While waiting for the coffee to be ready, my mind traveled to the past once again. I remembered the day Robert was born, how Arthur and I cried with joy holding him for the first time. I remembered his first steps, his first words, his first day of school. I remembered how I comforted him when he suffered his first heartbreak at sixteen. How I supported him when he decided to study business administration instead of medicine as his father wanted. I remembered every birthday, every Christmas, every important moment of his life in which I was present, loving him unconditionally, sacrificing for him without expecting anything in return.
At what moment did all that love turn into something he could betray so easily? At what moment did I stop being his mother and become simply a source of money he could exploit without the slightest remorse?
The question tormented me. But I had no answer. Or perhaps the answer was too painful to accept—that my son had always been capable of this, that I had simply refused to see the signs because a mother’s love can be blind when it comes to seeing her children’s flaws.
I thought of all the times Arthur had been stricter with Robert, and I had defended him.
“He’s just a kid,” I would say. “He’ll mature. He’ll learn.”
How many opportunities had I given him to learn to be a better person, and he had simply chosen this path?
I returned to the living room with two steaming cups of coffee and sat across from Robert. He was still looking at his phone, probably sending messages to Sarah to tell her everything was going according to plan.
“Is everything okay with work?” I asked, trying to maintain a normal conversation.
Robert looked up and nodded.
“Yes, Mom. Everything is perfect. In fact, things are going so well that Sarah and I are thinking about buying a bigger house. You know, thinking about the future, maybe having kids.”
The mention of a bigger house confirmed exactly what they were going to use my money for. They had probably already been looking at properties, planning how to spend what they stole from me.
“That’s wonderful, son,” I managed to say, even though I felt like I was choking. “It’s always good to plan for the future. Your father and I were always very careful with our money. That’s why we were able to build a stable life.”
I watched Robert avert his gaze, unable to meet my eyes. Well, I thought bitterly. At least he still has some shame left.
“Speaking of money, Mom,” Robert said after an uncomfortable silence, “how are your finances going? Everything okay with the bank accounts? You haven’t had any problems?”
There it was, the question I had been waiting for since he arrived. He wanted to know if I had already discovered the theft. He wanted to prepare to act accordingly.
I took a sip of coffee to give myself time to think about my answer. I had to be convincing. I had to make him believe I knew nothing.
“No, son. Everything is perfect. You know, I only check my accounts once a month when the bank statement arrives. I don’t like going into the online system all the time. All that technology makes me nervous.”
The lie worked perfectly. Robert visibly relaxed. His shoulders dropped and that false smile returned to his face.
“You’re right, Mom. At your age, it’s better not to complicate things with so much technology. But if you ever need help with anything at the bank, you know you can count on me.”
“At your age.” Those words hurt me more than he probably intended. He was infantilizing me, making me feel incapable, all part of his strategy to justify what he had done to me.
We spent the next hour talking about trivial things. Robert told me about his work, about his plans with Sarah, about places they wanted to visit. I nodded and smiled at the appropriate moments, but my mind was completely elsewhere. I was thinking about how I was going to confront him, how I was going to get my money back, how I was going to make him pay for what he had done to me.
When he finally got up to leave, he hugged me and kissed me on the forehead, as he had done a thousand times before.
“I love you very much, Mom. Take care.”
Those words, which would have filled me with warmth before, now only gave me a shiver. I closed the door behind him and slumped onto the sofa, emotionally exhausted. I had managed to act normal. I had managed to keep him from suspecting anything, but the effort had left me completely empty.
I took out my phone and sent a message to Rebecca.
I did it. Acted normal. Going to the bank tomorrow.
Her response came immediately.
I’m proud of you. Tomorrow, your recovery begins. Get some rest tonight. You’re going to need it.
I tried to follow her advice, but sleep didn’t come easily. I lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, recalling every moment of the betrayal, searching for signs I should have seen before.
I remembered when he was twelve years old and I caught him stealing money from my wallet. At the time, I justified it as childish curiosity, as a mistake any child could make. Arthur wanted to punish him severely, but I intervened.
“He’s just a child,” I said. “He’ll learn that it’s wrong.”
Now, I wondered if that had been the first clue of what was to come, if my indulgence at that moment had planted the seed of what was now a complete betrayal.
I also remembered when he was twenty, and we helped him pay off his credit card debts. He had spent uncontrollably, living beyond his means, and when he couldn’t pay, we covered everything so he wouldn’t ruin his credit history. At the time, I thought I was being a good mother, protecting him from the consequences of his youthful mistakes. Now, I saw that all I had achieved was teaching him that there would always be someone to rescue him from his bad decisions.
I woke up after barely three hours of restless sleep filled with nightmares. In my dreams, Robert was a little boy again, and I tried to reach him, but he kept moving farther away, laughing, while I desperately shouted his name.
I got up with a headache and an aching body, as if I had aged ten years in a single night. I made myself a strong coffee and sat down to wait for the bank to open. I had decided to arrive as soon as the doors opened to talk to Sebastian before the place filled up with customers and I could have his complete attention.
By the time I was ready, dressed in my beige suit that always made me feel more secure and professional, I looked in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize the woman looking back at me. My eyes were swollen from the tears of the night before, and my face showed every one of my seventy years with brutal clarity. But there was something else in that gaze, something I hadn’t seen in a long time: pure, hard determination.
I put on a little makeup to cover the dark circles, carefully styled my hair, and left the house with my head held high. Rebecca had sent me a message early.
I’ll be thinking of you. Call me as soon as you leave the bank. You are strong. You are brave. You will get back what is yours.
The journey to the bank seemed endless. Every red light was torture. Every minute that passed increased my anxiety. What if it was too late? What if Robert had already moved the money to some inaccessible place? What if the bank refused to help me because I myself had given my son the power to handle my account?
The questions tormented me, but I tried to stay calm. I remembered Rebecca’s words. I needed to be serene, articulate, convincing. I couldn’t show up as a confused, emotional old woman. I had to show myself as what I was—an intelligent and capable woman who had been a victim
