My Mother Chose a Man Over Me: How the Woman Who Gave Me Life Betrayed Her Own Daughter.

My name is Valeria, I’m 17 years old, and I’m from Madrid. I stayed silent for a long time, carrying everything inside, but now I’ve decided to tell my story. Maybe someone will see themselves in it. Maybe someone will rethink their actions. Or maybe, just maybe, a mother will think twice before betraying her daughter — the way mine did.

My parents divorced when I was ten. I won’t say we were happy before — the yelling, the blame, the distance between them was obvious, even when I didn’t fully understand what was happening. After the divorce, things got worse. Mom and Dad competed over who “needed” me more — not out of love, but out of duty. They passed me back and forth like a suitcase without handles. My dad’s apartment had little space, but it was peaceful. My mom’s had more rooms, but the tension made it harder to breathe every year.

Everything fell apart when Adrián showed up. He was in his thirties, almost a decade younger than my mom, and from the first day he acted like he owned the house, like I was in the way. At first, he pretended to care, asking about my schoolwork. But the mask quickly came off: he didn’t like that I lived with Mom, didn’t like that she spent money on me. He shamelessly said my dad was irresponsible, that I was a burden, and that I should “be independent already.”

He manipulated my mom, took her money, kept telling her a teenage daughter was stealing her freedom. And she… she listened. She didn’t notice my silent tears at night, how I gathered my books without a sound so I wouldn’t disturb them, or how I locked myself in the bathroom just to find a little peace.

The last straw was the night I heard them fighting. The shouting made the windows shake. I ran in, afraid he would hit her. But what happened was different. He looked at me with pure rage. I yelled, “Stop! Don’t talk to her like that!” — and he punched me. A brutal, adult punch. I hit the corner of a cabinet. Everything went blurry. All I remember is my mother’s scream… and then silence.

I thought she would throw him out. That she’d hold me, call a doctor, tell me she loved me. I waited for that. I looked for her eyes, begging for help. But she whispered, “You ruined everything.” An hour later, she told me to go live with my dad.

I packed my things in silence. My heart ripped out. I didn’t cry. I didn’t argue. I left knowing I no longer had a home.

Now I live with my dad. He does what he can, but we don’t have the bond I once longed for with my mom. I no longer wait for her to call, to apologize… Even though deep down, there’s still a little girl inside me who dreams that someday she’ll knock on the door and say, “Forgive me, daughter.” But that won’t happen. She chose a man — the one who hit her own blood.

I don’t wish her harm. But I know he’ll leave. He’ll find someone younger, more submissive. And he’ll leave her alone. Maybe then she’ll remember me. But I won’t be the one who forgives everything. Because a mother’s betrayal is a wound that never truly heals.

To all parents: don’t have children if you’re not ready to put them before your relationship drama. We don’t ask to be born. But if you bring us into the world, don’t fail us.

Mom, if you’re reading this… know that I survived. I rebuilt myself. I’m strong. But I will never return to you in tears. You’re no longer my mother — just the woman who gave birth to me.