The millionaire’s mother had been suffering for weeks, until one day a cleaning lady removed something from her head.

She heard a soft rustling at the door. Cautious footsteps, as if someone were walking on glass. It was the night cleaner: a petite woman with a tired face, named Zoe. She had only been working in this house for a month and a half and spoke very little. She always looked at the floor, always did her work quickly, without drawing attention to herself.

But that night, he stood on the threshold a few seconds longer than usual.

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Alejandro noticed her gaze. It wasn’t curiosity or voyeurism. It was… concern. As if Zoé saw something the others didn’t.

“Do you need something?” Alejandro asked curtly, exhausted, irritated by so many unnecessary diagnoses.

Zoé swallowed hard.
“Excuse me, sir… I…” she hesitated. “It’s just… I’ve seen it before. In my town, in Guerrero… it happened to a woman.”

Alejandro clenched his jaw.
“So what? Are you going to tell me you know more than the doctors?”

Zoé shook her head, not offended.
“No, sir. Not better. Just… different. And if you’ll allow me… I could try something.”

Alejandro raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
The cleaning lady… wanting to “test the waters” with his mother?

He was about to tell her to leave. He was about to let out a bitter laugh.
But at that moment, Doña Margarita let out a groan so loud it seemed to shake the air. She arched her back, bringing her hand to her left temple, as if something were crushing her from the inside. Alejandro felt a knot in his stomach.

He could no longer stand idly by.

“What… what do you want to do?” he asked more gently.

Zoé took a step forward. Her hands were trembling, but a serene firmness was reflected in her eyes.

—It may seem strange… but sometimes pain arises because a person carries something that doesn’t belong to them. It’s not physical… but something they carry inside. Like a job… like jealousy… like something that doesn’t belong to them.

Alejandro opened his mouth to mock her… but he didn’t. Perhaps out of desperation. Perhaps because Zoé didn’t sound fanatical or pretentious. She sounded… sincere.

Alejandro leaned towards his mother.

“Mom… do you trust me?” she said softly. “Please.”

Doña Margarita opened her eyes. They were filled with pain… and also with a silent plea.

She nodded.

Zoé asked everyone to leave, but Alejandro refused.

“I’m staying,” he said. “I’m not moving from here.”

Zoé didn’t argue. She walked to the head of the bed, raised her hands as if listening to the air. She closed her eyes.

And the room fell into an eerie silence.

The wind outside died down. No device beeped. Even Doña Margarita’s breathing became a mere thread.

Zoé spoke in a whisper:

“There’s something very old here… very heavy…”—and he pointed carefully—”here, on my left temple. It presses like a stone.”

Alejandro felt his skin prickle.

“What is this?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

Zoé opened her eyes.

—Something that doesn’t belong to him. Something that someone… left him.

His fingers approached Doña Margarita’s head, without touching it, as if he were feeling for an invisible layer. Suddenly, he stopped.

—It’s here.

Doña Margarita let out a scream, but it wasn’t from pain. It was like a gasp of extreme violence, as if something were being ripped from her.

Zoé closed her fingers in the air, made a quick gesture, and Alejandro saw the impossible: in Zoé’s hand there was a tiny object, a small dark ball the size of a pea… but so black that it seemed to swallow the light.

Alejandro was left breathless.

– What’s that?

Zoé looked exhausted, as if she had run for miles.

“It’s a ‘work’,” he barely murmured. “In my village, we call it the envious stone. It’s like the evil eye… but stronger. They stole your mother’s strength… and left her with this.”

Alexander trembled.

—Who… who would do such a thing?

Zoé shook her head.