I got married very young, at twenty-three. My husband, Jorge, was the eldest son in a family with three siblings, and so, after the wedding, I moved in with my mother-in-law, Doña Teresa, in Mexico City.
From then on, my journey as a daughter-in-law began, and when I think about the fifteen years that followed, my eyes still fill with tears. I hardly ever had a chance to rest. Every morning I got up at five, made breakfast for the whole family, went to work, and in the afternoon I rushed to the market, cooked, did laundry, cleaned, and took care of Doña Teresa.
She wasn’t a difficult person, but she was always strict and demanding with me, while with my younger sister-in-law, Sofía, she was always very kind.
My husband worked in the north of the country, in Monterrey, and only came home a few days a month, while my brother-in-law Carlos and his wife Sofía, although they lived separately, used to visit us on weekends.
Sofia was eloquent and often gave Doña Teresa expensive gifts. I, on the other hand, wasn’t good with words. I only knew how to work hard and carefully prepared every meal and every pill when she was sick.
There were days when she had a very high fever, but I still had to prepare her oatmeal and leave her medication—because she “didn’t feel safe if there was someone else in the kitchen.” I endured it all in silence, hoping that one day my dedication would be appreciated. But when Doña Teresa passed away, everything came to light.
The family gathering for the reading of the will was held in a solemn atmosphere. The three siblings and all the close relatives were present.
Everyone thought that, after all those years caring for my mother-in-law, I would receive something as an inheritance. But when the lawyer read the will, I was speechless.
“I’m leaving the three houses in the city center to my youngest son and my youngest daughter-in-law, Sofía, because they are enterprising and attentive.” “I’m not leaving any possessions to my eldest daughter-in-law, Ana, because I trust she’s a reasonable person who doesn’t complain or look for trouble.”
I lowered my head, didn’t argue, didn’t shed a single tear.
But inside, I felt a great emptiness. Fifteen years of dedication summed up in a single phrase: “doesn’t complain.” That afternoon, I silently cleaned Doña Teresa’s room.
In a corner of the kitchen, there was a bag of old things Sofía wanted to throw away.
I opened it and found the ceramic mug I had bought for my mother-in-law more than ten years ago—a mug with a rubber base to prevent burns, which she used every night to make her milk or warm water. The mug was already faded, the rubber worn and a little loose. Without thinking much about it, I washed it—I wanted to keep it as a memento.
While I was drying it, I noticed the rubber base sticking out oddly. Out of curiosity, I lifted it with a small knife.
Underneath was a piece of paper carefully wrapped in nylon. With trembling hands, I opened it. It was my mother-in-law’s familiar handwriting:
“Ana, if you still have this cup, it means you remember the little things. I’m sorry I wasn’t fair to you.
I left the three houses under pressure, but this is the inheritance I kept just for you. Please take this paper to attorney Ernesto Valdez at the address below.”
I was speechless. I didn’t sleep a wink all night. The next morning, I went silently to the attorney, just as she had asked.
The attorney, an older man, reviewed the information, compared the paper, and finally nodded. He handed me a folder:
“Just as Doña Teresa ordered. This is a private will, which was only to be opened if someone presented the paper hidden in the cup.”
I struggled to breathe as he read:
“I, Teresa García, leave all my savings, valued at 3 million pesos, as well as a 250-square-meter plot of land in the Oaxaca region, to my eldest daughter-in-law – Ana.
This is what I have secretly saved for many years. Thank you for not abandoning me, even when I rejected you.”
I burst into tears – not because of the money, but because he had finally acknowledged me. Three days later, at the meeting to redistribute the properties after this new information, the entire family was in shock. My sister-in-law Sofía couldn’t hide her surprise, my husband Jorge remained silent, and my father-in-law had tears in his eyes.
That old, seemingly worthless cup was where my mother-in-law had hidden the most important gift for the daughter-in-law who had once been forgotten.
I felt no joy, no desire for revenge. I just looked at them all and said,
“I don’t hold a grudge. I just hope that from now on you’ll understand that what’s most valuable, sometimes, isn’t great wealth—but gratitude at the right moment.”
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