Maria arrived at the de la Vega family’s imposing mansion with a heart full of hope. She came from a small town, leaving behind scarcity and broken promises.
The city was overwhelming.
But this house, with its high walls and immaculate gardens, promised a new beginning.
Her main job: nanny for little Juanito.
A baby of barely three months, the heir to a fortune and a resounding surname.
From the very first moment, Maria felt a pang of unease.
Mrs. Elena de la Vega, a woman of icy beauty and impeccable elegance, treated the child with a distance that made his skin crawl.
There was no soft lullaby.
Not even a tender look.
Just a cold, almost clinical observation.
Juanito, for his part, was an unusually calm baby.
Too quiet.
She barely cried.
He slept most of the day, and when he was awake, his large, dark eyes seemed lost somewhere in the distance.
Maria, with her innate maternal instinct, felt that something was off.
A baby that small should be a whirlwind of little demands.
Cries, laughter, babbling.
But Juanito was a silence wrapped in silk blankets.
The days turned into weeks.
Maria doted on the little boy, trying to get a smile or a sound out of him.
Sometimes, she would manage a faint chirp, a small vibration in her throat, which for her was a victory.
Mrs. Elena, however, remained impassive.
Often, Maria would find her watching Juanito from the doorway, with an unreadable expression.
A mixture of anxiety and something darker.
One stormy night, the wind howled against the mansion’s windows.
Maria couldn’t fall asleep.
Juanito’s silence, despite the storm, was the only thing that could be heard.
Suddenly, a faint creaking sound.
A sound that wasn’t from the wind.
It was coming from the main hallway, near the baby’s room.
Her heart skipped a beat.
He quietly got out of bed in the servants’ room.
Curiosity, mixed with a growing apprehension, prompted her to investigate.
She moved through the dark corridors, guided by the faint moonlight filtering through the clouds.
The sound became clearer.
He was coming from Juanito’s room.
These were not the typical cries of a newborn.
It was a murmur.
Gentle.
Almost a whisper.
She approached the nursery door.
It was slightly open, letting out a thin line of golden light.
Mary’s heart pounded against her ribs.
He took a deep breath and peered out with the utmost caution.
What was hidden in the cradle
The scene she witnessed left her petrified.
Mrs. Elena was there.
With her back to the door, she was leaning over Juanito’s crib.
Her figure, elegant even in the dim light, cast a long shadow over the baby.
In his hands, an object.
It reflected the dim light from the bedside lamp with a metallic glint.
Juanito remained motionless.
Absolutely still.
It didn’t make the slightest noise.
There was no reaction.
She was like a porcelain doll.
An icy chill ran down Maria’s spine.
She wanted to scream.
He wanted to run.
But the words got stuck in his throat, turned into a knot of pure terror.
He couldn’t move.
His eyes were fixed on the object in Elena’s hands.
An object that appeared to be gently placed in the baby’s mouth.
Suddenly, as if sensing a presence, Mrs. Elena slowly straightened up.
He turned around.
His eyes, empty and pale, met directly with Maria’s.
In her hand, she still held that small object.
Bright.
And her face.
A mask of something indecipherable.
Maria felt like she couldn’t breathe.
What was he doing?
Why wasn’t the baby reacting?
The truth is, that night felt like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.
