The Daughter-in-Law Who Slept Too Long

The big wedding party of Dona Elena’s only son had ended just before dawn. The in-laws’ house was still filled with the smell of food, drink, and the sweat of dozens of relatives who had danced cumbia until sunrise. Even so, the matriarch had not managed to get a wink of sleep.

At five in the morning, Dona Elena was already on her feet, sweeping the house with the energy of someone who believed that a dirty home was a mortal sin. Her body ached, but her sense of duty spoke louder.

When the clock struck ten and no sound came from the newlyweds’ bedroom upstairs, irritation began to boil over.

“Sofía! Mateo! It’s more than time to get up! This is not a hotel!” she shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

Silence.

Her anger rose to her head. What kind of daughter-in-law slept until almost noon in her in-laws’ house while her mother-in-law worked herself to the bone? Exhausted and furious, Dona Elena went to the kitchen. Her eyes fell on the old, thick wooden broom handle leaning behind the door.

“Now they’ll learn who’s in charge in this house,” she muttered, gripping the handle like a weapon.

She climbed the stairs determined to pull them out of bed, by force if necessary. She opened the bedroom door without knocking—and the scream died in her throat.

What she saw left her in shock.

The white sheets, her most expensive wedding gift, were covered in dark reddish stains. White feathers were scattered everywhere, stuck to the fabric and the mattress. The scene looked like something out of a nightmare.

Sofía was curled up in one corner of the bed, pale and trembling, her eyes swollen from crying. Mateo, her beloved son, sat on the edge of the bed, gasping for air, his chest and arms stained with that dark substance.

The broom handle slipped from Dona Elena’s hands.

“My God… what have you done?” she whispered, her legs giving way.

Mateo jumped up quickly.

“Mom, wait! It’s not what it looks like! That’s not blood!” he said desperately.

He pointed to his own body. Beneath the stains, his skin was red, inflamed, covered in hives.

“It’s an allergy!” he explained. “The goose-feather quilt you gave us… I’m allergic! I couldn’t breathe, I was itching all over!”

Sofía, crying, added:

“He was sick all night. I panicked. I remembered Aunt Rosa saying that annatto helped with itching… I covered him with it. I didn’t think of anything else. I thought he was going to die.”

Dona Elena’s fury vanished instantly, replaced by shame and guilt. The cause of everything had been her own gift.

With a trembling voice, she approached the bed.

“Forgive me…” she said softly. “I came here ready to fight, and you spent the night fighting for each other.”

She sent them both to take a shower, changed the bedding, and decided to wash everything herself.

Later, while scrubbing the sheets at the sink, something caught her attention under the mattress she had pulled aside. An envelope.

Inside was a plane ticket. One-way. Destination: Madrid. In Mateo’s name.

Dona Elena’s heart sank.

When the couple came down to the kitchen, she was waiting for them, arms crossed, the ticket on the table.

“Explain this. Now.”

Mateo turned pale. Sofía began to cry.

“It’s a job opportunity in Madrid,” he confessed. “But I turned it down. I didn’t want to leave you alone… or be away from Sofía.”

That was when Sofía found the courage to speak.

“I bought the ticket,” she said. “He gave up his dream for us. I couldn’t allow that. I wanted to surprise him later.”

Silence filled the kitchen.

Dona Elena looked at her son, willing to sacrifice his future, and at her daughter-in-law, willing to give up her own happiness for love. Her eyes filled with tears—this time, tears of pride.

She hugged them tightly.

“What wonderful fools you are…”

She stepped back, picked up the ticket, and smiled.

“This ticket is wrong. One is missing.”

“Another?” Sofía asked, surprised.

“Of course! You’re going together. What kind of marriage starts apart?” she said, laughing. “I’ll be fine on my own. I always have been. And I’ll visit you whenever I want!”

The heavy mood disappeared. The house, once filled with tension, was once again filled with laughter.

And that morning, Dona Elena learned that the daughter-in-law who had slept too long was not lazy or ungrateful—she was a brave woman, capable of loving beyond herself.