Ashamed of His Mother.

The truth is, I had my son quite late — at the age of forty. At the hospital, they labeled me as an “elderly primigravida.” At the time, it felt hurtful, almost like a judgment. But now I understand that it’s at this age that you truly grasp what motherhood means. You’re no longer a young girl, but a mature woman with life experience, clear values, and a solid understanding of who you are and what you want. Esteban became the center of my world. I devoted myself entirely to raising him, and honestly, I never regretted it for a single moment.

He grew up to be a calm, thoughtful child. Unlike my friends’ children, he didn’t throw tantrums or make unreasonable demands. Everyone would tell me, “You’re lucky, he’s such a charming boy.” And on the surface, it seemed like nothing could ever go wrong…

But then came adolescence. At fourteen, Esteban changed completely. It felt like I no longer recognized him. He was constantly complaining, rebelling, showing unprovoked aggression. My friends tried to reassure me: “It’s just adolescence, it will pass.” I held on. I waited. But things only got worse.

By the time he turned sixteen, my sweet, affectionate boy had become a stranger. He disappeared at night, skipped school, and his grades plummeted. I cried myself to sleep, not knowing how to reach him, how to make him hear me. And graduation was coming — that special event I had been looking forward to. I bought myself a simple yet elegant dress. Looking in the mirror, I felt that even though I wasn’t young anymore, I was still beautiful. I wanted to stand proudly beside him on that meaningful day.

But when Esteban came back from prom rehearsal and saw me in that dress, he frowned and made a face.

— “Where are you going dressed like that? Work, maybe?”

I was stunned.
— “What do you mean? To your graduation, of course.”

— “Mom, you look like an old lady in that outfit. Don’t embarrass me. It’s better if you don’t come.”

At first, I couldn’t understand his words. Then I just sank onto the couch. The world around me turned gray. There was a buzzing in my head and a knot in my chest — a mix of pain, hurt, and anger. I barely managed to whisper:
— “Are you ashamed of me?..”

— “No, it’s just that… well, you look too… grown-up. All the other moms will look young, and you…”

— “I did all of this for you! I had you when I almost couldn’t anymore!” — I blurted out.

He shrugged, turned around, and went to his room. And I just sat there, motionless. Tears streamed down my face, and I didn’t know what to do. It felt like everything I had done for him all these years meant nothing. The sleepless nights, the illnesses, the fears, the care… none of it mattered if, in his eyes, I was “an embarrassment.”

Graduation came and went without me. I stayed home, listening to the crickets chirping outside the window, gently holding the dress he had called “old lady clothes.” I felt bitterness in my heart. But even now, despite everything, if my son came to me with a problem, with a broken heart, with a wounded soul… I would still embrace him. Because I am his mother. Even if, right now, he’s ashamed of that.