My hands clenched the table. This is too much, I thought. I give her money every month, and this is what she serves?
Anger boiled inside me. Instead of gratitude, she was behaving like a child trying to punish me.
That day I made a decision: no more money. I wanted to see how she would handle the kitchen without my pension to rely on.
A Family Meeting
Just three days later, my son Alejandro called me into the living room. He sat stiff and serious, Clara at his side with her arms crossed. Her face carried a smug smile, as if she already knew the outcome of the battle.
My son’s words fell on me like stones.
“From now on, Mom, you don’t need to give Clara any money. But you also won’t have any say in the kitchen. No comments, no opinions. You will simply eat what is served. And one more thing: don’t hold on to your pension. What do you want it for? Better give it to Clara to manage. She will know how to use it.”
My chest tightened. My heart seemed to stop.
This was the same boy I had raised with sacrifice, the same child whose school fees I had paid with the calluses on my hands. Now he looked at me not with love, but with authority—as though I were a burden, not a mother.
I glanced at Clara, who was smiling with satisfaction, victorious. My tears began to fall.
The Precautions They Didn’t Know About
But they did not know the full truth.
Months earlier, when I first felt my health declining, I had quietly taken precautions. I gathered all my savings—more than 300,000 pesos I had hidden for years in an old wardrobe—and gave it to my youngest daughter, who lives in Guanajuato.
“Daughter,” I told her, “if something happens to me, this money is for my burial. And I want you to have the house. You are the only one who visits me, brings me medicine, and makes me feel loved. Promise me you will protect this.”
I also visited a notary and wrote a will. The house, my modest treasure, would belong to her. I wanted no arguments after I was gone.
Standing My Ground
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