PART 1
—If you say anything else is crawling inside your arm, I'm taking you to a psychiatrist, Emiliano.
Rodrigo Salazar's voice echoed in the room while the rain lashed against the windows of their home in Zapopan. In front of him, his eleven-year-old son sat on the floor, pale and sweaty, slamming the cast on his right arm against the bedpost.
—Get it out! —the boy screamed—. They're biting me from the inside!
Mercedes, the nanny who had cared for him since he was a baby, rushed over to stop him. Emiliano's lips were dry, his eyes sunken, and small spots of blood dotted the cast where he had tried to shove a pencil to scratch himself.
Rodrigo snatched the pencil and held it tightly, desperation creeping in.
—Enough, son. You're going to hurt yourself more.
—You don’t believe me! —Emiliano sobbed—. She knows what happened.
The boy pointed at Verónica, Rodrigo's new wife.
The woman stood by the door in an elegant robe, her hair perfectly styled. She didn’t approach. She simply crossed her arms and shook her head.
—Ever since we got married, she blames me for everything —she said—. This isn’t pain, Rodrigo. It’s a crisis to separate us.
It had been two years since Emiliano's mother passed away. Rodrigo, who owned a transport company, thought Verónica would bring stability back to the home.
She was charming in front of guests, affectionate in photographs, and patient when he was around.
But Emiliano avoided her.
For the past three days, the boy had barely slept. He claimed to feel tiny legs, stings, and something wet beneath the cast he had received after a fall at school.
Verónica insisted he was making it all up.
—I’ve already spoken with a private clinic —she added—. They can evaluate him tomorrow. If he remains aggressive, they’ll admit him for a few days.
—I’m not crazy! —Emiliano shouted.
Mercedes touched his forehead and felt an alarming heat.
—Mr. Rodrigo, he has a fever.
—He's hot because he won’t stop moving —he replied, exhausted.
Then Mercedes noticed a strange smell: sweet, sour, and rotten all at once.
She looked at the sheet.
A red ant was advancing towards the cast. It disappeared through a crack near the elbow.
—I just saw an ant go in there —she said.
Verónica let out a dry laugh.
—Seriously, Mercedes, now you're going to play along too?
Rodrigo grabbed a cloth strap and tied his son's healthy wrist to the bed railing to prevent him from hitting himself anymore.
Emiliano stopped struggling.
He looked at Mercedes with silent tears.
—Nana, don’t let them lock me up. She put something in there when my dad was away.
Verónica paled slightly but regained her smile.
Mercedes looked again at the cast.
Two more ants emerged from the opening.
And in that instant, she realized that the boy wasn't losing his mind: someone was trying to make everyone believe that he was.
PART 2
The next morning, Rodrigo came down to the dining room with a blue folder.
He had signed the authorization for a mental health clinic to pick up Emiliano at 4 PM.
—It'll only be an evaluation —he said, avoiding eye contact with Mercedes—. He needs help.
Emiliano heard from the staircase. He descended slowly, holding the cast against his chest.
—Dad, take me to a regular hospital. Please.
Verónica appeared behind him and adjusted his pajama collar with a tenderness that felt too perfect.
—The doctors already checked your fracture, sweetheart. What you need is in your head.
The boy flinched as if her hand burned.
Mercedes slammed her palm on the table.
—Before locking him up, let a traumatologist see him.
Rodrigo frowned.
—The doctor who treated him is out of town.
—Then take him to another one.
Verónica immediately intervened.
—And have them report negligence because Emiliano destroyed the cast? The DIF could investigate Rodrigo. Is that what you want?
The threat worked. Rodrigo lowered his gaze.
Mercedes understood that Verónica wasn’t improvising. She knew exactly which fear to touch to keep everyone away from the arm.
Upon returning to the bedroom, she found Emiliano lying down, breathing heavily.
—Nana —he murmured—, grab a knife and cut off my arm. I don’t want it anymore.
Mercedes felt her heart shatter.
—Don't say that, my child.
—I’d rather not have it.
The smell was much stronger now. The visible skin around the cast was red, wet, and swollen. Dark spots moved between the bandages.
Mercedes went down to the kitchen to find something that would explain this.
In the trash can in the patio, she found an empty bottle of pancake syrup, sticky gauze, and a jar of honey wrapped in a black bag.
Emiliano hadn't eaten sweets for days.
She tucked a gauze piece into her apron pocket.
—What are you looking for?
Verónica was behind her.
—The trash smelled bad.
—you’ve been here for many years, Mercedes —Verónica replied softly—. It would be a shame for you to end up jobless for sticking your nose into family matters.
—Emiliano is my family too.
Verónica's smile vanished.
—Don’t get confused. You’re the employee.
At 3:20, Rodrigo locked himself in his office to finish the clinic paperwork. Verónica packed a small suitcase and placed three changes of clothes inside, as if sending the boy to camp.
Mercedes went back upstairs.
Emiliano was no longer screaming.
He was trembling, with lost eyes and very slow breathing. Suddenly, he arched his back and began to convulse.
Mercedes called for help, but Verónica locked the door from the outside.
—Don’t touch him —she ordered—. It’s another crisis.
Mercedes looked at the boy and made a decision.
She ran to the tool room, grabbed metal cutting pliers, and returned. She entered the bedroom and locked the door.
—Open up! —Rodrigo shouted from the hallway.
—You’re crazy! —Verónica shrieked—. You’re going to kill the boy!
Mercedes placed the pliers at the edge of the cast.
—Hang in there, my love. I believe you now. I’m going to get you out of there.
She squeezed.
The cast cracked.
The smell that escaped was so intense that Rodrigo stopped banging on the door for a moment.
Mercedes squeezed again. A crack ran across the white surface. She shoved her fingers in, pulled with all her might, and tore off a piece.
What she saw made her stomach churn.
Emiliano's skin was covered in wounds, dried blood, and a golden, sticky substance. Dozens of red ants crawled among the damp gauze.
There were also small larvae stuck to the infected edges.
The boy had been telling the truth.
The door swung open as Rodrigo used an emergency key.
He stormed in, furious, but froze upon seeing his son’s arm.
—Oh my God...
Mercedes threw the piece of cast to the floor.
—While you were calling him manipulative, something was eating him alive.
Rodrigo brought both hands to his mouth. He remembered the screams, the strap, the threats, and every time he chose to believe his wife over his son.
Emiliano barely opened his eyes.
—Dad... they were there.
Rodrigo dropped to his knees.
—I’m sorry.
—There’s no time for that —Mercedes replied—. Call an ambulance.
As Rodrigo dialed 911, Mercedes noticed an open drawer next to the bed. Inside were bandages, medications, and a thick pastry syringe.
The tip had dried honey residue.
She picked it up with a towel.
—Did the boy imagine this too?
Verónica stepped back.
—That’s from the kitchen.
Emiliano began to cry.
—She came when my dad went to León. She held my arm and put something inside. She told me it was vitamins to help me heal.
Rodrigo looked at Verónica with newfound horror.
—Did you inject honey into the cast?
—You don’t know what you’re saying.
—The syringe is right here.
—Sure, he did it to blame me.
Mercedes pulled out the sticky gauze from her pocket and showed the jar of syrup she had rescued from the trash.
Verónica stopped pretending.
—Everything in this house revolves around him! —she screamed—. Since I arrived, I’m the intruder, and his dead mother is a saint. Emiliano was never going to accept me.
Rodrigo tightened his grip on the phone.
—Did you torture him out of jealousy?
Verónica let out a nervous laugh.
—Nothing serious was going to happen to him. I just wanted him to have another crisis. If they admitted him, we could finally live in peace.
—Peace?
She pointed to the blue folder in the office.
—Besides, as long as he is considered stable, you can’t access the trust his mother left. But if a doctor declares he needs permanent guardianship, you control everything. It was the best for us.
Rodrigo felt the ground drop away.
Emiliano's inheritance included shares, two properties, and a fund that Verónica had been pressuring him to invest in her business for months.
He had always refused.
Now he finally understood the true plan.
Verónica didn’t just want to distance the boy.
She wanted to make him an incapable patient to seize his money.
—You suggested that clinic —Rodrigo said.
—I know the director. He would have signed the correct diagnosis.
Mercedes looked at her with disgust.
—You didn’t want a family. You wanted a bank account without a child.
The sirens could be heard on the street.
Verónica tried to leave, but Rodrigo blocked the door.
—You’re not going anywhere.
—I’m your wife.
—You were my wife until you tried to destroy my son.
The paramedics arrived nine minutes later. As they removed the rest of the cast, one of them requested police support.
Emiliano had a high fever, dehydration, and an advanced infection.
Before they lowered him on a stretcher, he sought Mercedes's hand.
—Let her come with me.
Rodrigo closed his eyes, wounded by the choice, but nodded.
—Go with him. I’ll follow you.
At the entrance, Verónica cried before the police, claiming that Mercedes had planted the evidence.
But Rodrigo handed over the syringe, the gauze, the jar, the remnants of the cast, and the name of the clinic.
Then he opened Verónica's computer.
They found messages with the director:
“After 72 hours we can discuss childhood psychosis.”
“With the diagnosis, Rodrigo gets financial guardianship.”
“Make the boy arrive agitated.”
Verónica was handcuffed while screaming that it had all been for love.
—That’s not love —Rodrigo replied—. It’s greed.
At the Civil Hospital of Guadalajara, the doctors cleaned the arm for almost three hours. The sweet mixture had attracted insects, kept the moisture, and caused deep wounds.
The infectious disease specialist spoke with Rodrigo in the hallway.
—You arrived just in time. One more day and he could have lost his arm. He could have gone into septic shock.
Rodrigo sat down and cried in front of everyone.
He didn’t cry for Verónica, nor for the scandal, nor for the money.
He cried because his son had asked him for help, and he had tied him to a bed.
When Emiliano woke up, Mercedes was by his side. Rodrigo stood in a corner, unable to approach.
—Are they gone? —the boy asked.
—They left —Mercedes said.
Emiliano glanced at his father.
—is she coming back?
—Never.
—And are you taking me to the clinic?
Rodrigo ripped the blue folder in front of him.
—No. And I’m not going to ask you to forgive me today. I’m just going to show you, every day, that I will listen to you again.
Emiliano fell silent.
Then he extended his healthy hand.
Rodrigo took it gently.
The investigation revealed that Verónica had transferred money to the clinic and prepared documents to assume control of the trust.
The director was arrested for fraud and falsifying medical reports.
Rodrigo also faced consequences. The DIF investigated the house and demanded family therapy, psychological follow-ups, and protection measures for Emiliano.
He didn’t protest.
He knew that loving his son didn’t erase having failed him.
Months later, Emiliano returned to school. He bore some scars, and for a long time, he couldn’t stand to see an ant without trembling.
Mercedes was no longer called “the employee.” Rodrigo granted her legal participation in any medical decision regarding the boy and asked her to stay as part of the family.
She agreed with one condition:
—When Emiliano says, “it hurts,” nobody gets to tell him he’s exaggerating.
Rodrigo bowed his head.
—Never again.
That night, Emiliano sat between them in the living room. His arm was still bandaged, but he could move his fingers.
—Nana —he asked—, how did you know I wasn’t crazy?
Mercedes stroked his hair.
—Because fear invents many things, my child. But that smell didn’t lie. And neither did your eyes.
Rodrigo listened without defending himself.
He understood too late that a pretty house, an expensive school, and a smiling family in photographs do not protect a child if adults prefer comfort over truth.
Emiliano's scars took time to heal.
Rodrigo's may never heal.
But from then on, whenever someone small said, “something is wrong,” everyone in that house dropped what they were doing and listened.
Because sometimes the monster doesn’t live under the bed.
Sometimes it sleeps in the master bedroom, smiles in family photographs, and trusts that no one will be brave enough to break the cast of appearances.
