MY WIFE WAS AN ANGEL IN FRONT OF ME… UNTIL THE DAY I CAME HOME EARLY
Everyone in the neighborhood said my mother was a lucky woman.
—She has a hardworking son and such a wonderful daughter-in-law —the neighbors would say—. That girl treats her mother-in-law like her own mother.
My mother would just smile.
She never corrected them.
She never explained anything.
Not because it was true…
but because she didn’t want me to ever have to choose between her and my wife.
My wife’s name was Verónica.
And in front of me, Verónica was perfect.
She woke up early every morning, brewed traditional coffee, warmed sweet bread, and spoke in the softest voice:
—Mom, you eat first. I’ll clean up in a moment.
When guests came over, she adjusted my mother’s cushion, rubbed her shoulders, and said proudly:
—My mother-in-law is getting older. I take care of her the way she deserves.
Everyone admired her.
So did I.
But the moment I left the house…
Verónica changed.
The sweetness vanished.
The smile disappeared.
Her footsteps became heavy and sharp.
—She’s still in bed? —she would snap—. Can’t you see what a mess this house is?
My mother would get up quickly, even though her knees hurt. She would grab the broom with trembling hands.
She never answered back.
She never defended herself.
Verónica stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, watching her as if she were a burden.
—That’s not how you sweep —she yelled—. Slow and clumsy, as always.
One day my mother dropped a plate.
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the kitchen.
Verónica didn’t even flinch.
—Look at that —she said with disgust—. You can’t even hold a plate anymore.
My mother knelt to pick up the pieces. One shard cut her finger. Blood began to drip.
Verónica saw it.
She did nothing.
—Don’t stain the floor —was all she said.
I knew none of this.
When I called from work, Verónica’s voice changed instantly:
—Your mom is doing great, love. I just made her some soup.
She would hang up…
then turn around with an icy stare.
Meals were the worst.
When I was home, Verónica served my mother first—more meat, more broth.
When I wasn’t, my mother’s plate was cold, plain… or sometimes there was no plate at all.
—Go buy something at the store —she’d say—. I’m not your maid.
My mother endured it.
For me.
Until that day came.
A rainy day.
A day that changed everything.
I left work early without telling anyone. I wanted to surprise Verónica.
On the way home, I bought bread because I knew my mother liked it on rainy days.
I opened the door.
And I heard shouting from the kitchen.
—You live here like a freeloader! —Verónica screamed—. You eat and get in the way, that’s all you do!
I froze.
My mother stood with her back to me, mopping the floor. Her sweater was soaked—I didn’t know for how long. Her hands were shaking.
—If it weren’t for my sentimental idiot of a husband, I would’ve thrown you out already —Verónica continued—. Useless old woman!
Something inside me broke.
I didn’t walk in right away.
I listened.
My mother didn’t scream.
She didn’t cry out loud.
She only said, barely audible:
—I’m sorry… I’ll clean it better.
That’s when I understood everything.
I stepped into the kitchen.
Verónica turned around and went pale.
—Love… you’re home already?
My mother panicked and tried to explain, but I raised my hand.
I didn’t need to hear anything else.
That night, Verónica cooked as usual.
I didn’t touch the food.
I went into the kitchen, made something simple, and took the plate to my mother first.
—Eat, Mom —I said—. I’m here.
Verónica didn’t understand what was happening.
When we closed the bedroom door, I spoke.
—You’re a perfect actress —I told her—. You fooled me… and everyone else.
She cried.
She always cried when she was caught.
—It was a bad day… you’re exaggerating…
—No —I said—. Exaggerating is what you do when you pretend to be kind.
I didn’t yell.
I didn’t insult her.
But every word carried weight.
—From today on, the rules change —I said.
—My mother comes first.
—One more mistake… and you’re out of this house.
Verónica trembled.
—You’re pushing me away…
—No —I replied—. I’m giving you one last chance to be human.
The days that followed were hell for her.
There was no one left to humiliate.
No one left to yell at.
She woke up before my mother.
She cooked.
She cleaned.
I watched.
In silence.
My mother slowly began to smile again.
Not because Verónica had changed…
but because she knew she was no longer alone.
Verónica learned something she will never forget:
those who mistreat the weak always pay the price.
And that price…
was living every day knowing her mask had been shattered forever.
