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But it was strange — every night, when Miguel lay down, the smell came back.
When I asked him about it, he just frowned.
“You’re too sensitive, Ana. There’s no smell.”
But I knew I wasn’t imagining things.
Everything became even stranger when I noticed that every time I tried to clean his side of the bed, he became irritated. One night, he even yelled at me.
“Don’t touch my things! Leave the bed as it is!”
I froze.
Miguel had always been calm. In eight years of marriage, I had never seen him get that angry over something like cleaning.
From that moment on, a strange fear began to grow inside me.
Then came a night when the smell was so strong I could barely sleep. Every time I lay down, it felt like something was rotting beneath the bed. A terrible, suffocating feeling.
One night, Miguel told me he had to travel to Dallas for three days for work. He dragged his suitcase to the door and kissed my forehead.
“Make sure you lock the door.”
I nodded, but something heavy pressed against my chest.
When the door closed and the sound of his footsteps faded down the hallway, the entire house fell silent.
I stood there, staring at the door for a long time.
Then slowly, I turned my gaze toward the bed in our bedroom.
My heart began to race.
An idea formed in my mind — and this time, I knew I couldn’t ignore it.
Something is wrong… I need to find out the truth.
I dragged the mattress to the center of the room. My hands trembled as I held the box cutter. I took a deep breath.
And made the first cut.
The moment the fabric split open, a horrible stench burst straight into my face. I covered my nose and started coughing violently. My chest tightened.
This can’t be… why does it smell like this inside the mattress?
I cut deeper.
Slowly, the foam inside began to show.
And then…
My world stopped.
Inside the mattress, there wasn’t a dead rat or spoiled food.