For most of my life, I believed family meant love, respect, and gratitude. I thought the sacrifices a mother makes for her children would always be remembered. But sometimes life reveals a painful truth: not all hearts carry the same gratitude, and not all children remain the same once they are grown.
This is the story of how I discovered the true colors of my son and his wife, and how, in the end, I found peace not through money, but through the daughter who never abandoned me.
A Small Contribution, A Mother’s Joy
Every month, without fail, I gave my daughter-in-law 2,000 pesos from my pension. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to buy food for the household and to help her prepare meals for my son, my grandchildren, and me.
I thought to myself: I am old now. I no longer need fancy clothes, new furniture, or big luxuries. What I want most is a decent meal and the joy of sitting at the table with my family.
Handing her that money brought me a quiet happiness. I imagined her going to the market, selecting the freshest vegetables, the best cuts of meat, and cooking with care. I was content knowing I was still contributing, still useful.
The Comment That Changed Everything
One day, as we sat down to eat, I noticed the meat on my plate was far too fatty. My teeth and stomach are no longer what they once were, so I made a simple observation:
“Next time, buy leaner meat, my daughter. It’s easier to eat that way.”
I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t scold. It was just a motherly comment, spoken softly.
But I noticed her frown. She turned away without a word. I told myself perhaps she was tired. Perhaps I had spoken at the wrong moment.
Spoiled Food
The next morning, Clara, my daughter-in-law, returned from the market with fish. But when she cooked it, the smell filled the house—it was spoiled. The broth she served made my stomach turn before the spoon even reached my mouth.
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