A poor student took a job cleaning the house of an elderly woman who lived alone in a small alley. Seeing that she was sick and could barely walk, the young man not only did the work for which he was paid, but also cooked for her, went to the market and took her to the hospital whenever he felt sick.
For many months, the old woman never paid him the money she had promised. But before he died, he left a single letter that left him in shock.
My name is Diego, I’m 21 years old and I’m a third-year student at a university in Guadalajara. To pay for my studies and my daily expenses, I take on all kinds of part-time jobs: from tutoring to helping out in a cafeteria.
The first time I went to her house, I was impressed to see her so fragile.
Doña Carmen was very thin, with completely white hair and trembling hands resting on a cane.
Her house was a small old house, full of old objects:
a radio that no longer worked, some faded photographs hanging on the wall and a wooden bed worn out by the years.
She told me that she suffered from rheumatism and high blood pressure, and that it was very difficult for her to walk, so she needed someone to clean the house once a week.
The job was simple: sweeping, dusting, and washing a few dishes.
She promised to pay me 200 pesos for each visit.
For a student like me, that money was no small thing.
On subsequent visits, I began to notice how difficult his life was.
The refrigerator was almost always empty: just a few eggs and a bunch of wilted vegetables. Many times his food was just rice with a little sauce.
When I asked him why he lived like this, he told me that his children were far away and that he didn’t want to disturb them.
I felt very sorry for her.
So after I finished the cleanup, I started staying a little longer to go to the market, buy some meat or fish, and cook him a decent meal.
Doña Carmen loved it when I cooked.
Her eyes lit up every time she tasted the hot broth I prepared for her.
On some occasions, when the pain in her joints was too bad, I would take her to the public hospital myself and wait patiently for her medicines to be delivered.
Once, as we were leaving the hospital, she took my hand and said in a soft voice:
— “You’re very much like my youngest son… he was a good boy, too.”
But the months passed…
and Doña Carmen never paid me a single peso.
However, I continued to help her.
Until the day she died…
and left a letter that changed my life forever.
The day that Doña Carmen died was a gray and silent day.
That morning I had gone to his house as usual. He carried a bag of warm tortillas, some chicken, and vegetables to make a broth. The sea wind blew hard in the alley, kicking up dust between the worn walls of the houses.
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