Get out of here, you useless old witch t3

CHAPTER 1: THE STAIN ON THE MARBLE PALACE

The residence in Lomas de Chapultepec—one of the most exclusive areas of Mexico City—rose tall and imposing behind white walls and heavy security gates. Inside, everything gleamed with that magazine-perfect shine that makes you afraid to touch anything: imported marble floors reflecting crystal chandeliers, Italian leather furniture creaking when you sat down, and a sepulchral, museum-like silence—where even breathing too loudly felt like a crime.

In the service quarters, a windowless cubicle beside the laundry area, Doña Mercedes Álvarez was waking up. At seventy-eight, her body was a map of sacrifice: knotted hands from decades of scrubbing other people’s clothes, a spine curved from carrying children who weren’t her own, and honey-colored eyes that—though tired—still held an unbreakable spark of faith. The morning cold seeped through the cracks; in that house, central heating never reached the maid’s room, or as her son-in-law preferred to call her: “the freeloader.”

Her bed was an old cot with a sagging mattress whose springs dug into her ribs. On the nightstand, a faded wooden crucifix and a small image of the Virgin of Guadalupe were her only treasures.

“Dear Holy Mother, my Lord… give me strength to endure one more day,” Mercedes whispered, crossing herself as her knees creaked on the icy floor. “Take care of my daughter Carolina… even if she can’t speak to me, I know she loves me.”

She put on her usual gray dress, patched at the elbows, and the shawl she had knitted ten years earlier. When she stepped into the hallway, the smell of fresh coffee and toast wrapped around her, but her stomach tightened. She knew that breakfast wasn’t for her.

In the kitchen—white and immaculate like an operating room—stood Carolina. At thirty-five, she was extremely thin, with perfectly dyed ash-blonde hair, dressed in luxury athletic wear… yet her face looked drained, her eyes nervous and evasive, avoiding her mother as if eye contact might burn.

“Good morning, my dear,” Mercedes said softly, trying not to disturb her.

Carolina jumped, glancing toward the ceiling to make sure he wasn’t nearby.

“Mom, shhh, please. Rodrigo woke up in a bad mood. Don’t make noise. If he sees you here, he’ll start again.”

Mercedes felt the familiar stab in her chest—not physical pain, but something deep in her soul. She nodded silently and took her chipped enamel mug—the only one she was allowed to use because, according to Rodrigo, she had “broken the fine china.” She poured herself the leftover coffee, lukewarm and black, not daring to add sugar.

“Sugar is expensive, Mom. Don’t abuse it,” Rodrigo had shouted the week before when he caught her adding two spoonfuls.

“Sweetheart… can I help with anything? Do you want me to make chilaquiles like when you were little?” Mercedes asked, a thin thread of hope in her voice.

“No!” Carolina whispered sharply, though her voice cracked. “Rodrigo says that’s poor people’s food. We eat healthy here. He’s ordering an açaí bowl or something. Mom, please go back to your room before he comes down.”

Mercedes lowered her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. She sat on a small stool in the corner of the kitchen, trying to take up less space than a shadow.

But fate, cruel that morning, had other plans.

Heavy, confident footsteps echoed on the stairs—the leather loafers of Rodrigo Salazar, a forty-two-year-old man who believed the world belonged to him. An investor, always tanned, hair slicked back, a smile reserved only for his golf-club partners.

He entered the kitchen adjusting his gold watch, ignoring his wife… until his cold eyes locked onto the corner where Mercedes was sipping her coffee.

The air froze.

“What is that thing doing here?” he spat, his voice dripping with contempt.

Carolina went pale, dropping the dishcloth.

“Rodrigo… my mom was just having some coffee, she was about to leave—”

“I don’t give a damn what she’s doing!” Rodrigo slammed his fist onto the granite island, making the glassware tremble. “I told you a thousand times, Carolina—a THOUSAND—that I don’t want to see your mother in the common areas before I leave! Her pathetic face ruins my appetite!”

Mercedes stood up quickly, trembling, setting her cup in the sink with clumsy hands.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rodrigo… forgive me… I’m going back to my room now… I didn’t mean to bother—”

“DON’T call me ‘sir’!” he roared, taking two strides toward her. “You’re nothing to me! You disgust me! Your old clothes, your damp smell, that martyr expression you put on to make my wife pity me!”

“Rodrigo, stop!” Carolina begged, trying to step between them, but he shoved her aside like a fly.

“You shut up!” he yelled at his wife. “Do you know the humiliation I suffered with my partners? They came for dinner and this old woman walked out of the bathroom. What am I supposed to tell them? That I run a charity hostel in my house? You embarrass me, Carolina! You embarrass me because you come from this class of filthy people!”Tears rolled down Mercedes’ wrinkled cheeks—not because of the insults, but because her daughter was being humiliated because of her.

“Son, please… I don’t want trouble. I can stay locked in all day, you won’t even notice I exist. I just… I have nowhere to go…”

Rodrigo let out a harsh, humorless laugh.

“That’s your problem, old woman. Not mine. I pay for this house. Every damn brick. And I’m done. DONE supporting parasites!”

He stepped closer, looming over her, eyes burning with class hatred.

“Today it ends. Carolina, if you want to stay my wife, this old woman leaves TODAY. RIGHT NOW.”

Carolina burst into tears, covering her face.

“Rodrigo, she’s my mother… she’s almost eighty… she has no money, Dad died years ago, my brother never answers… if we throw her out, she’ll die.”

“I’d rather pay for her funeral than keep seeing her in my kitchen!” he shouted.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Mercedes looked at her daughter—searching for rescue, courage, anything. But Carolina lowered her eyes. Her fear of losing her luxury, her status, her tyrannical husband… was stronger than her love for the mother who had given her everything.

Rodrigo smiled in victory.

“See, you useless old woman? Not even your own daughter wants you. You’re a burden. Pack your trash and get out. Or I’ll call the police and have you dragged out for trespassing. Understood?”

CHAPTER 2: THE STORM AND THE STRANGER

Mercedes felt the marble floor open beneath her feet. Fear paralyzed her spine. Outside, the sky had turned black; a violent storm battered the windows.

“But… it’s raining so hard… I don’t have money for the bus… please let me stay until it stops—”

“I’m not the weather service!” Rodrigo grabbed her arm violently, making her scream. His fingers dug into her fragile skin.

He dragged her toward the front door. Her weak feet stumbled, unable to keep up with his furious pace.

“My things! Let me grab my coat!” Mercedes pleaded.

Rodrigo didn’t slow down. Crossing the foyer, he grabbed her old, torn jacket—the only thing she owned outside the service room—and threw it in her face.

“Here’s your rag! OUT!”

He flung open the heavy wooden door. A blast of icy wind and rain rushed in, soaking the immaculate floor.

“Rodrigo, NO!” Carolina screamed, but remained frozen in place—paralyzed by cowardice.

Mercedes clung to the doorframe, her arthritic fingers turning white.

“For the love of God… I have heart problems… if you leave me out there, you’ll kill me…”

Rodrigo leaned in until his minty breath hit her face—his eyes burning like the Devil’s own.

“You’d be doing me a favor if you died.”

With one last brutal shove, he threw her outside.

Mercedes crashed onto the stone sidewalk, her knees striking with a sickening crunch that made her scream. Pain exploded through her body.

The door slammed shut behind her.

Click. Click.
The locks turning were her death sentence.

“Daughter! CAROLINA!” Mercedes screamed, pounding the wood with her fragile fists. “Don’t leave me, my child!”

No answer.

Only the roar of rain and thunder.

She lay there as icy water soaked her dress within seconds. Her tears mixed with the storm. Hugging herself, shaking uncontrollably, she tried to stand—but her knees buckled.

“God… why?” she sobbed. “I worked my whole life… scrubbed floors until my hands bled… I gave her everything… why are You punishing me like this?”

She crawled to a planter for shelter. Luxury cars passed without slowing. In this rich neighborhood, an old woman on the street was invisible—or worse, an eyesore.Finally, Mercedes forced herself to walk—stumbling, limping—until she reached a public park. It was deserted, lashed by the storm.

She collapsed onto a metal bench beneath a tree. Rain still soaked her. She could no longer feel her fingers. Her mind blurred. She thought this was the end.

“Lord… if I’m no longer useful… take me,” she whispered. “I don’t want to suffer anymore. Forgive them… but take me.”

Then suddenly, the rain seemed to soften.

And a strange, warm presence surrounded her.It wasn’t sunlight—the sky was still black.

“Woman…” a voice said.

It was a man’s voice—deep, velvety, with an authority that made the ground seem to tremble.

Mercedes opened her eyes.

A man stood before her in the rain… and yet, somehow, he was dry.

He wore simple clothes from another time—humble beige fabric—and sandals. Brown hair fell to his shoulders, a short beard framed his face.

But it was his eyes that stole her breath.

Dark, infinite eyes, filled with a love so vast it hurt to look at.

He knelt before her, unconcerned by the mud.

“Who… who are you, young man?” Mercedes whispered as fear dissolved from her chest.

“I am the one who was with you every time you cried in silence in that dark room,” he replied, offering his hand.

She saw his palm— a deep, unmistakable round scar.

Her heart stopped.

This couldn’t be real.

“And… I am nobody… I’m a useless old woman…” Mercedes murmured, repeating the poison Rodrigo had planted.

The man held her frozen hands. Warmth rushed through her body instantly—melting, healing.

“Mercedes Álvarez,” he said, speaking her name as if it were the most precious word in creation, “to the world you may be invisible… but to Me, you are royalty. You are not a burden. You are My daughter.”

Mercedes collapsed—this time crying from relief, not despair.

“Lord… they threw me out… my own daughter left me on the street… I swear I was a good mother…”

“I know,” Jesus said—for in her soul, she knew it was Him. “I saw every sacrifice. I saw when you went hungry so she could study. And I saw what happened today.”

His expression changed—still gentle, but now heavy with divine justice.

“Listen carefully, Mercedes. The man who humiliated you believes he has power because he has money. But he built his house on sand. His pride will be his downfall.”“What will happen to him?” she whispered.

“Every seed bears fruit. He sowed cruelty. A storm is already on its way to him.”