Every month, I gave my daughter-in-law 2,000 pesos from my pension to go to the market, and even so, the other day I complained only a little that the meat was too fatty…

Every month, I gave my daughter-in-law 2,000 pesos from my pension to go to the market and cook.

I thought, “I’m old now, all I want is a decent meal, to share the table with my children and grandchildren.”

But one day, while we were eating, I noticed that the meat was too fatty. I just made a simple comment:

“Next time, buy leaner meat, my daughter, it’s easier to eat that way.”

I thought it was just an observation, but my daughter-in-law frowned and turned away without saying anything.

The next morning, she went to the market and returned with some spoiled fish.

The smell filled the kitchen.

She put the broth on the table, and when I saw it, I couldn’t even bring a spoon to my mouth. I was choked with rage.

“This is the last straw,” I thought. “I raise crows to pick out my eyes. Instead of being grateful, she’s behaving like a spoiled child.”

So I decided not to give her another peso; I wanted to see how she would handle it.

But just three days later, my son called me into the living room.

He was sitting very serious, with my daughter-in-law next to him, arms crossed and a haughty look on her face, as if she’d already won the battle.

My son looked at me and said in an authoritarian tone:

“From now on, Mom, you no longer have to give my wife any money. But you also don’t have to meddle in the kitchen, or have any say in what’s bought or prepared. You just eat, and leave the rest to us. Oh, and one more thing: don’t hold on to your pension; after all, what do you want it for? Better give it to my wife to manage, lest she spend it badly.”

I felt my heart stop.

I couldn’t believe that the son I raised with so much sacrifice would speak to me like that.

My daughter-in-law, on the other hand, smiled with satisfaction, like someone winning a game.

My chest ached, tears streaming down my face. In an instant, I understood that I had become a burden to them, and that those few pesos were nothing more than an excuse to show their true colors.

I remained silent, staring into space. The son I had once carried in my arms now treated me like a stranger. But they didn’t know that I had already taken precautions.

Three months ago, when I began to feel my health failing, I took all my savings—more than 300,000 pesos that I had hidden in an old wardrobe—to my youngest daughter, who lives in Guanajuato. I told her:
“Daughter, if something happens to me one day, you’ll take care of my burial. Don’t let your brother and sister-in-law fight over my money.”

I also made a will, with a notary, in which I clarified that the house would be hers, because she’s the only one who visits me, brings me medicine, and has never made me feel alone.

I wiped my tears, raised my face, and with a trembling but firm voice I told them:
“Don’t worry about my pension anymore. From today on, I’ll manage it. And just to be clear: I have nothing more to give you.”

My daughter-in-law’s eyes widened, and my son was speechless.
“What are you saying, Mom?” he stammered. “If your pension isn’t even enough…”

I smiled gently, with a new relief in my heart:
“True, it’s not enough. But what I did have, I’ve already entrusted to someone who knows how to value it. And it’s not you.”

Silence fell over the room. My daughter-in-law’s face flushed with anger, and my son could barely utter a word. I got up with my cane and went upstairs to my room, leaving them paralyzed behind me.

That same night, I packed my things and called my daughter. She arrived at dawn to take me back to her home in the countryside.

The day I left that house, once filled with the laughter of my grandchildren, I cried no more.

I understood that sometimes the blood is clouded by greed. But I also knew I still had a place to return to, someone who truly loved me.

I smiled and held my daughter’s hand tightly during the drive to Guanajuato.

Behind me was that house where my son and daughter-in-law would live between the cold walls they themselves had built with their selfishness.

And I, at last, had taken a step forward… to the peace of my final years.