Later, I found an old message from him.
A promise.
A timeline that was never respected.
Proof that I had given more than I should have.
We sent a formal notice—not to harm him, but to protect myself.
Slowly, things began to change.
His business struggled without support.
His lifestyle adjusted.
Reality set in.
Meanwhile, I moved into a smaller, brighter apartment.
For the first time in years, I did something simple.
I bought flowers—for myself.
Eventually, we reached an agreement.
Not about money.
About respect.
I would step back from legal action if I could still see my grandchildren—without conditions.
He agreed.
Not easily.
But necessarily.
The first time Camila visited me again, she hugged me tightly.
“My dad says you’re upset with us.”
I knelt down carefully.
“Never with you. Children are not responsible for adult decisions.”
She cried.
So did I.
Months later, Alejandro approached me quietly.
“I went too far,” he said.
I looked at him.
I had waited years to hear those words.
“Yes,” I replied. “You did.”
I didn’t comfort him.
I didn’t pretend everything was fine.
For once, I let him understand the weight of his choices.
Because this was never just about money.
It was about a mother who gave too much.
And a son who believed that love had no limits.
Until one night, a door closed.
And everything changed.
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