Three years of marriage… and every night her husband slept with his mother. One night, she followed him… and discovered a truth that left her breathless.
When she got married, Marisol thought she was the luckiest woman in the world.
Her husband, Diego, was a quiet, hardworking, and seemingly loving man.
For the first few weeks, everything seemed perfect…
until something started to seem strange.
Every night, just as she fell asleep, Diego would silently get up,
cross the hall, and go into the room of his mother, Doña Teresa,
who had lived with them since before the wedding.
At first, Marisol tried to convince herself it was out of concern:
“His mother is old now, she needs company,” she told herself.
But the nights, the months, the years passed…
and nothing changed.
Even when it rained or was cold, he continued to go to sleep with his mother,
leaving her alone in the marital bed.
When she dared to ask him, he replied calmly,
“Mom is afraid to sleep alone… I don’t want anything to happen to her.”
Three years passed like this.
Marisol no longer complained, but inside she felt that something in her marriage was dying.
It was as if she were a stranger in her own home.
Sometimes, Doña Teresa would drop venomous remarks:
“A woman should be happy to have such a good son for a husband.”
Marisol would just smile, pretending it didn’t hurt.
Everyone who heard the story said Diego was an exemplary man,
but what kind of son sleeps with his mother every night for three years?
That night, unable to sleep,
Marisol watched Diego get up once again.
It was two in the morning.
This time, something inside her said enough was enough.
She turned off the light, waited a few seconds, and stealthily followed him down the hall.
Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid he could hear it.
She saw Diego open his mother’s bedroom door and go in.
The door closed slowly.
Marisol approached, holding her breath,
and pressed her ear against the door.
From inside, she heard Doña Teresa’s trembling voice…
…From inside, he heard Doña Teresa’s trembling voice…
—Diego… is she asleep already? —whispered the old woman.
Marisol felt a chill run down her spine. That wasn’t the question of a fearful mother. It was something else. Something dark.
“Yes, Mom,” Diego replied softly. “Don’t worry. Nobody can hear us.”
Marisol brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a moan. Her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. “No one can hear us”? What did that mean?
On the other side of the door, the sound of the bed creaking could be heard, as if someone were sitting down or lying down.
—We shouldn’t have prolonged it so much —said Doña Teresa, now with a different tone, firm, almost authoritarian—. Three years is too long.
“I know… but it was the only way,” Diego replied with a tired sigh. “She mustn’t suspect anything.”
Marisol felt her legs go weak. The only way of what? What were they talking about?
“That woman…” Doña Teresa continued with disdain. “Always so quiet, so obedient. She never imagined the truth.”
Marisol clenched her fists. Every word was like a knife.
“Don’t talk like that,” Diego said. “Marisol isn’t to blame.”
—But neither did you—replied the old woman. —You only did what I asked. What you had to do.
A heavy silence fell between them.
Marisol couldn’t stand it any longer. She turned the doorknob roughly and pushed the door open.
“What was it you were supposed to do, Diego?” she asked in a trembling but firm voice.
They both turned around, startled.
Diego paled. Doña Teresa opened her eyes with an expression that was not one of surprise… but of annoyance.
—Marisol… —Diego murmured, sitting up—. This isn’t what it looks like.
“That’s what everyone says,” she replied, stepping fully into the room. “Three years sleeping here, leaving me alone… and now you tell me it’s not what it looks like?”
Doña Teresa settled herself in bed, leaning against the headboard. Her gaze was cold, calculating.
“So you finally decided to eavesdrop,” he said sarcastically. “It took you quite a while.”
“Be quiet,” Marisol replied, her voice breaking. “You have no right…”
—Yes, I do have it —the old woman interrupted—. More right than you, even.
Diego took a step towards Marisol.
—Please, love, let me explain…
“Explain it to me then,” she said, looking him in the eye. “Explain why my husband sleeps with his mother every night. Explain why I feel like a widow even though I’m married.”
Diego swallowed. He looked at his mother. She nodded slowly.
“Tell him,” he ordered. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Diego took a deep breath.
“My father…” she began. “My father died when I was seventeen.”
—I already know that —Marisol said—. You said it was a heart attack.
Doña Teresa let out a dry laugh.
—That’s what everyone believes.
Marisol felt a knot in her stomach.
—So… wasn’t that the case?
“No,” Diego replied, his voice breaking. “My father took his own life.”
Marisol remained silent.
“My mother found him,” he continued. “Since then, she’s been… devastated. She couldn’t sleep alone. She had panic attacks, hallucinations. She said she saw him in the dark.”
—But that doesn’t explain… —Marisol began.
“Let me finish,” Diego said. “I was the only one who could calm her down. I slept beside her so she wouldn’t scream, so she wouldn’t hurt herself. The doctors knew it. It was temporary, they said.”
—Temporary— Marisol repeated. —Seventeen years of temporary employment?
Doña Teresa intervened:
“When he wanted to leave home, I… got sick,” she said bluntly. “Or at least that’s what we thought. Every time he tried to sleep alone, I got worse. Seizures, crises, hospitalizations.”
Marisol stared at her.
—Do you believe it… or were you pretending?
The old woman’s lips tightened.
—I did what was necessary to avoid being alone.
Diego lowered his head.
“When I met Marisol,” he continued, “I thought I could finally change things. That my mother would be better. But the first night we slept together… she had a breakdown. A real breakdown. I thought she was going to die.”
—And you decided to come back here— Marisol said. —Without telling me the truth?
“I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid of losing you. Afraid of losing her.”
“So you lied to me every day,” she said. “You made me feel inadequate, invisible.”
Doña Teresa clicked her tongue.
—Don’t be dramatic. Your duty was to understand. A good son always comes first.
Marisol turned towards her, her eyes blazing.
“You didn’t want a son,” she said. “You wanted a replacement. A husband.”
The silence was absolute.
Diego looked up, surprised.
-Mother…
“No,” Marisol continued. “You bound him with guilt, with fear. You made him a prisoner. And me… you used me as a front.”
Doña Teresa smiled disdainfully.
“So what are you going to do about it?” she asked. “Leave? Leave him? He’ll always come back to me.”
Marisol took a deep breath. For the first time in three years, she felt clear.
“No,” she said calmly. “He’ll decide.”
He looked at Diego.
-Right now.
Diego was trembling.
“I…” he stammered. “Mom needs me.”
—And I needed you —Marisol replied—. But you already made your choice three years ago.
Diego closed his eyes. When he opened them, there were tears.
“Mom,” she said. “You need professional help. I can’t go on like this anymore.”
Doña Teresa looked at him incredulously.
—What are you saying?
“I’m going to sleep with my wife,” he replied firmly. “And you’re going to accept treatment. Either—” he swallowed—”or I’ll live with the guilt of not having tried, but not with the guilt of destroying my marriage.”
The old woman let out a sharp scream.
—You’re abandoning me! Just like your father!
“No,” Diego said. “That’s precisely why I don’t want to repeat history.”
Marisol watched the scene with her heart in her throat.
Doña Teresa burst into tears, but she no longer seemed fragile, but furious.
“She turned you against me,” he spat. “I always knew it.”
—No —Diego replied—. The truth did.
That same week, Doña Teresa was admitted to a psychiatric clinic. She was diagnosed with severe emotional dependency and an anxiety disorder that had gone untreated for decades.
It wasn’t easy. There were calls, recriminations, nights of guilt.
But for the first time, Diego slept next to Marisol.
At first, the silence weighed heavily on them.
“Do you think I did the right thing?” he asked one night.
Marisol looked at him.
—I think for the first time you did something for yourself.
Months later, the relationship healed… or at least tried to.
But Marisol was no longer the same submissive woman.
A year later, he made a decision.
“I love you,” she told him. “But I can’t forget that you left me alone for so long.”
Diego cried. He nodded.
They parted amicably.
Marisol moved to another city, started over, and learned to sleep without waiting for anyone.
And every night, before turning off the light, she would say to herself:
“Sometimes, love isn’t enough… but the truth always sets you free.”
End.
