A Home Promised to a Son with the Unbelievable Condition of a New Marriage.

I’m sixty years old and I live in Toledo. I never would have imagined that, after everything I’ve been through, after twenty years of complete silence and peace, the past would return to my life with such shamelessness and cynicism. And the most painful part: the one responsible for this return is none other than my own son.

When I was twenty-five, I was madly in love. Víctor—tall, charming, funny—seemed like the man of my dreams. We got married quickly, and a year later, our son Álvaro was born. The first few years felt like a fairy tale. We lived in a small apartment, dreamed together, made plans. I worked as a teacher and he as an engineer. It seemed like nothing could destroy our happiness.

Over time, Víctor began to change. He started coming home later, lying, growing distant. I tried not to believe the rumors, turned a blind eye to his late nights and the scent of unfamiliar perfume. But eventually, everything became clear: he was cheating. And not just once. Friends, neighbors, even relatives—everyone knew. I, on the other hand, tried to keep the family together. For my son. I held on far too long, hoping he’d change. But one night I woke up and realized I couldn’t go on—he hadn’t come home.

I packed my things, took Álvaro—who was five years old—by the hand, and we went to my mother’s house. Víctor didn’t even try to stop us. A month later, he left for another country, supposedly for work. He quickly found another woman and erased us from his life. No letters, no phone calls. Complete indifference. And I was left alone. My mother passed away, then my father. Álvaro and I went through everything together: school, activities, sickness, happiness, until graduation. I worked three shifts to make sure he never lacked anything. I didn’t focus on my personal life—he was everything to me.

When Álvaro started university in Salamanca, I helped him in every way I could—with care packages, money, emotional support. But I couldn’t buy him an apartment—I simply didn’t have the means. He never complained. He said he’d manage. I was proud of him.

A month ago, he came to visit me with some news: he had decided to get married. The joy didn’t last long. He was nervous, avoided eye contact. Then he said:

— Mom… I need your help. It’s… about Dad.

I froze. He told me he had gotten back in touch with Víctor. That his father had returned to Spain and was offering him the keys to a two-bedroom apartment he had inherited from his grandmother. But with one condition: I had to remarry him and allow him to move into my house.

I was speechless. I looked at my son, unable to believe he was serious. He continued:

— You’re alone… You have no one. Why not give it another try? For me. For my future family. Dad has changed…

I got up in silence and walked to the kitchen. Kettle, tea, trembling hands. Everything blurred before my eyes. Twenty years of carrying it all. Twenty years without him ever caring about us. And now he comes back… with “an offer.”

I returned to the living room and said calmly:

— No. I won’t accept.

Álvaro lost his temper. He started yelling, accusing me. Said I had always thought only of myself. That it was my fault he grew up without a father. That I was ruining his life again. I stayed silent. Every word he said tore at my heart. He didn’t know how many nights I went without sleep from exhaustion. How I sold my wedding ring to buy him a winter coat. How I gave up everything so he could eat meat while I went without.

I don’t feel alone. My life has been hard, but honest. I have my job, my books, my garden, my friends. I don’t need someone who betrayed me and now comes back—not out of love, but out of convenience.

My son left without saying goodbye. He hasn’t called since. I know he’s hurt. I understand. He wants what’s best for himself, just like I once wanted what was best for him. But I cannot sell my dignity for a few square meters. That’s too high a price.

Maybe one day he’ll understand. Maybe not anytime soon. But I’ll wait. Because I love him. With true love—without conditions, without apartments, without “ifs.” I had him out of love. I raised him with love. And I won’t let that love become a bargaining chip.

And my ex-husband… he can stay in the past. That’s exactly where he belongs.