My name is Nicolas. My mother, Elena, and my father, Raúl, were inseparable. I was their only child, and in those innocent times, I believed nothing would ever change.
But then one day, everything collapsed like a house of cards. Dad was fired. I saw how he changed: he became withdrawn, gloomy. He found another job quickly, but money vanished like water in the desert. At night, Mom’s shouting echoed through the house, accompanied by the crash of broken dishes during their fights.
Then Dad found out Mom was secretly seeing another man. He abandoned us, leaving only the broken silence of my pain. I begged Mom to take me to him, but she would burst into fury: “It’s all his fault, Nicolás! He betrayed us, he’s a miserable man!”
One morning, Mom approached me with a smile. “Pack your things, little one, we’re going to the beach!” she exclaimed.
It was a dream come true. We arrived at the bus terminal. Finally, we stopped in front of a gray, dilapidated house. Mom told me to sit on a wooden bench outside: “Stay here, Nicolás, I’m going to get you some ice cream. Wait for me and don’t move.”
An hour passed, then another. Mom didn’t come back. Night fell like a heavy curtain, and I, a helpless child, was left alone in the darkness. Tears burned down my cheeks, I screamed her name, but my voice was swallowed by nothingness.
I woke up, but I wasn’t on the street—I was in a warm bed. “Mom!” I shouted, but the door opened and in came… Dad. Behind him, a woman I didn’t recognize. I jumped up, my heart racing: “Dad! Where’s Mom? She went to get ice cream and got lost! What happened to her?”
Dad sat next to me, his face stern: “Nicolás, your mom abandoned you. She left and isn’t coming back.”
I cried my heart out, But Dad held me firmly and repeated: “She’s not coming back, son.” It was a cruel truth, and he didn’t sugarcoat it.
Years passed. Dad and I moved to another town, Villaesperanza. The woman who had come with him was named Valeria. Over time, I began to call her Mom, a true mother who took care of me. My little brother Diego was born, and for the first time, I felt like I had a family.
When I got older, Dad told me Mom had called him the morning after leaving me on that bench. She told him where I was and then hung up.
Life moved on: I went to school, graduated, and entered college. I graduated with honors, and landed a good job. Over time, I decided it was time to live on my own and moved out.
One night, as I came home from work in the rain, I saw a figure sitting on a bench in front of my building. She lifted her head and murmured:
“Nicolas… I’m your mother,” she said in a trembling voice.
I froze. It was an aged woman, unrecognizable. “Why now? After all these years?”
I took out my phone and called dad and Valeria.
They arrived immediately. Dad looked at me and said:
“It’s your decision, son… if you believe she deserves a place in your life.”
I looked at her. The woman who had left me alone on a freezing night. And I felt nothing. Just emptiness.
Then I spoke: “You are not my mother. My mother is the one who raised me, who held me when you ran away. I don’t want your apologies.”
She cried. But I didn’t move. I watched her walk away, swallowed by the darkness.
I turned and hugged dad and Valeria with all my strength. “Thank you for everything.”
They were my family. My home. My salvation. And she… just a distant memory of a past that no longer has power over me.