From the day we got married, Sofía considered herself the luckiest woman in the world. Her husband, Ricardo, was a decent man, punctual in his work, quiet but considerate. Everyone said, “Sofía is so lucky to have married a man like him.”

But just a few weeks after they were married, something unusual caught her attention.

Every night, just after she fell asleep, Ricardo would quietly get out of bed, stealthily leave the room, and go to his mother Elena’s room, who had been widowed for many years.

At first, Sofia consoled herself with the thought that her husband was only visiting her elderly mother, fearing that she would be alone.

But night after night—rainy, windy, or cold Mexico City nights—he would get out of bed and go to his mom’s room.

Sofia asked. Ricardo smiled softly:

—Mom gets scared when she’s alone at night, don’t worry.

Three years passed, and that habit hadn’t changed. Sofia was slowly feeling like a stranger in her own home. On several occasions, her mother-in-law had hinted:

—A man who knows how to love his mother is a blessing to his wife.

Sofia could only smile strangely.

Outside, everyone praised Ricardo as an exemplary son, but inside, she was restless.

One night, unable to sleep, he looked at the clock and saw it was 2 a.m. Again, the familiar sound of footsteps. Ricardo left the room softly.

Sofia cautiously opened the door, turned off the light, and slipped into the hallway. The light from her mother-in-law’s room filtered weakly through the crack. Then the door closed.

He pressed his ear to listen, his heart pounding.

From inside, Elena’s trembling voice echoed:

—… Are you asleep already? I’m so cold… cover me with the blanket.

And Ricardo’s voice was so low that Sofia had to hold her breath to hear:

—Don’t be afraid, Mom. I’m here… just like when Dad was alive.

A long silence.

Then several sounds were heard—the rustling of sheets, heavy breathing, and his mother’s muffled voice:

—Don’t leave me… I only have you…

Sofia was stunned.

Her body went numb, her heart pounded, her feet stuck to the cold floor. She ran back to her room, cowering, tears streaming down her face. A wave of fear and resentment grew in her heart.

The next morning, Ricardo was calm, as if nothing had happened. He offered her milk with a smile:

—You look very pale. Eat and drink, or you’ll get sick.

Sofia looked at him, her heart heavy with anguish. She decided she had to know the truth.

She called her close friend, Rita, a nurse, and asked her to pretend to take care of her mother-in-law and observe everything.

A few days later, Rita called with a trembling voice:

—Sofia… you have to stay calm. Elena has suffered from a mild mental disorder since her husband’s death. Every night she is terrified that her late husband is still with her. Ricardo only went to her side to reassure her and get her to sleep, because he was afraid she would get sick. He didn’t dare say anything for fear people would think she was crazy.

Sofia was speechless.

She sat by the window for hours, tears flowing unceasingly. What she had interpreted as something impious turned out to be the tragic result of filial love and devotion.

That night, when Ricardo got up again to go to his mother’s room, Sofia approached and gently took his hand:

—Let me go with you. Mom isn’t leaving you alone.

Ricardo froze, looked at his wife, and then burst into uncontrollable tears. He covered his face, tears falling like rain. The small house in Mexico City was silent, the only sounds being the wind through the window and the couple’s muffled sobs.

From that night on, Sofía and her husband dedicated themselves to caring for Elena. She gave her oil massages, Ricardo told her stories, and they sang the songs his father used to sing. Little by little, her panic attacks subsided, replaced by a calm smile.

One morning, when the first rays of the sun filtered through the curtains, Mrs. Elena took Sofia’s hand and said softly:

—Thank you, my daughter. I no longer fear the dark nights, because I know I’m not alone.

Sofia smiled, her eyes filling with tears. She had understood that:

There are things that people, if they only look superficially, easily judge. But sometimes, behind them lies a silent pain and an inexpressible love.

And since then, that small house in a corner of Mexico City lights up every night, not because people fear the darkness, but because they have learned to calm it with love.