The millionaire’s mother was suffering until a cleaning lady removed something from her head.
She sat on the edge of the enormous bed, carved from dark wood, pressing her temples with thin, tense fingers. The pain wasn’t a simple headache: it was a slow, heavy wave spreading through her skull as if someone inside were ringing invisible bells. Doña Margarita Andrade, mother of the famous multimillionaire Alejandro Romero, had been suffering attacks for weeks that made her moan in the early morning, unable to rest in any position.
The best doctors in Mexico City had passed through that house in Las Lomas: neurologists, surgeons, therapists. They all looked at the studies, frowned, and repeated the same phrases as if reading from a script.
—The CT scan is perfect.
—The tests are impeccable.
—The blood pressure… better than that of a twenty-year-old.
And yet, the pain was so brutal that sometimes Doña Margarita would lose consciousness, pale, as if life were secretly slipping away from her.
Alejandro, accustomed to solving any problem with money, contracts, influence, or technology, was breaking down for the first time. He had brought in specialists from Japan, Germany, and Switzerland. He had bought rare medications and therapies that cost more than a house. He even ordered the north wing of the mansion to be converted into a mini-hospital: machines, monitors, and hospital beds.
Nothing helped.
The illness —or whatever it was— lived in her mother’s head like a shadow that could not be expelled.
That night, one of the worst, Alejandro sat by the bed, holding Doña Margarita’s cold hand. She was breathing with difficulty, her lips almost colorless. Her eyes trembled each time the pain returned like a blow.
Alejandro swallowed, looking at his mother’s face.
“Mommy… wait, please,” she whispered. “The doctor’s coming… he’s coming…”
But even he didn’t believe it.
She heard a soft rustling at the door. Careful footsteps, as if someone were walking on glass. It was the night cleaner: a short woman with a tired face, named Zoé. She had only been working at the house for a month and a half and hardly spoke. She always looked at the floor, always did her job quickly, without drawing attention to herself.
But that night he stayed in the entrance a few seconds longer than usual.
Alejandro noticed her gaze. It wasn’t curiosity. It wasn’t morbid interest. It was… concern. As if Zoé were seeing something the others weren’t.
“Can I offer you anything?” Alejandro asked harshly, exhausted and irritated by so many useless diagnoses.
Zoé swallowed hard.
“Excuse me, sir… I…” he hesitated. “It’s just… I’ve seen this before. In my town, in Guerrero… it happened to a woman.”
Alejandro clenched his jaw.
—So what? Are you going to tell me that you know more than the doctors?
Zoé shook her head, without taking offense.
—No, sir. Not better. Just… different. And if you’ll allow me… I could try something.
Alejandro raised an eyebrow, incredulous.
The cleaning lady… wanting to “try something” with her mother?
She was about to tell him to leave. She was about to let out a bitter laugh.
But at that moment, Doña Margarita let out such a loud groan that the air seemed to vibrate. She arched her back, bringing her hand to her left temple, as if something were crushing her from the inside. Alejandro felt his stomach sink.
I couldn’t just keep watching without doing anything.
“What… what do you want to do?” he asked, more quietly.
Zoé took a step. Her hands were trembling, but a calm firmness appeared in her eyes.
—It sounds strange… but sometimes pain comes because a person carries something that isn’t theirs. Not physical… but stuck inside. Like a job… like envy… like something that isn’t theirs.
Alejandro opened his mouth to mock her… but he didn’t. Perhaps out of desperation. Perhaps because Zoé didn’t sound fanatical or boastful. She sounded… sincere.
Alejandro leaned towards his mother.
—Mom… will you let me? —he said softly—. Please.
Doña Margarita opened her eyes. They were filled with pain… and also with a silent plea.
He nodded.
Zoé asked everyone to leave, but Alejandro refused.
“I’m staying,” he said. “I’m not moving from here.”
Zoé didn’t argue. She walked to the head of the bed, raised her hands as if she were listening to the air. She closed her eyes.
And the room sank into an eerie stillness.
The wind outside died down. No appliance beeped. Even Doña Margarita’s breathing became a thread.
Zoé spoke in a whisper:
“There’s something very old here… very heavy…”—and he pointed carefully—”here, on my left temple. It presses like a stone.”
Alejandro felt his skin prickle.
“What is that?” he asked hoarsely.
Zoé opened her eyes.
—Something that doesn’t belong to him. Something that someone… left him.
His fingers moved closer to Doña Margarita’s head, not actually touching it, but as if feeling an invisible layer. Suddenly he stopped.
—Here it is.
Doña Margarita let out a cry, but it wasn’t from pain. It was like a violent sigh, as if something had been ripped out.
Zoé clenched her fingers in the air, made a quick movement, and Alejandro saw something impossible: in Zoé’s hand there was a tiny object, a dark ball the size of a pea… but so black that it seemed to swallow the light.
Alejandro ran out of breath.
-What’s that?
Zoé looked exhausted, as if she had run for miles.
“It’s a curse,” she barely managed to say. “In my village they call it ‘the envious one’s stone.’ It’s like the evil eye… but stronger. They stole her mother’s strength… and left her with this.”
Alexander trembled.
—Who… who would do something like that?
Zoé shook her head.
—Sometimes they do it without realizing it. Sometimes… they do it on purpose. I don’t know who. But he’s out now. He’s not inside anymore.
Doña Margarita took a deep breath.
For the first time in weeks, her face relaxed. Her eyes opened clear and clean, without that mute terror.
—Ale… —she whispered—. My son… I feel like… I can breathe.
Alejandro covered his mouth. Tears streamed down his face, unashamed. He bent down and hugged his mother as if he were rescuing her from the grave.
Then he turned to Zoé, his heart pounding in his chest.
“You… you saved her,” she said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Zoé lowered her gaze, as if the praise weighed heavily on her.
“I don’t want thanks, sir. Just… don’t leave her alone. And don’t let just anyone into her room.”
That last sentence hit Alejandro like a dart.
“Don’t let just anyone in…”
Because suddenly, he understood.
That hadn’t appeared by chance.
Someone had put it there.
And that someone had to have been nearby.
Very close.
At dawn, the doctors arrived as usual. They examined Doña Margarita, repeated tests. They watched her walk around the room, drink some tea, even smile.
“It’s… incredible,” one murmured, confused. “It’s as if the pain suddenly disappeared.”
Alejandro said nothing. He didn’t want them to laugh. He didn’t want them to make fun of Zoé. He just looked at his mother, alive, and felt a mixture of relief and fury.
That same afternoon, Alejandro called his head of security and a private investigator.
“I want to know who entered my mother’s room in the last few weeks,” he ordered. “I want cameras. Recordings. Everything. And I don’t want anyone to find out. No one. Not even my associates.”
The investigation progressed slowly, like a wound opening up.
There were cameras in the house… but not inside Doña Margarita’s room, out of respect. However, there were recordings in the hallways.
And that’s when the first crack appeared.
On three different nights, between two and three in the morning, someone had entered the private hallway of the wing where Doña Margarita slept.
He wasn’t a doctor.
She wasn’t a nurse.
It was Esteban Leal, his right-hand man. The financial director. The man Alejandro had called “brother” for ten years.
The videos showed Esteban walking calmly with a folder and a small bag in his hand. He knocked on the door, went inside, and came out minutes later.
When Alejandro saw that, he felt like the world was turning upside down.
“No…” she whispered. “Esteban, no…”
But the evidence was cold.
The investigator found more: strange payments from a secondary account belonging to Esteban to a woman in Veracruz known as “Doña Berenice.” Healer. Witch. Whatever you want to call her.
And the worst part: an email deleted from the server, recovered by Alejandro’s technical team. One sentence:
“When the lady is no longer here, he’ll sign whatever it takes.”
Alejandro remained still. His rage didn’t explode. It froze his blood.
That night, she asked for a quiet family dinner. Just like that.
Doña Margarita was feeling better. Zoé, from the kitchen, was preparing tea and sweet bread. Nobody suspected a thing.
Esteban arrived impeccably dressed, smiling, with his feigned affection.
—Chief… Mrs. Margarita, it’s so good to see you’re feeling better. You gave us such a scare!
Doña Margarita looked at him. And something in her face changed. Like a memory trapped behind a door.
“Your perfume…” she murmured suddenly, touching her temple. “That perfume…”
Esteban tensed up.
Alejandro got up slowly.
—Esteban—he said in a voice that seemed to come from another man—. What did you do?
Esteban’s smile broke.
—What are you talking about, Alejandro? You’re very…
“What did you do?!” roared Alexander, and the whole house seemed to shrink.
Zoé appeared in the doorway, pale.
Doña Margarita stood up with effort.
“I heard him… one night…” she said, trembling. “Someone came up and said, ‘It won’t be long now… he’s leaving…’ I couldn’t move… I couldn’t speak… but I heard him.”
Esteban took a step back, sweating.
Alejandro walked towards him.
“Why?” she asked, and that word carried pain. “I trusted you.”
Esteban’s eyes filled with something ugly: fear and resentment.
“Because you never understood!” she exploded. “Everything you built… she controlled it. She was your weakness. She made you ‘good,’ Alejandro. And I needed you to be practical. Omnic wanted the deal, but with your mother sick, you were slow, sentimental… you were going to lose everything!”
Alejandro looked at him as if he didn’t know him.
—Did you do this… for money?
Esteban swallowed, desperate.
—For the company. For the future. For… for me too, yes. I deserved something too!
Alejandro clenched his fists.
—You deserved jail.
Esteban tried to run, but the security guards were already behind him. They pinned him to the ground.
Doña Margarita let out a stifled sob, not from physical pain, but from disappointment.
Alejandro held her.
—It’s over, Mom. It’s over.
And for the first time, Zoé raised her voice.
“Envy always takes its toll,” he said firmly. “But it doesn’t always win.”
Esteban was arrested. The news rocked the media: the finance director accused of attempted murder, fraud, and conspiracy. There were lawyers, hearings, and scandals. There were people who tried to convince Alejandro “not to tarnish the brand.”
But Alejandro was no longer the same.
He stood before his board of directors and said something no one expected:
—I’d rather lose money than lose my mother. And I prefer a clean company to an empire built on fear.
Doña Margarita recovered as if life were returning drop by drop. Her laughter returned. Her gaze became warm again.
And Zoé… the woman no one saw… became part of the family.
Alejandro offered her a decent job, paid studies, and an apartment near the house, without humiliation.
Zoé only agreed to one thing.
“Let me remain simple,” she said. “Because simplicity… is the only thing that can’t be bought.”
One afternoon, weeks later, Doña Margarita went out into the garden. She sat in the sun, touching the newly opened flowers. Alejandro knelt beside her, just as he had when he was a child.
“I thought money could buy anything,” he confessed. “And this time… it couldn’t.”
Doña Margarita looked at him tenderly.
—Money buys doctors, son… but it doesn’t buy truth. Truth always lives where it’s least expected.
Alejandro looked towards the house. Zoé was sweeping the hallway, calm, as if nothing had happened.
And he finally understood the moral that changed his life:
Sometimes, the miracle doesn’t arrive dressed in a white coat… it arrives with tired hands, a humble voice, and a heart that still knows how to see the invisible.
