I didn’t trust my wife, so I decided to send my entire monthly salary to my mother so she could keep it safe…

“It doesn’t matter. Even if it takes time to find another job, I still have that money.”

So I took a bus to the small town where my mother lived.

The trip felt longer than usual.

When I arrived, I found her sitting in the patio, peeling nopales for lunch.

— Mom — I said — I came for the money I gave you to keep.

She slowly lifted her eyes.

— What money?

I thought she was joking.

— The money I’ve been sending you all these years. My savings. Nearly five million.

My mother stayed silent for a few seconds.

Then she sighed.

— Son… that money is gone.

My heart nearly stopped.

— What do you mean it’s gone?

— Your younger brother wanted to start a business. I lent him some. Then your uncle had trouble with a debt… I helped him too. After that I repaired the house.

I stared at her.

— How much is left?

She lowered her gaze.

— Nothing.

The word hit my chest like a hammer.

— Nothing? — I repeated with a trembling voice.

— It was  family money — she replied. — Besides, your wife is gone now. Why did you need to save so much anyway?

I don’t remember clearly what happened next.

I only recall my legs suddenly giving way.

I collapsed onto the ground in the patio.

Dust rose around me as I struggled to breathe.

But the air wouldn’t come.

A crushing pressure filled my chest… and suddenly I began to cry.

It wasn’t loud sobbing.

It was silent crying.

The kind that rises from the deepest part of your soul.

At that moment I realized something I had never wanted to face.

I had lost everything.

My money.

My marriage.

My family.

All because of my pride.

That night I went back to Guadalajara carrying an emptiness I can’t even describe.

For weeks I searched frantically for work.

I sold my car.

I moved into a tiny rented room.

The nights were the hardest.

The silence in that room forced me to remember.

I remembered Lucía cooking in the small kitchen.

I remembered my son running toward me when I arrived home from work.

I remembered the sadness in Lucía’s eyes every time I distrusted her.

Each memory felt like a thorn slowly piercing my heart.

One Sunday afternoon I decided to walk through the park where we used to take our son.

I didn’t expect to see anyone.

But then I heard a small voice behind me.

— Dad…

I turned around.