My marriage to Carlos commenced approximately three years ago. As my husband is an only child, we established our residence with his mother in a substantial three-story house situated on the city’s periphery immediately following our wedding.
Rosa, my mother-in-law, had recently celebrated her 50th birthday, an age conventionally associated with tranquility, a time for savoring existence alongside one’s adult children and any potential grandchildren. Nevertheless, she maintained the entire household in a constant state of alertness, due to her persistently childish and singularly eccentric temperament.
A Sudden Declaration
She exhibited an extreme preoccupation with her appearance. An entire hour was meticulously dedicated each day to applying her makeup, utilizing face masks, and performing extensive skincare routines. Each instance she left the house, even for a brief trip to the neighborhood store, necessitated the selection of a dress, an application of perfume, the placement of a curly wig, and the donning of high heels. I speculated that perhaps, having been widowed early in life, she intended to preserve her image, hoping to resist the effects of aging in the view of others. However, the entire dynamic underwent a profound alteration when she officially declared her intention to remarry.
The individual she introduced to us was a man named Hugo, who was a mere 28 years old. He conversed with proper deference and possessed an attractive look, yet a single glance revealed he lacked a stable, permanent occupation.
Carlos, my husband, articulated his strong opposition to the match, but she reacted with intense anger, delivering a statement that rendered everyone present utterly silent: “I have dedicated my entire existence to my husband and my children; now, I intend to live purely for myself.” Less than a fortnight later, she orchestrated a modest wedding ceremony. There was little in the way of elaborate cuisine or boisterous guests, only a handful of her personal friends and several relatives from her side of the family.
My husband, despite his deep-seated annoyance, reluctantly assented, primarily because he wished to avoid causing a major incident. As for my own feelings, from the very day of my mother-in-law’s wedding, I was seized by an unsettling sensation of anxiety that defied easy description. After the ceremony concluded, my mother-in-law and “Uncle Hugo” retreated into her private bedroom suite.
The Alarming Silence
In a truly peculiar turn of events, the newlywed couple did not exit the room for a full week. At every scheduled mealtime, I was required to knock upon the door to summon them, but the only response I received from within was a clear instruction: “Leave it right there, daughter, I will consume it later.” My concern began to steadily escalate.
Initially, I rationalized that she might be experiencing shyness, choosing to remain inside to evade any potential gossip. Yet, on the eighth day, when the supplies of household groceries were nearly depleted and her room door remained securely closed, I made the definite decision to enter and ascertain the situation. The sight that greeted me was absolutely shocking. The room was enveloped in darkness, with the window curtains completely drawn. The air felt heavy and stifling, carrying a scent of mildew as if the space had been unventilated for an extensive period. In the bed, my mother-in-law lay unconscious, her face noticeably pale, her eyes appearing sunken, and her mouth visibly dry. Hugo, her youthful husband, was nowhere to be found inside the room. I immediately shouted to alert my husband. We both swiftly transported her to the nearest hospital.
The results of the medical tests indicated she was suffering from severe exhaustion, acute dehydration, and profound physical weakening. The attending physician conveyed a stern message, saying, “The family needs to exercise closer supervision. The patient has consumed neither food nor liquid for numerous days; this is extremely perilous.” And the fate of Hugo? He had vanished entirely, leaving no trace. My husband, his hands trembling, retrieved his mother’s phone and checked her recent bank transactions. Her substantial savings account, containing almost 800,000 pesos, had been completely emptied just three days following the wedding. All of the valuable wedding gold she had stored in her private safe was also missing.
The High Price of Regret
My mother-in-law regained consciousness following two days spent in the intensive care unit. She uttered absolutely nothing, instead choosing to silently stare at the ceiling. Her eyes, once so full of pride and self-assurance, now conveyed only an expression of emptiness and deep regret. I took hold of her hand and gently posed the question, “Why did you permit him to take every bit of the money and subsequently leave?” Her lips pressed together tightly, and silent tears began to track down her cheeks: “I understood… I knew that he did not love me. But I maintained the belief that, if I extended enough love toward him, if I demonstrated sufficient care… he would be incapable of deceiving me in such a manner.” I found myself utterly speechless. No person in the family blamed her for her actions, but that deep sense of pain… no one possessed the capacity to bear it on her behalf.
From that pivotal day forward, my mother-in-law underwent a complete and total transformation. She no longer applied makeup, nor did she seek amusement by taking personal selfies or listening to romantic love songs. She transitioned into a person who was significantly calmer, more thoughtfully deliberate, and she started allocating significantly more time to engage with her grandson. On one occasion, I observed her discreetly wiping away tears when she heard her grandson innocently say, “Grandma, could you tell me a story?” The mother-in-law’s story serves as a deeply affecting lesson: love itself is not restricted by age, but placing trust in the fundamentally wrong person can necessitate a payment with both your cherished pride and your very health. That associated price, at times, extends beyond mere money, encompassing the remaining years of your life… years spent living under the shadow of profound regret.
