Charles seemed nervous, constantly apologizing for things he had never been ashamed of before. Next time we’ll take them out to a restaurant. He whispered to Jasmine, thinking I couldn’t hear, but I heard him. Every word pierced my heart like a knife. Henry, for his part, remained single, but adopted the same distant attitude as his brother.

His visits were limited to special occasions, and even then, he always seemed to be in a hurry to leave. He was constantly on his phone, closing deals, even during our conversations. Mom, I have to go, he’d always say before it was time. I have an important meeting early tomorrow. Family Sundays became a distant memory.

Christmases grew cold and formal. My sons would bring expensive gifts we didn’t need. They’d stay for 2 or 3 hours and then leave with evident relief. Ernest and I grew old alone, comforting each other. He continued to work in his shop, though his hands no longer had the same strength.

I continued with my sewing, but my eyes weren’t the same. We made do with our small income, proud not to ask for anything from our successful sons. Do you know what the saddest part is, Margot? Ernest said to me one night as we drank coffee on the porch. It’s not that they have money, it’s that the money has made them believe we aren’t important anymore.

He was right as always. My sons hadn’t just changed financially. They had changed in their hearts. We were no longer their beloved parents. We were an uncomfortable reminder of a past they wanted to forget. Things got worse when Charles bought a $200,000 house in an exclusive neighborhood in the city. Henry did the same soon after, investing in a luxury condo that cost $150,000.

Suddenly, our sons were owners of fortunes we couldn’t even imagine. You should sell this house and move into a retirement community, Jasmine suggested during one of her rare visits. There are some very nice places for people your age. You’d be more comfortable.

The word community hit me like a slap, a retirement community. After 40 years of building our home, after raising these sons with so much love, they wanted to send us to a home. We don’t need a home, Ernest replied with the dignity that always characterized him. We’re fine here in our house. But I saw the expression on Charles and Henry’s faces. They supported Jasmine’s idea.

To them, we were a burden, a problem to be solved in the most convenient way. It was then that the more direct suggestions began. Charles arrived one day with papers in his hand, documents he had prepared without consulting us. “Dad, mom,” he said with that fake smile he had perfected. I’ve been thinking about your future.

This house is worth at most $1,000. If you sell it, I can add some money so you can move somewhere better, a better place. To us, there was no place better than the home where we had been happy for decades. But Charles didn’t understand that. For him, everything came down to numbers, to monetary value. Besides, he continued, I think Dad should retire from the shop. He’s already 70 years old. It’s time to rest.

Ernest looked at him with infinite sadness. Son, working isn’t a burden for me. It’s what keeps me alive, what gives meaning to my days. But you could get hurt, Henry insisted, backing up his brother, as he always did. At your age, an accident would be very dangerous. Their words sounded caring, but I sensed something more behind them, an impatience, an urgency I couldn’t fully grasp. The following months were tense.

My sons increased the pressure for us to sell the house. They brought real estate agents without telling us. They had it appraised without our permission. They even began to talk about what would be best for everyone. Look, Charles said to us during one particularly uncomfortable dinner. Jasmine and I have decided to have kids soon. We’ll need help with the expenses.

If you sell the house and move to a smaller place, that money could be an early inheritance. An early inheritance? He was asking for our inheritance while we were still alive. The audacity of the request left me speechless. Nest remained calm, but I saw his jaw tense. Son, when your mother and I die, everything we have will be yours. But while we’re alive, our decisions are our own.