The pain didn’t come all at once.
It wasn’t a sudden hammer blow or a clear stab that could be pointed out.
It came the way truly bad things do: slowly , silently , without warning .
First, there was a slight pressure behind his left eye.
Then a feeling of heaviness, as if someone were placing a hot rock inside his skull.
After that, the sleepless nights.
The muffled moans.
The cold sweats.
Until the pain ceased to be pain and became presence .
Doña Margarita Andrade described it like this when she still had the strength to speak:
—I feel like something is thinking inside my head… something that isn’t me.
Doña Margarita was no ordinary woman.
She was a widow, elegant, resolute, and raised with discipline and strong character.
And, above all, she was the mother of Alejandro Romero , one of the richest and most powerful men in Mexico.
She had raised her son alone.
She had overseen every step of his upbringing.
She had been the voice that stopped him when ambition threatened to consume him.
That is why, when he fell ill, Alexander refused to accept the phrase “we don’t know” .
The house in Las Lomas de Chapultepec was transformed into a private hospital.
Doctors arrived from all over:
Neurologists with endless CVs.
Chronic pain specialists.
Surgeons who talked about probabilities and statistics.
Therapists who asked for patience.
—The CT scan is clear.
—No tumors.
—No clots.
—No explanation.
But Doña Margarita was fading away.
Some mornings the pain was so intense that she lost consciousness.
Other times, she lay awake, rigid, with her eyes open, as if afraid to close them and never come back.
Alejandro spent his nights sitting by the bed, watching as the woman who had raised him became fragile, small, vulnerable.
He, who had resolved financial crises with a phone call.
He, who bought solutions with money.
He, who had never felt powerless.
Nothing was working.
That night—one of the worst—Doña Margarita was breathing with difficulty. Her lips were almost white. Each inhalation seemed like an effort that ripped a little more life from her.
Alexander was holding her hand.
“Mommy… please… hold on,” he whispered. “The doctor’s coming… he’s coming…”
But deep down I knew he was lying.
Then he heard an almost imperceptible sound.
A soft touch on the door.
Restrained footsteps, as if from someone who didn’t want to be seen.
It was Zoé .
The night cleaning woman.
Small, dark-haired, with tired hands.
Always quiet.
Always invisible.
She had only been working at the house for a month and a half. Nobody knew much about her. Only that she did her job respectfully and never asked questions.
That night, however, he did not retire.
He stood in the doorway, watching Doña Margarita with an intensity that Alejandro noticed immediately.
There was no curiosity.
There was no gossip.
There was genuine concern.
“Do you need something?” Alejandro asked in a harsh, tired voice, irritated by weeks of frustration.
Zoé hesitated. She lowered her gaze. She swallowed.
—Excuse me, sir… I shouldn’t say anything, but… —he looked up— I’ve seen this before.
Alejandro frowned.
—What do you mean you saw it?
—In my town, in Guerrero… a woman started the same way. The doctors couldn’t find anything either.
Alejandro clenched his jaw.
—Are you telling me that you know more than the specialists?
Zoé quickly denied it.
—No, sir. I don’t know anything about medicine. I only know… when it’s not an illness.
Alejandro was about to dismiss her when Doña Margarita let out a deep, almost animalistic groan. Her body arched slightly, as if something were squeezing her from within.
Alexander’s heart sank.
I couldn’t continue doing nothing.
“What… what do you think it is?” he asked, more quietly.
Zoé took a step forward. Her hands were trembling, but her voice steady.
“Sometimes the pain doesn’t come from the body,” he said. “It comes because someone is carrying something that isn’t theirs. Something that was forced upon them. Out of envy. Out of anger. Out of ambition.”
Alejandro felt like laughing.
Like shouting.
Like saying that it was absurd.
But he didn’t.
Because Zoé wasn’t speaking like a madwoman.
She was speaking like someone telling an ancient truth.
Alejandro looked at his mother.
—Mom… will you let me try? —he asked, his voice breaking.
Doña Margarita opened her eyes. In them there was pain… but also a silent plea.
He nodded.
Zoé asked for silence. She closed the door. She turned off a light. The atmosphere changed, as if the air had become denser.
He raised his hands slowly, like someone listening to something that isn’t making a sound.
“There’s something very heavy here… very old,” he whispered. “Here… on my left temple.”
Alejandro felt a chill run down his spine.
-What’s that?
—Something that doesn’t belong to him. Something that someone left behind to steal his strength.
Zoé didn’t touch her head. Her fingers seemed to be pressing against nothing.
Suddenly, Doña Margarita screamed.
It wasn’t a cry of pain.
It was a cry of liberation.
Zoé clenched her fist tightly.
And then, Alexander saw the impossible.
A small black sphere, about the size of a pea, appeared in Zoé’s hand. It was so dark it seemed to absorb all the light in the room.
But the most terrifying thing was not what Zoé pulled out of Doña Margarita’s head… but discovering WHO had put it there.
Part 2: The betrayal was inside the house.
—It’s a job —Zoé said—. In my land they call it “the envious stone”.
Alejandro ran out of breath.
—Who would do something like that?
Zoé slowly shook her head.
—Someone close.
He opened the window and threw the sphere away, as if it were burning.
Doña Margarita took a deep breath. For the first time in weeks.
—Ale… —he whispered—. Son… I feel peace.
Alejandro cried without shame.
What came next was true.
Cameras.
Records.
Deleted emails.
The culprit was Esteban Leal , his financial director. His friend. His “brother”.
She had paid a healer.
She had entered Doña Margarita’s room in the early morning.
She had written:
“When the lady is no longer here, he’ll sign whatever it takes.”
Alejandro felt that something had broken forever.
Esteban was arrested.
Doña Margarita recovered.
Zoé stayed.
And Alexander learned the lesson that money could never buy:
Evil doesn’t always come with violence.
Sometimes it comes in silence…
and only the humble know how to see it.
