My son has been calling me every night at 9:15 p.m. for exactly 3 months. He always asks me the same thing, “Mom, are you alone?” If I say yes, just hang up. If I say no, he insists on knowing who is with me.

Last night I broke the pattern and decided to lie to her by telling her that I was alone. I never imagined that a simple lie would be what would save me from losing everything.

My name is Sofía Rangel, I am 58 years old and until three months ago I thought I knew my only son, Alejandro, well. He was always reserved, but never distant. Our relationship changed when my husband Javier passed away 4 years ago. Mourning initially brought us together, but little by little Alejandro moved away. At 32 years old, he became excessively protective, almost obsessive about my finances, my routine and especially who I lived with.

It all started on any given Thursday in March. I was watching a documentary about whales when my cell phone rang. Alejandro blinked on the screen. “Mom, are you alone?” was the first thing she asked me. I found the question strange, but I answered it naturally. “Yes, son.” Why? He hung up without saying anything else. I stared at my phone in confusion.

I dialed him back, but he sent me straight to voicemail. I sent him a message asking if everything was okay, if something had happened, but I didn’t get a response. The next night, at exactly 9:15 pm, Alejandro called again. “Mom, are you alone?” “Yes, Alejandro, what’s going on? You’re scaring me again.” Hung.

On the third day I decided not to be alone. I invited my neighbor Guadalupe to have a coffee from the pot. When Alejandro called, I said, “No, Guadalupe is here with me.” There was a brief silence. Then he asked in a voice I didn’t recognize. “Just Guadeloupe, is there no one else?” “Yes, just her. What’s going on, Alejandro?” “Nothing, mom, I’m just checking.

They’re fine? Are the doors securely locked?” Yes, son, everything is fine. Ok. Good night then. And so the pattern began. Every night at 9:15 pm. Alejandro called asking the same question every time. If I said I was alone, I hung up. If I said I had company, I wanted to know exactly who was with me.

I tried to question him, to understand the reason for that behavior, but he always avoided the conversation. saying only that he was worried about me. I mentioned the fact to Guadalupe, who suggested that Alejandro could be facing some psychological problem, perhaps an obsessive-compulsive disorder. I suggested that he seek help, but he denied any problems.

Weeks passed and the calls continued punctual. I tried to track where they came from, but Alejandro used a private number. When we saw each other in person, he acted naturally, as if those night calls didn’t exist. If I tried to bring it up, he would change the conversation or say it was just a child’s concern.

It was during that period that I noticed something even stranger. Little things in my house seemed out of place. A drawer that I was sure I had closed was ajar. Javier’s portrait on the desk turned over at a different angle. The back door I rarely use with the lock slightly scratched. It would be my paranoia.

There were Alejandro’s calls affecting me so much. In mid-May, Alejandro came to visit me on a Sunday afternoon. He brought Neapolitan Flan, my favorite dessert, and suggested we review some financial issues. He was always good with numbers, having pursued a career as an accountant, so I accepted his help.

It was when he mentioned, apparently without giving it importance, that perhaps it would be better for him to sell the house. It’s too big for you alone, Mom. We could look for a smaller, safer apartment close to mine, in Mexico City. But I love this house, Alejandro, your dad and I built our lives here in Guadalajara. I have my garden, my neighbors.

We need to think about your future, about your safety. He looked at some papers. In fact, I’ve already researched some places in Tlalpan that I think you’ll like. That made me deeply uncomfortable. Alejandro had never been imposing, but there he was practically deciding where he should live. I appreciated concern, but said I had no intention of moving.

The look he gave me, a mixture of frustration and something I couldn’t identify, gave me chills. He soon regained his composure, smiled, and said he only wanted the best for me. But at that moment I had the impression that I was looking at a stranger. In June, I decided to install discreet security cameras at strategic points in the house.

I didn’t tell anyone, not even Guadalupe. I needed to understand what was going on. The calls continued and I alternated between saying that I was alone or with company, just to observe Alejandro’s reactions. In the first week of July something changed. Reviewing the images from the cameras, I saw something that made my blood run cold.

At 1:20 a.m., a hooded figure entered through the back door of the house using a key. He moved familiarly through the dark rooms, went to my study, and went through a few drawers. From the physical complexion I recognized him immediately. It was Alejandro. My own son was invading my house during the early morning. I checked the recordings from the previous days and found that it was not the first time.

He had entered at least three times that week. He would always check to see if I was sleeping, look for documents in the study, and sometimes just sit in the living room in the dark for a few minutes before leaving. What was he looking for? What did they mean? in those calls.

Why this obsessive behavior with my loneliness? Last night I decided to break the pattern. When Alejandro called promptly at 9:15 p.m. and asked if I was alone, I lied. Yes, I’m alone, but I wasn’t. Elena, my lawyer and longtime friend, was sitting next to me. After watching the recordings, I panicked and called her for help. She was as disturbed as I was with what she saw.

Alejandro hung up as usual when I said I was alone. Elena and I looked at each other without fully understanding the meaning of it, but we agreed that something was very wrong. We decided to wait and see if he would come again that night. At 10:40 pm we heard the noise of the back door opening. Elena and I hid in the closet of my bedroom, leaving only a crack to observe.

I trembled, a mixture of fear and indignation growing inside me. My own son, my only family, invading my house like a thief. For what? Alejandro moved silently down the hallway, passing through the bedroom without entering. I heard him looking for papers in the studio, opening and closing drawers.

After a few minutes, he came back and stopped in front of my bedroom door. My heart was pounding so hard that I feared he might hear it. He pushed the door slowly and examined the bedroom. The street light coming through the window partially illuminated his face. There was not the family affection that I knew. His eyes were cold, calculating.

He walked over to my bed, saw that it was empty, and quickly left the bedroom. Mom, she knocked slowly down the hallway. Are you at home? We remained motionless in the closet. I heard his hurried footsteps checking the other rooms. Then the sound of the back door closing. When we were certain that he was gone, we came out of hiding.

“We need to call the police,” Elena said, taking her cell phone. Wait, I stopped her pulse. He’s my son. I need to understand what’s going on first. Sofia is invading your house in the middle of the night. This is not normal. I know, I know. Tears began to roll down my face. But there must be an explanation. Maybe he’s in some kind of trouble, maybe he needs help.

Elena looked at me with compassion, but also firmly. Or maybe you’re in danger. Have you considered that yet? Those calls, those night visits, the insistence that you sell the house. Sofia, something is very wrong. I agreed to denounce, but I asked for a day to confront Alejandro first.

Elena hesitated, but ended up accepting on the condition that I would not be left alone. She would sleep at my house that night and the next day we would go together to talk to Alejandro in his office, a public place where I would feel safer. I couldn’t sleep. I spent the night mentally reviewing the last few months, trying to identify when Alejandro began to change. It was after Javier’s death.

No, Alejandro suffered, of course, but he dealt with the mourning in a healthy way. It was after his marriage to Estela ended just over a year ago. He was affected, yes, but he did not demonstrate obsessive behavior. What had happened to my son? In the morning I called the accounting office where Alejandro worked. The secretary who knew me looked surprised.

Doña Sofía, Alejandro has not been working here for almost 4 months. He resigned in March. I felt as if the ground had disappeared under my feet. 4 months, exactly when the night calls started. Alejandro told me almost all week how busy he was at work. He mentioned clients, he talked about projects.

Do you know why he left?, I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. Not exactly, there were some problems. Maybe you’d better talk to the LCK. Mauricio, the director. I thanked and hung up. I looked at Elena, who had heard everything. We need to go to his apartment, I said. Sofia, if she’s not at work, she’ll probably be there. It’s dangerous. So it’s better that we go when he’s not around. He always goes to the club on Wednesday mornings.

Today is Wednesday. Elena didn’t seem convinced, but she agreed to accompany me. On the way to Alejandro’s apartment I called Mauricio, the director of the accounting firm. He knew me from the holidays and showed concern when he heard my voice. Sofia, I am very sorry for what happened. Alejandro was always one of our best professionals.

But what, Mauricio? What happened? There was silence on the other side. There were some discrepancies in the accounts it managed. Money diverted. We confronted Alejandro and he confessed, it was substantial. The customers involved agreed not to file a formal complaint if he returned the money and resigned.

Out of respect for you and Javier’s memory, we decided to keep the matter discreet. I mechanically thanked Mauricio and hung up. My son had diverted money from clients. My son, who grew up hearing Javier talk about honesty and integrity, who wept at his father’s funeral saying he wanted to honor his memory.

How much has he swerved?, Elena asked as we parked near Alejandro’s apartment. No matter the amount, what worries me is why he did it and what that has to do with the invasions of my house. We used the spare key I had, one Alejandro gave me years ago, ironically for emergencies. The apartment was surprisingly clean and organized, different from what I would expect from someone going through a crisis.

On the desk we find some overdue accounts and debt notifications. Apparently, despite the money diverted, Alejandro was in financial trouble. In the bedroom, Elena found something even more disturbing, a folder with all my documents, deed to the house, bank statements, insurance policies, including the life insurance that Javier left in my name.

A considerable value. Sofia said Elena holding a document. You signed a power of attorney giving Alejandro authority over your financial decisions. No, never. She showed me the paper. It was my signature or something very similar, a sophisticated forgery.

He could use this to sell your house without your consent, transfer your money. Elena’s phone rang, interrupting her. He was his assistant at the law firm. She stepped aside to answer and I continued to examine the documents. It was then that I found a newspaper clipping hidden among the papers.

The news dated two weeks earlier reported the suspicious death of an elderly woman in Monterrey. Police were investigating the son who had recently sold the mother’s house and transferred a large sum of money to her accounts. The lady was found dead in her new apartment, apparently due to a gas leak. My blood froze. It would be a coincidence.

I kept the cutout in my bag trying not to let panic get the better of me. Elena returned and we continued to search the apartment. In the bathroom we found several bottles of medicine. Some were prescription anxiolytics, others I didn’t recognize. I took photos of the tags with my cell phone to investigate later.

I think we saw enough,” Elena said looking at the clock. “Alejandro can come back at any time.” Before leaving, I decided to take one last look at the bedroom. That’s when I noticed something strange in the closet, a partially visible toolbox behind the clothes. I opened it and found basic tools, screwdrivers, tweezers, and a small unlabeled glass jar, containing a clear liquid. Next to it a sheaf of papers.

They were instructions for the manipulation of a type of sedative, detailing doses and effects. Elena, I called with a trembling voice. She came quickly and looked at the jar. “Don’t touch that,” she said, taking a handkerchief to wrap the bottle. Let’s take it to analyze. We heard the sound of a key at the front door. Elena and I looked at each other paralyzed. Alejandro should be at the club, I whispered. Apparently he changed his plans.

Quickly, Elena put the bottle in her bag. We had no way to get out without going through the room. I looked around in desperation and pointed to the bedroom window. It led to the emergency staircase. “Let’s go,” I whispered, opening the window. We silently go down the emergency staircase, trying not to make noise.

Alejandro’s apartment was on the third floor and when we got to the ground floor we heard the bedroom window banging. Alejandro had discovered our escape. Run,” Elena said and we ran to the car. I quickly went inside as she started the engine. In the rearview mirror I saw Alejandro leaving the building looking around.

He saw us and started running in our direction. “Mom!” he yelled, “wait, can I explain?” Elena accelerated leaving him behind. Where are we going?, I asked my heart pounding. to a friend’s lab. We need to know what this jar has. Then, directly to the police station. On the way I called Guadalupe asking her to check my house. I was worried that Alejandro might go there.

She agreed and said she would call as soon as she arrived. At the lab, Elena’s friend, a retired forensic chemist named Victor, greeted us with concern. I need you to analyze this as quickly as possible,” Elena explained, handing him the bottle. “We suspect it’s some kind of sedative or worse.” Victor nodded and took the bottle with him.

While we waited, I showed Elena the photos I took of the medications. This one here, she pointed out, is a strong psychiatric medication for personality disorders, hallucinations. Alejandro never mentioned psychiatric problems, I replied stunned. The date of the prescription is only three months ago and it seems that he is not taking it regularly.

Several pills are still in the bottles. My cell phone rang. It was Guadalupe. Sofia, I’m at your house. It’s all good, but there’s something strange about your bedroom. Could you come? Elena and I exchanged glances. Let’s go there to Guadalupe. Do not touch anything and do not let anyone in. Victor returned with the preliminary results.

It’s a mixture of drugs, he explained. mainly barbiturates and something that looks like a synthetic opioid. In small doses it would cause drowsiness, confusion, in higher doses it would be fatal and worse, it would hardly be detected in a routine autopsy. We thanked Victor and promised to come back later for a formal report. On the way home, Elena was visibly tense.

Sofia, your son might be planning to kill you. The words fell like stones in my stomach. Why? For the insurance money? By the house? We don’t know the details, but the combination of the fake power of attorney, the newspaper clipping about that other death, drugs, is a very clear pattern. Tears rolled down my face.

How did we get to this point? What happened to my child? Elena held my hand briefly. I don’t know, Sofia, but now we need to guarantee your safety. We arrived at my house, where Guadalupe was waiting for us, visibly nervous. She led us to my bedroom. I was looking for your cell phone charger and looked under the bed, he explained. That’s when I saw this. I knelt down and looked where she was pointing.

Under the bed was a small electronic device connected to a thin tube that ran up to the wall. Following the tube, we discovered that it led to the gas heater valve in the chamber. It’s a timer, Elena said as she examined the device. Scheduled to open the gas valve at 3 a.m. I remembered the newspaper clipping.

The lady found dead from a gas leak. How long has this been here?” I asked, fighting panic. “I don’t know for sure,” I replied, “but Alejandro was here last night, as we saw on camera.” Guadalupe covered her mouth with her hands, horrified. “Do you think he wanted to?” I think we need to call the police now,” Elena said, already picking up the phone. “And you can’t stay here tonight.

“As she called the police, my cell phone rang. It was Alejandro. I showed the screen of the cell phone to Elena, who nodded indicating that she should answer. He signaled me to put on the speaker. “Alejandro,” I replied trying to control my voice. Mom,” he said, sounding strangely calm. “What were you doing in my apartment?” “I was worried about you, son.

“Worried? Why? I’m perfectly fine. You lost your job 4 months ago and you didn’t tell me. You’ve been invading my house overnight. That doesn’t sound right to me, Alejandro. There was a pause. Who told you I lost my job? Mauricio told me all about the diverted money, the arrangement for you to go out discreetly.

Another longer pause. You shouldn’t have gotten into this, Mom. Everything was under control. I had a plan. What plan, Alejandro? What’s happening to you? I can’t talk about it on the phone. I need to see you personally.” Elena nodded vigorously. I’m with Elena now, I replied.

We can meet you in your office. No. Her voice hardened. Just the two of us. It’s a family affair. Come to my apartment now. Alejandro, I’m scared. We found things in your apartment and here at my house, things that suggest you may be planning to hurt me. A short, almost contemptuous laugh. Hurt. You’re my mother. I’m trying to protect you.

The world out there is dangerous, full of people who want to take advantage of ladies who live alone. Like that lady in the newspaper, the one who died of a gas leak, whose son sold his house and kept the money. Total silence on the other side. It was you, wasn’t it? I continued, my voice trembling. You have something to do with his death.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. The device in my bedroom, Alejandro, to open the gas valve while I slept. You were the one who installed it. You don’t understand anything,” replied the voice now full of rage. Everything is connected. All of them are out there waiting, observing, wanting what is ours, what is rightfully mine. Who are they, Alejandro? Never mind.

What matters is that this is all going to be over soon. We’ll be safe. You need help, son. We found your medications. Why didn’t you tell me you were in psychiatric treatment? Those medications make me sluggish, confused. I can’t see the truth when I take them. The patterns, the connections, everything becomes hazy.

I looked at Elena, who nodded encouragingly. The police were on their way, Alejandro muttered. Please, let’s meet with your doctor. Together we can figure this out. There’s no time, an urgent note replied in her voice. They’re getting closer. I need to act today, tonight.

What are you going to do, Alejandro? I’m going to do what’s necessary. You’ll understand later, Mom. You’ll thank me.” The call ended abruptly. Elena Guadalupe and I looked at each other stunned. He’s clearly in a psychotic crisis, Elena said. He needs to be hospitalized immediately. The intercom rang. It was the police. Two policemen came in and examined the device in the bedroom. They took our statements, photographed everything, and removed the device.

We are going to issue an arrest warrant for your son, ma’am, one of the police officers reported. Based on this and your account, there is sufficient evidence of attempted homicide. He needs psychiatric help, I insisted. He is sick. That will be determined by medical evaluation after the arrest.

For now, we strongly recommend that you do not stay in this house. I accepted and thanked. After the policemen left, Elena suggested that I stay at her house for a few days. Guadalupe offered to get some clothes and essentials for me. While I was waiting in Elena’s car, I received a message from Alejandro. It doesn’t matter where you hide, Mom. I’m going to find you.

I’m going to save you from them. I showed the message to Elena when she returned. “I’ve already forwarded it to the delegate,” she said, starting the car. “They’re going to intensify the search. Sofia, your son poses a real danger right now, not only to you, but possibly to others.” On the way to Elena’s house, I tried to process everything that had happened.

How does a mother not realize that her child is suffering to the point of developing delusions? How did I not see the signs? Don’t blame yourself,” Elena said as if reading my thoughts. Psychiatric disorders can develop silently, especially in adults. Alejandro was clearly good at hiding the symptoms until he couldn’t take it anymore.

But why now? What triggered it? Maybe the financial stress after losing your job, maybe the divorce. Sometimes there isn’t a single identifiable trigger. We arrived at Elena’s house, a cozy house in a safe subdivision in Puebla. Her husband, Pablo, welcomed us with tea and a hug of solidarity.

Guadalupe arrived shortly after with my things. Do you think he’ll come here, I asked, feeling guilty for involving more people in this situation. It’s unlikely, Pablo replied, who worked as a security consultant. He doesn’t know where Elena lives, does he? No, that I know, I replied. We never visited her together.

To be safe, I have already notified the security of the subdivision, Elena said. They have his description and his photo. Later we received news from the delegate. The police had gone to Alejandro’s apartment, but he was not there. Neighbors reported seeing him leaving in a hurry with a backpack.

His car was not in the garage either. We issued an alert, the delegate reported by phone. All patrols are on the lookout. If he tries to make contact, let us know immediately. I spent a restless night, waking up at every little noise. In the morning, Elena brought me the newspaper.

On the front page was the photo of Alejandro with the header, a man wanted for attempted murder against his own mother. I cried as I read the news detailing recent events and mentioning the possible connection to another similar case. This is a nightmare,” I murmured. Elena’s phone rang. It was the delegate again. We found his abandoned car near the road, he reported.

There are signs that he may have hitchhiked or used public transportation. We expanded the search to neighboring cities. The hours dragged on. Elena needed to go to her office, but Pablo stayed with me working remotely. His calm presence comforted me, even though I could barely concentrate on anything.

My thoughts were constantly on Alejandro. Where would he be? What would he be planning? How things had gotten to that point. In the late afternoon, Guadalupe came to visit me bringing some clothes that I had forgotten and an old photo album that I thought would comfort me. Looking through it, I saw Alejandro in different phases.

Smiling baby, concentrated child building sandcastles, proud teenager at his graduation. Look. I showed Guadalupe a photo of Alejandro at 16 years old smiling next to his father. How did that child become this? The human mind is mysterious, Sofia replied Guadalupe holding my hand. Maybe he was already fighting for a long time and was just hiding it from all of us.

My cell phone rang showing an unknown number. I looked at Pablo who nodded and came over to listen. I answered and put on speakerphone. Say, Sofía Rangel. A male voice that I didn’t recognize. Here is Dr. Felipe Sánchez from the Santa Teresa Psychiatric Hospital. My heart raced. Yes, it’s me.

I’m calling about his son, Alejandro Rangel. He voluntarily showed up to our emergency unit about 2 hours ago. Is he there, I asked incredulously. It is ok? Physically, yes, mentally he is in crisis. He stated that he has been having psychotic episodes for some months and stopped taking the prescribed medication.

He asked to be hospitalized because, in his words, he is losing control and is afraid of hurting someone. I felt a mixture of relief and deep sadness. Pablo squeezed my shoulder in support. “Did you mention anything about me?” I asked excitingly. “Yes, indeed,” he expressed great concern for his safety, but in a confused and paranoid manner. He mentioned people who are watching and conspiracies.

These are classic symptoms of the picture we are observing. He commented on trying to hurt me. A brief pause. Mrs. Rangel, I am aware of the police report. Alejandro confessed to having installed a device in his house and to having planned actions that I prefer not to detail over the phone. We are in contact with the authorities.

He will remain under our supervision and custody while we evaluate his mental state. Can I see it? I asked in a stiff voice. We do not recommend visits at this early stage. He’s pretty agitated and we need to stabilize him first. Maybe in a few days. I would like the lady to come to the hospital tomorrow to talk personally about her history and plan treatment.

I accepted and wrote down the address and times suggested by the doctor. After hanging up, I collapsed in tears in Guadalupe’s arms. Pablo was already on the phone with Elena and the delegate informing them of the situation. He gave himself up, I murmured between soybeans. There’s still a part of him in there that knows he needs help. The next morning, Elena accompanied me to the hospital.

Dr. Sanchez, a middle-aged man with gentle eyes, welcomed us into his office. Alejandro is suffering from an emotional disorder,” he explained. Based on what we’ve been able to assess so far, the symptoms likely began about a year ago, perhaps after her divorce, but intensified in recent months.

How did I not notice, I regretted? We saw each other regularly. People with this disorder may appear perfectly normal for long periods. Delusions tend to concentrate in specific areas, while the rest of the mental functioning remains relatively intact. And now he will start intensive treatment, proper medication, therapy.

The road is long, but with adherence to treatment, many patients manage to control their symptoms well. And as for the criminal accusations, the doctor sighed. That will depend on the judicial system. However, given his mental state and the fact that he surrendered voluntarily, there is a good chance that compulsive treatment will be determined instead of conventional imprisonment.

Coming out of the hospital, I felt strangely lighter despite the severity of the situation. At least now, Alexander was safe, posed no danger to himself or others, and would receive the necessary help. Over the next few weeks, I immersed myself in readings about schizophrenia and related disorders, determined to better understand what my son was facing.

I participated in support groups for family members and talked at length with Dr. Sanchez about how to help in Alejandro’s recovery. A month after the hospitalization, I finally received authorization to visit him. I was nervous, not knowing what to expect. The Alejandro who entered the visiting room looked thinner, with deep dark circles, but his eyes were lighter than I had seen in months.

“Mom,” he said softly, not daring to approach. “Son,” I replied by opening my arms. He hesitated, but then he came over and hugged me. I felt his body tremble with silent soybeans. I remember everything, he whispered. What I planned to do, how could I? Wasn’t that you? I responded by stroking her hair as I did when I was little. It was the disease.

We sat down and Alejandro spoke with difficulty about how the symptoms had started. Small suspicions, then invasive thoughts, until voices in his head convinced him that there was a conspiracy to harm me. In his mind distorted by illness, the only way to protect me was to free myself from this world. When I stopped taking the medications, everything quickly got worse, she explained.

I began to believe that there were connections between random events. I read about that lady in the newspaper and somehow my mind created a narrative where I needed to do the same. Why the calls, I asked. Why always ask me if I was alone? In my delusions I believed that they could be with you monitoring.

If you said you were with someone, I needed to know who it was to verify if it wasn’t one of them. He rubbed his eyes. It doesn’t make sense now, but at the time it seemed perfectly logical. That night, when I lied, I started exciting. You saved your life, he concluded. I had decided it would be that night. The device was installed.

If you had said you were with Elena, I would have just monitored over the phone, verifying that everything was following the plan. But when you said you were alone and I got there to meet Elena, it was like a short circuit in the delirium. For a brief moment I sensed that something was fundamentally wrong with my perception of reality.

We were silent for a few minutes, the weight of that revelation hovering among us. Mom, whatever the outcome of the trial, I want you to know that I am committed to treatment. I don’t want to be a threat to you or anyone. I know, son, I replied holding his hand. I know.

In the following week, the prosecutor came in with a petition requesting access to the financial records of Alejandro, the LC. Mario Leal, the criminal lawyer that Elena indicated to me, had already anticipated, including the documents I found in the defense material, along with a complementary report explaining how apparently calculative actions can be part of a psychotic picture.

The trial was approaching and attention was growing. The story had attracted the attention of the local media with sensationalist headlines such as son planned to murder his mother for sure and accountant with delusions almost killed his own mother. It was painful to see our family tragedy transformed into public entertainment.

In the meantime, I resumed my work routine as a retired teacher who gave private Spanish lessons. The return to normality, although superficial, helped me to maintain mental balance. Guadalupe continued to be my pillar of support, as well as Elena and her family. One night I received an unexpected call. It was Estela, Alejandro’s ex-wife. Sofia, I knew what happened. I’m in shock, Estela. I replied surprised.

He hadn’t seen her since the divorce more than a year ago. How are you? Well, all things considered, Sofia. I need to tell you something, something that may help you understand what happened to Alejandro. We arranged to meet at a café the next day. Estela arrived punctually, as elegant as I remembered her, but with a tense expression that did not match her normally serene face.

“I’ve been blaming myself since I knew,” she began after ordering a cappuccino. I thought I was doing the right thing by walking away completely after the divorce. But now, Estela, what happened? She took a deep breath. Our marriage didn’t end just because of incompatibility, as everyone thinks.

It ended because I realized that Alejandro was changing, having strange behaviors, being suspicious of things that didn’t make sense. What kind of behaviors? At first they were small things. He began to check the locks repeatedly before sleeping. He began to believe that co-workers were conspiring against him.

Then he started having episodes where he would stare at nothing, muttering to himself. I felt a knot in my chest. Why didn’t you ever tell me? He made me promise not to tell anyone. He said he was just stressed out about work. When I suggested we seek help, he was furious, accusing me of wanting to control him like the others. It was terrifying, Sofia.

I didn’t recognize the man I married. That’s why you asked for a divorce. She nodded tears in her eyes. I tried to convince him to seek help, but he refused. The divorce was the trigger for a terrible argument in which he accused me of being part of a conspiracy. I was afraid.

Really, do you think he was already sick back then? Now I’m sure. The signs were all there. I should have insisted more, maybe tell you, but she wiped away a tear. After I moved in, I got some disturbing messages from him. I blocked his number and asked mutual friends not to comment on me with him.

I just wanted distance. I understand, Estela. You were protecting yourself. But if I had spoken, maybe he would have gotten help sooner. Maybe none of this would have happened. I held his hand. We can’t go back in time. The important thing is that now he’s being treated.

“I’d like to visit him,” Estela said excitingly, “if you think it would be good for him.” Considering what Alejandro was facing, I thought that a visit from Estela might be disturbing. I explained that to her, who understood. Instead, she suggested writing a letter expressing her support that I could deliver when I judged it appropriate. He is still important to me, Sofia, despite everything, I returned home reflecting on the conversation.

One more piece of the puzzle fell into place. Alejandro’s problems had begun much earlier than I imagined. I felt a twinge of guilt for not noticing the changes, for not asking more incisive questions when he and Estela separated. As a mother, I should have seen the signs.

At the preliminary hearing, the judge heard the testimonies of the doctors and the delegate’s account of the evidence found. Alejandro appeared medicated and visibly dejected, accompanied by the LCK. Loyal, your honor, argued the lawyer, the medical evidence is conclusive.

Mr. Rangel suffers from a serious psychiatric disorder, undiagnosed at the time of the events. He had no capacity to understand the unlawful nature of his actions or to determine himself in accordance with that understanding. The prosecutor counterargued that despite the illness there was meticulous planning in Alejandro’s actions, suggesting some level of discernment.

The judge decided that Alejandro would remain in the psychiatric hospital in judicial custody until the full trial. It was not the best possible outcome, but it was not the worst either. At least he would continue to receive adequate treatment. We are going to achieve immunity, guaranteed the LCK, loyal after the hearing.

The medical reports are solid, and the fact that he came forward voluntarily counts for a lot. Alejandro and I spent a few minutes alone in the courtroom under the supervision of a remote police officer. “I’m so sorry for all this, Mom,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. I’m sorry too, son, for not realizing I was suffering.

There was no way of knowing. I myself did not know what was happening to me. It was as if someone else was slowly taking over. We’re going to get through this together, I promised. One day at a time. He nodded, his eyes moistened. I keep thinking about what might have happened if you hadn’t lied that night, if you had said you were alone when you were actually with Elena. The thought lifted my spine.

If he had maintained the usual pattern and told the truth that he was with Elena, Alejandro would have only monitored the situation by phone. I wouldn’t have gone to the house to check in person. We wouldn’t have discovered the cameras, the medications, the device in the bedroom. It was an instinct, I replied. Something told me that I needed to break that cycle.

Alejandro was taken back to the hospital and I returned to my home. Now completely remodeled. He had changed all the gas systems to electric ones and installed new alarms. Guadalupe spent much of her time with me, insisting that I should not be left alone. It’s not good for you all that silence, she said. You’re going to be left thinking about things.

She was right when she was alone. He spent hours mentally reviewing the last few years, looking for signs he should have noticed. Moments when Alexander seemed distant or strange. Paranoid comments that I ignored as simple stress. Autumn arrived bringing cold winds and dry leaves piling up in the yard.

6 months have passed since Alejandro’s hospitalization. The trial was finally set for early November. Alejandro continued to progress in treatment. His doctors were optimistic, reporting that he demonstrated introspection about his condition and actively participated in therapies. On our visits we talked about light topics, books I was reading, TV programs, childhood memories.

We avoided talking about the uncertain future or the events that led us there. One afternoon, while organizing the study at home, I found an envelope that I did not recognize. Inside were Alejandro’s financial documents, bank statements, loan contracts, a life insurance policy in my name that I was completely unaware of. Dated only two weeks before her hospitalization, I took the papers to Elena for analysis. After examining them carefully, she explained to me.

He took on huge debts in the last few months, loans in different banks, credit cards at the limit and used the money to buy this life insurance policy for you with him as a beneficiary. How much?, I asked, feeling a chill. One and a half million pesos. The amount made me dizzy. It was an absurd sum.

Why would I do that? From what we can rebuild after siphoning money off at work and being caught, Alejandro went into financial desperation. At the same time, his mental condition deteriorated. In the distorted logic of the disease, he saw a solution, take out high insurance for you and then kill me to receive the money.

I completed the cruel reality by finally revealing itself completely. Most disturbingly, the policy has a specific clause that covers accidental death, including gas leaks. I felt nauseous. The dimension of the plan of Alexander, my own son, was more calculated than I had imagined. What does this mean for the case, I asked, thinking about the legal implications. It complicates a bit.

It shows premeditation, financial planning. The prosecutor will certainly use this to argue that despite the mental illness there was sufficient rationality in Alejandro’s actions to characterize responsibility. But he was sick, he wasn’t thinking clearly. I know, Sofia.

And we are going to guarantee that the Lal has these documents. He needs to prepare a solid counterargument. That night I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling, thinking about how my son had meticulously planned my death. The same person I cradled in my arms, for whom I sang lullabies, whose scraped knees I healed with kisses and band-aids.

The next morning I took the documents to Lick Leal, who was visibly worried. This changes our strategy, he admitted. We will have to emphasize even more the medical component, to show that even apparently rational actions can be the product of psychotic thinking when the disease involves systematic delusions.

The prosecutor already knows this. Not yet, but we will need to reveal it during discovery. We cannot risk him finding it on his own and accusing us of hiding evidence. I visited Alejandro that afternoon, the documents weighing in my bag literally and figuratively.

I decided not to mention them yet, following the advice of the lawyer. Alexander seemed especially lucid that day. The doctors say that I am responding well to the treatment,” she said with a small smile. Dr. Felipe mentioned that over time I will be able to have a relatively normal life, as long as I maintain the treatment rigorously. That’s wonderful, son.

I’m trying to imagine what it will be like later, if there’s an after. He looked at her hands. I know that many bridges were burned. My work, my friends, your trust. One thing at a time, I replied trying to sound encouraging despite the whirlwind in my mind. First, let’s focus on your recovery and trial.

I’ve thought a lot about those calls, he said suddenly. Why did I call all night? At exactly the same time. And it was the time when the voices became more intense. Something about twilight, the transition from day to night, seemed to amplify my symptoms and ask if I was alone. It was like a ritual that temporarily calmed me down. If you said I was alone, the voices told me that there was still time, that I could wait a little longer.

If you were accompanied, I needed to check who was with you, if it was one of them. To hear him describe the mechanisms of his illness so clearly was disturbing and enlightening at the same time. I could now better understand the mental prison in which my son had been. That night, when I lied, I started exciting.

It saved your life. He concluded. I had decided it would be that night. The device was installed. If you had said you were with Elena, I would have just monitored over the phone, verifying that everything was following the plan. But when you said you were alone and I got there to meet Elena, it was like a short circuit in delirium.

For a brief moment I realized that something was fundamentally wrong with my perception of reality. We were silent for a few minutes, the weight of that revelation floating between us. Mom, whatever the outcome of the trial, I want you to know that I am committed to treatment. I don’t want to be a threat to you or anyone.

I know, son, I replied holding his hand. I know. In the following week, the prosecutor came in with a petition requesting access to Alejandro’s financial records. Lak Leal had already anticipated, including the documents I found in the defense material, along with a complementary expert’s report, explaining how apparently calculating actions can be part of a psychotic picture.

The trial was approaching and the tension was growing. The story had attracted attention from the local press with sensationalist headlines. It was painful to see our family tragedy transformed into public entertainment. In the meantime, I resumed my work routine.

The return to normality, although superficial, helped me to maintain mental balance. Guadalupe continued to be my pillar of support, as well as Elena and her family. One night I received an unexpected call. It was Mauricio, Alejandro’s former boss. Sofia, I knew that the trial is near. There is something you need to know.

I found Mauricio in his office in the city center the next morning. He seemed nervous, constantly fiddling with a pen as he spoke. “I didn’t tell him everything before,” he confessed. about Alejandro’s departure from the company, which he did not tell me. The diversion of money was not as simple as I explained to him. Alejandro wasn’t just transferring securities to his accounts, he was obsessively documenting alleged irregularities in our accounting procedures.

What kind of irregularities? None real. they were fabrications of his mind. He created an elaborate filing system connecting normal transactions to an alleged money laundering network. He began accusing directors of being involved with criminal organizations. And why didn’t you mention this before? Mauricio sighed.

shame perhaps of not having realized how sick he was, of having treated him like a common criminal when there was clearly something very wrong and also fear of what that negative publicity could do to the company. He has those documents that he created, some. Most of them were destroyed when he left, but I kept some of it as a legal precaution. He handed me a folder.

I thought I could help in his defense. It clearly shows a delusional thought pattern months before the incidents with you. I thanked Mauricio and took the documents directly to the LCK. Loyal. He examined them with growing interest. This is gold, Sofia, he finally said. Unequivocal proof that Alejandro’s delusional behavior at work long preceded his actions against you.

It establishes a clear pattern of mental decline over time, consistent with untreated schizophrenia. In the days leading up to the trial, I lived in a state of constant anxiety. The case would be decided by a judge without a jury, as determined in preliminary hearings due to the psychiatric nature of the accusations. On the morning of the trial, the court was packed.

Reporters, curious people, law students. I sat in the front row with Elena by my side while Alejandro was brought in by the officers. He looked different, more present, his eyes clearer, but visibly nervous. He wore a borrowed suit that seemed large for his body thinned by stress and medication. The trial lasted 3 days.

Detailed medical testimony, statements from co-workers, forensic evidence about the device in my bedroom, and financial documents. Mauricio testified about Alejandro’s erratic behavior in the company, presenting the delusional files he had preserved.

In his own statement, Alejandro spoke with surprising clarity about his experience with the disease. It was like living in two worlds simultaneously, he explained to the court. a world where I still functioned, worked, talked normally and another world equally real to me back then, where there were conspiracies, threats and where I needed to protect my mother from dangers that only I could see. On the last day, the prosecutor and the liquid loyal presented their final arguments.

This case involves meticulous planning, deliberate actions and clear financial motives, the prosecutor argued. Although the defendant certainly suffers from mental disorder, there is sufficient evidence that he understood the criminal nature of his acts. The loyal lisin refuted. The medical evidence is unequivocal.

At the time of the events, Alejandro Rangel was affected by a serious psychotic disorder that completely affected his ability to discern. The apparent planning was, in fact, the manifestation of a delirious, structured thought, characteristic of his condition. We are not talking about a person who chose evil, but about a mind imprisoned by disease.

The judge announced that he would give the verdict the following afternoon. It was the longest night of my life. The next day, the court was even more crowded. Alejandro seemed to have aged years through the night, fear evident in every line of his face. When the judge entered, everyone rose in tense silence.

This court declares the defendant Alejandro Rangel not imputable due to insanity at the time of the crime, the judge announced. Medical evidence is conclusive as to his psychiatric condition and its impact on his ability to discern. I felt tears of relief rolling down my face. Alejandro closed his eyes, his shoulders visibly relaxing. However, the judge continued.

Considering the serious nature of the actions and the potential danger to society in the event that treatment is interrupted, I determine that the defendant be committed to a psychiatric custody and treatment hospital for the minimum period of 3 years, subject to periodic reevaluations. it was the best possible outcome under the circumstances.

Alejandro would not go to jail, but would receive continuous treatment in a safe environment, both for himself and for the others. When the session was over, I was able to hug my son briefly before he was taken away. “Thank you, Mom,” she whispered. “For not giving up on me.” “I will never give up,” I promised. Two years have passed since that day.

Alejandro continues to be hospitalized, but now in a semi-open regime that allows extended visits and even small supervised outings. Its progress has been remarkable. Proper medication and ongoing therapy allowed him to regain much of his original personality. In one of our recent conversations, I asked him something that still intrigued me. Son, those night calls.

Why did you always hang up when I said I was alone? Why didn’t you continue talking to me? He pondered for a moment. The voices told me that if I kept in touch for too long, they could trace the call. In my delusional mind, checking your situation and hanging up quickly was a form of protection. And if I said I wasn’t alone. There I needed to verify who was with you.

He needed to be sure that he wasn’t one of them. The distorted logic of the disease finally made a strange sense to me, like a final piece of the puzzle snapping together. Today, sitting on the balcony of my remodeled home, reflecting on everything we went through, I feel a strange mixture of grief and gratitude. pain for the suffering that the disease caused my son, for the nights of terror I lived, for the relationship that will need to be slowly rebuilt with fragile trust, gratitude for that moment of intuition that made me break the pattern, for having lied when I said I was alone,

although Elena was with me. That simple lie triggered the events that saved my life and possibly Alejandro’s as well. pulling him out of a psychotic spiral that could have ended even more tragically. “My phone rings.” It’s Alejandro calling from the hospital. No longer at 9:15 pm, but at various times of the day, as her treatment routine allows.

No longer asking if I am alone, but sharing small progress, modest plans for the future, happy memories that slowly resurface as the fog of illness lifts. “Hello, son,” I reply, feeling grateful for the opportunity to hear his voice once again.

Life is made of patterns that give us comfort and security, but sometimes breaking a pattern can be the only thing that saves us.