit of madness. It was not carelessness. It was not a “mistake.”
It was a plan.
A cold, slow, calculated plan to kill my son without raising suspicion.
The trial began months later, when Mateo had finally left the hospital and started a long, painful recovery filled with therapy. He got tired from walking, woke up crying at night, was afraid to eat anything I hadn’t prepared myself. Sometimes he asked me whether he was going to get sick again just from seeing a cup of soup.
I sat in that courtroom with Daniel beside me, even though for weeks I didn’t even know whether I wanted to remain his wife. The only thing keeping us in the same row was Mateo.
When my mother took the stand, I saw no remorse. I saw pride.
The prosecutor asked her why she did it.
She didn’t even lower her eyes.
—Because Daniel stole my husband’s life —she said—. And he never paid for it.
A heavy silence followed.
—And the boy? —the prosecutor asked—. What fault did Mateo have?
My mother took barely a second to answer.
—He was the only way to make him understand.
