My son was my friend and my support all my life, but after the wedding we became strangers.

I never imagined that my own son could change so much under someone else’s influence. My only son, Javier, was always an exemplary boy—polite, kind, always willing to help. That’s how he grew up, and that’s how he remained as an adult. Until he got married, we were inseparable. We shared long talks in my village house in Andalusia, confidences, mutual support. Always with respect, without interfering too much. Everything fell apart when she showed up: Lucía.

At the wedding, the couple received a newly renovated apartment in the center of Valencia as a gift from their parents. I never visited, but Javier showed me pictures: white walls, modern furniture, a warm and cozy atmosphere. After becoming a widow and with no savings left, I gave them almost all of my family jewelry — gold necklaces, rings, earrings. I told Lucía, “If you want to melt them down and make something new, go ahead.” I just wanted to help them start their life.

But Lucía… she showed her true colors from the very beginning. Sharp as a blade. I saw how she examined the envelopes full of euros they received as gifts, counting mentally. I felt an alarm go off in my chest. On one hand, that kind of ambition could be useful… but with women like her, it’s best to never let your guard down. These days, many see their husband as a wallet, spend recklessly, and in a divorce, they take half. I don’t want that future for Javier, but the worry eats away at me.

Six months later, Lucía announced they were postponing having children. “Impossible in this tiny apartment,” she said. “Taking out a mortgage now would be madness, and Javier isn’t a director at his company yet.” Her tone was sweet, but all I heard were cold, calculated numbers. I live in the unfinished house my late husband began building. Ceilings with no insulation, cracks in the walls. In winter, the cold seeps into your bones — my pension isn’t enough to heat such a large space. Then she said: “Sell it, buy yourself a small studio, and give us the rest so we can buy a bigger place. Then we could consider starting a family.”

Do you understand? She wants to trap me in forty square meters just to take the rest. Later, maybe even take that and send me to a nursing home. At first, I considered accepting… if they would support me monthly. Now? Never! With someone like Lucía, you’d better sleep with your purse under the pillow.

Then Javier came, suggesting the idea made sense: “Mom, why do you need so much space? An apartment would be more practical.” I stood my ground: “Valencia is growing. In ten years, this area will be worth three times as much. Selling now is foolish.” I once proposed a trade: they could live in the house and renovate it, and I’d move into their apartment. Lucía refused. She didn’t want to make an effort while I was still comfortable. She wants gains without sacrifice — that’s who she is.

Later, I became seriously ill. High fever, a cough that shook my entire body. I called Javier, begging for help: food, medicine. In the past, he would have come running. This time, he showed up the next day. He made me some cold medicine with tap water, left a few loose pills — expired, maybe? — and left with a work excuse. Thank goodness my neighbor Carmen brought me soup and paracetamol. And without her? What would’ve become of me?

My son used to be my sun, my reason to live. I trusted him blindly — not only as a mother, but as a friend, a partner in life. The wedding erased everything. Now we’re strangers. He is my blood, my pride… but his heart is no longer here. Lucía stands between us like a wall of concrete. Reason tells me that our bond is broken. He had to choose: mother or wife. And the choice has been made. My heart still waits for him to remember who I was to him… but each day, that hope fades, like fog under the rising sun.