Heartbreaking Decision: Hatred and Betrayal After Leaving the Family.

My name is Elena, I’m 42 years old. My son, Arturo, recently turned sixteen. Although I always tried to be a good mother to him, today he wants nothing to do with me. He sees me as a traitor who abandoned the family. All because one day I decided to leave his father, Antonio — and from that moment on, I became his enemy.

I spent fourteen years with Antonio. At first, it was like many relationships: love, marriage, the birth of Arturo, shared dreams and small joys. But over time, the affection faded. We stopped being partners and became two strangers living under the same roof. He was in his world, I was in mine. No support, no honest conversations. The house became a silent battlefield, where every word hurt more than a blade.

When I met Victor, I wasn’t looking to betray anyone. I just felt, for the first time in years, that someone truly saw me, heard me, respected me. He was my light in the darkness. I made the decision to leave. Not to run away or to hurt anyone, but to free myself and — in my heart — to give everyone a chance to find happiness in a different way.

But reality was cruel.

Antonio exploded with rage. He used his most powerful weapon: Arturo. He forbade me from taking our son with me, and when I tried to talk to him, I heard: — I’m staying with Dad. He’s the real one. You’re a traitor.

I couldn’t force him. I had no right. All I could do was hope that, with time, he would understand.

I continued sending money every month — sometimes even double. I bought gifts, clothes, paid for treatments. Antonio quit his job. First he said he was searching for his purpose, then claimed his health was failing. Meanwhile, he lived off my euros. And he lied to Arturo: — Your mother abandoned us and now she argues over every cent — he told him, even though I was doing all I could.

On social media, I saw Antonio buying Arturo expensive sneakers, name-brand headphones, trips. At first, I was happy. Then I understood: he was manipulating the money — and the truth.

Victor, my current husband, offered a different idea: — Elena, you don’t need to keep supporting a man who puts in no effort. Open a bank account for Arturo — let that money be for his future, his education, a place of his own. Not so his father can sit at home while you break your back.

I hesitated, but eventually, I called Antonio: — I’m not going to send money to your account anymore. It’s time you take responsibility. I’ll open an account in Arturo’s name.

The reaction was predictable: insults, threats. He swore he’d sue me for child support, but I knew he couldn’t — he hadn’t had a formal job in years, and I had been sending money voluntarily, without a court order.

Even so, I felt defeated. The worst part wasn’t the accusations — it was Arturo’s cold voice.

— You left us. And now you’re taking away the money too — he said on the phone.

I tried to explain that I wasn’t rejecting him, that everything I did was for him. But he didn’t hear me anymore. He had chosen his father. Or the lie his father told him.

Now I live with the feeling that my son sees me as a stranger. And every night I ask myself: was there another way? Was it worth leaving, if this is how it ended?

But deep down, I know I fought for my life. And I’m not giving up. I’m still his mother. I love him. And I hope that one day, he discovers the truth. Not my version — but the one that reaches his heart when he matures. When he sees things as they really were.

I don’t expect gratitude. I just hope that one day, he’ll say “Mom” again — without resentment. With the love we lost.