My own children sold me like an old piece of furniture while I pretended to be asleep, listening to every poisonous word that came out of their rotten mouths. When the old woman dies in the nursing home, we’ll split everything fifty-fifty, Rafael whispered to Paola as he counted the bills he had just taken out of

My safe.
I hope it doesn’t take too long. I’m tired of pretending I love her, my daughter-in-law replied, that viper I welcomed into my home as a daughter. There I was, Elena, 66 years old, hiding behind my own bedroom door, watching my children plot my death like someone planning a vacation.

Brenda held my will in her filthy hands, laughing because she thought she’d hidden it well. “Look at this, brother. It says here that he’s leaving us all even. Good thing he never found out we’d already read it.” The smell of betrayal filled my house, mingling with Paola’s cheap perfume and…

The smoke from the cigarette Rafael was smoking hung over my green velvet sofa.
I know I bought it when they were children and I still believed in family love. The light from the crystal lamp that had belonged to my mother illuminated their demonic faces as they divided my life like butchers. “The nursing home in Madrid is already paid for six months,” Brenda said, checking her phone.