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

My son was always my companion, my safe haven, my greatest pride. Javier was polite, generous, always willing to help. That’s how he grew up, and that’s how he remained into adulthood. Until he got married. Before that, we were inseparable. We shared long conversations in my countryside home in Andalusia, exchanged confidences, and supported each other. I always respected his space. I never interfered in his decisions. But everything changed when she arrived: Lucía.

At the wedding, both families gave the couple a newly renovated apartment in the center of Valencia. I never visited, but Javier showed me photos: white walls, modern furniture, a warm and cozy vibe. Shortly after I became a widow and found myself with no savings, I gave them nearly all 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 together.

But Lucía… showed her true colors early on. Outwardly charming, but inwardly sharp like a blade. I remember how she scanned the envelopes filled with wedding cash, mentally counting every euro. I felt alarm bells go off inside me. Sure, ambition can be useful, but with women like her… it’s best to keep your guard up. These days, too many see their husbands as walking wallets: they spend endlessly, and if divorce comes, they take half. I don’t want that for my son. But the worry started to eat away at me.

Six months later, Lucía announced they were putting off having children. “It’s impossible in this tiny apartment,” she said. “Getting a mortgage now would be madness, and Javier isn’t even a director yet.” Her voice was sweet, but all I could hear was cold accounting.

Meanwhile, I was still living in the unfinished house my late husband had started to build. The ceiling had no insulation, cracks ran along the walls. In winter, the cold seeped into my bones. My pension barely covered enough firewood to heat one room. That’s when Lucía made her proposal: “Sell this house, buy a studio, and give us the rest so we can buy a bigger apartment. Then we could consider having a family.”

Do you see? She wants to box me into a forty-square-meter flat just to take the rest. And later? Maybe even that would be taken away, and they’d ship me off to a nursing home. At first, I actually considered it—if they helped me with a fixed monthly amount. But now? Never! With someone like Lucía, it’s safer to sleep with your purse under your pillow.

Javier came later, trying to convince me: “Mom, why do you need so much space? A small apartment would be more practical.” But I stood firm: “Valencia is growing. In ten years, this area will be worth three times as much. Selling now is foolish.” One day, I suggested a trade: they could move into this house, renovate it, and I’d take their apartment. Lucía instantly rejected the idea. The thought of investing in anything while I was still alive bothered her. She wants profit without effort—that’s who she is.

Some time later, I fell seriously ill. A high fever, a deep cough that shook my whole body. I called Javier, begging for help: food, medicine, anything. Before, he would have rushed over. This time, he showed up the next day. He made me some tea with tap water, left a few loose pills—no idea if they were expired—and left, claiming he had work. Thank goodness my neighbor Carmen brought me hot soup and paracetamol. And if she hadn’t? What would’ve become of me?

For so many years, Javier was my sun, my strength, my reason to go on. I trusted him not only as a mother, but as a friend. His marriage erased all of that. Today, we are strangers. He is my flesh and blood, my pride… but his heart is no longer here. Lucía stands between us like a concrete wall. Reason tells me the bond is broken. He had to choose: his mother or his wife. And the choice is clear.

My heart, foolish as it is, still hopes he’ll remember who I was to him. But with each passing day, that hope fades—like morning fog under the rising sun.