From the day Don Ernesto passed away, the old house in the center of Puebla, right in front of the main square, valued in the millions, suddenly became a coveted treasure for children and grandchildren.

Doña Carmen, now 86, lived with just enough, clinging to the memories built with her husband over more than fifty years. That house wasn’t just walls and tiles: it was her life, her history, her sanctuary.

When Don Ernesto was still alive, his children maintained a certain respect, albeit distant. But as soon as he closed his eyes forever, they all showed their true colors.

One spoke of changing the deed to the property, another suggested selling the house and dividing the money. There were even those who promised in a honeyed voice:

“Mom, come live with us in Querétaro. We’ll take care of you. We’ll sell this house, use the money to invest in the business… and you can live better, without worries.”

Doña Carmen just smiled sadly:

“This house is the fruit of your father’s and my labor. You were born here, here are your grandparents’ ashes. Where will I put the altar if we sell it?”

But her words fell on deaf ears.
Her children no longer cared about respect, affection, or blood. They only saw numbers, bills, deeds.

Until one day, after lunch, the eldest son—Julián—slammed the table hard and raised his voice:

—Mom’s old enough, how much longer will she live? Why take care of this house? Sign the papers now! That way we can all share it and avoid arguments.

Doña Carmen didn’t respond.

After almost a century of life, raising children with love and sacrifice, they now looked at her with hard eyes, as if she were a burden.
A tear rolled down her withered cheek, silently.

That day, everyone gathered: the children, the daughters-in-law, even a lawyer. They brought the papers, ready for her to sign.
When she refused, the daughter-in-law—Maritza—exploded:

“Do you think you can still sit here as if nothing had happened? You don’t work anymore! Supporting you costs a lot every month! Enough, ma’am!”

That night, Doña Carmen stood alone in front of the family altar. She lit an incense, the smoke rising slowly, as if it wanted to reach Don Ernesto in the afterlife.
The dim light illuminated her tired face, and her eyes no longer held sadness, but a resigned peace.

“How can a mother become a burden to the very children she carried in her womb?” she murmured.

The house, which once vibrated with laughter, birthdays, and posadas, was now just a shell filled with greed.

The walls that had once listened to stories, prayers, and songs were now only silent witnesses to ingratitude.

The next morning, without a word, Doña Carmen took her cane and a bag with some clothes and walked slowly.
No one stopped her.
No one asked where she was going.

But what they didn’t know…

…is that by leaving, it wasn’t her who was losing a home,
it was them who were losing their mother.

And there are some losses that money can never buy back.