Po ciężkim tygodniu pełnym problemów pojechałam do mojego wiejskiego domu, żeby odpocząć. Przy bramie zobaczyłam synową wynoszącą moje meble, a syna pakującego wszystko do samochodu przeprowadzkowego. Nigdy nie spodziewałam się tak zuchwałej zdrady. Bez słowa, spokojnie sięgnęłam do torebki…

Poszedł na studia, żeby studiować administrację biznesową. Pracował na pół etatu w sklepie podczas studiów, ale ja pomagałem mu, jak mogłem.

Zapłaciłem część czesnego za jego naukę, kupiłem mu książki i zadbałem o to, żeby niczego mu nie brakowało.

W tych latach poznał Sarę.

Studiowała na tym samym uniwersytecie. Pochodziła z rodziny o większych możliwościach finansowych niż nasza. Na początku wydawała się uprzejmą dziewczyną, choć zawsze dostrzegałem pewien dystans w tym, jak mnie traktowała.

Ale mój syn był zakochany i chciałam jego szczęścia.

Pobrali się, gdy Robert miał dwadzieścia pięć lat.

Zorganizowałem skromne przyjęcie za pieniądze, które zaoszczędziłem na zakup nieruchomości. Nie miałem nic przeciwko wykorzystaniu tych oszczędności, bo chciałem, żeby mój syn miał dobre wspomnienia ze ślubu.

Sarah narzekała, że ​​uroczystość jest zbyt prosta, ale Robert wydawał się zadowolony.

Nadal mieszkali w wynajętym mieszkaniu. Ja ciężko pracowałem, znowu oszczędzając każdego dolara.

Miałem wtedy pięćdziesiąt lat i moje ciało zaczynało odczuwać skutki tak wielkiego wysiłku. Bolały mnie kolana. Plecy protestowały każdego ranka.

Ale się nie poddałam.

Kiedy miałem pięćdziesiąt pięć lat, w końcu spełniłem swoje marzenie.

Znalazłem dom na wsi na północy stanu, kilka godzin od miasta. To było piękne miejsce otoczone drzewami, świeżym powietrzem i ciszą.

Dom wymagał remontu, ale jego cena mieściła się w granicach tego, co zaoszczędziłem przez lata.

Wszystkie oszczędności przeznaczyłem na wpłatę początkową, a na resztę wziąłem kredyt.

Przez kilka następnych lat niestrudzenie pracowałem, żeby spłacić ten kredyt. Czasami dorabiałem w weekendy, poświęcając własne potrzeby, żeby nie zalegać z miesięcznymi ratami.

Stopniowo urządzałem ten wiejski dom. Każdy mebel, który kupiłem, został starannie dobrany, z myślą o komforcie i trwałości.

Nie mogłam sobie pozwolić na kupno drogich rzeczy, więc szukałam przedmiotów dobrej jakości, które będą mi służyć przez wiele lat.

Robert i Sarah odwiedzali mnie od czasu do czasu. Wydawał się zadowolony, że mam własne mieszkanie. Sarah komentowała, jakie wszystko jest proste, ale nie zwracałem na nią uwagi.

Dla mnie ten dom na wsi był ukoronowaniem dziesięcioleci wysiłków, nagrodą za to, że nigdy się nie poddawałem.

Kiedy skończyłam sześćdziesiąt lat, spłaciłam pożyczkę. Tego dnia płakałam ze szczęścia.

Dom na wsi był całkowicie mój – wolny od długów, bez hipoteki. Nikt nie mógł mi go odebrać.

Tak przynajmniej myślałam w tamtej chwili, zanim dowiedziałam się, że zdrada przyjdzie z najmniej spodziewanej strony.

Ostatnie kilka lat spędziłem na ulepszaniu tej nieruchomości.

Posadziłem drzewa owocowe, naprawiłem dach i pomalowałem ściany. Każdy mój remont był z myślą o mojej przyszłości, miejscu, w którym spędzę ostatnie lata życia w spokoju i godności.

Robert wydawał się popierać moje wysiłki.

Często do mnie dzwonił, pytał, jak postępują prace remontowe i mówił, że cieszy się, że cieszę się własną przestrzenią.

Ufałam mu całkowicie. Był moim synem, osobą, dla której poświęciłam całe życie.

Sarah miała dwójkę dzieci, moje wnuki. Uwielbiałam je i odwiedzałam je, kiedy tylko mogłam w mieście.

Przynosiłem im prezenty, spędzałem z nimi czas i opowiadałem im historie. Poczułem, że w końcu cały mój wysiłek się opłacił.

Miałam własny dom, rodzinę i piękne wnuki.

Sześć miesięcy temu Robert zaczął mnie wypytywać o dokumenty dotyczące wiejskiego domu.

Powiedział, że ważne jest, aby wszystko było w porządku, i że w moim wieku powinnam zadbać o to, aby dokumenty były dobrze przechowywane.

Nie dostrzegłem w tych pytaniach żadnych znaków ostrzegawczych.

Uważałem, że to szczera troska syna o matkę.

Pokazałem mu, gdzie trzymam dokumenty i wyjaśniłem, jak wszystko jest zorganizowane. Zrobił zdjęcia kilku papierów, mówiąc, że chce mieć kopie na wszelki wypadek.

Zaufałem mu bez wahania.

Miesiące po rozmowach o dokumentach upłynęły pozornie normalnie.

Dzieliłem swój czas między miasto, gdzie wykonywałem prace sprzątające, aby zachować aktywność i mieć dodatkowy dochód, a dom na wsi, gdzie spędzałem weekendy, odpoczywając od miejskiego hałasu.

Mój codzienny tryb życia w mieście był prosty, ale jednocześnie sprawiał, że byłam zajęta.

Wstałem wcześnie, przygotowałem skromne śniadanie i poszedłem do pracy.

Sprzątałam dwa małe biura trzy razy w tygodniu. Pieniądze nie były duże, ale wystarczały na podstawowe wydatki i okazjonalne wizyty u wnuków.

Każdego piątkowego popołudnia jeździłem autobusem na północ stanu.

Podróż zajęła prawie trzy godziny, ale mi to nie przeszkadzało. Spojrzałem przez okno, jak miasto zostawało w tyle, a krajobraz zmieniał się w zielone pola, drzewa i otwarte niebo.

Ta podróż była dla mnie przejściem między dwoma światami.

Przybywając do domu na wsi, poczułem, że mogę odetchnąć pełną piersią.

Powietrze tam było inne — czystsze, świeższe.

Otworzyłem okna domu i pozwoliłem, aby do środka wpadła bryza, która porwała ze sobą zmęczenie nagromadzone w ciągu tygodnia.

To było moje sanktuarium, mój osobisty azyl.

W niedzielne popołudnia wracałam do miasta z żalem, ale i z nową energią. Ten rytm dobrze mi służył. Utrzymywałem kontakt z rodziną, zwłaszcza z wnukami. Ale miałem też swoją spokojną przestrzeń, w której mogłem po prostu być sobą.

Robert visited me in the city about every two weeks. He would come to my small apartment, sit at the kitchen table, and we would have coffee together.

We talked about his work, the children, and his plans. He worked for a logistics company in a decent administrative position.

During those visits, Robert always asked how I was, if I needed anything, or if I had any health issues.

I appreciated his attention. I felt fortunate to have a son who cared about me.

I never imagined that behind those questions was a hidden intention.

Sarah rarely joined me for those meetings. She always had an excuse: the children, work, social commitments.

I didn’t insist because I noticed she had never been truly comfortable with me.

She came from a different background, had different customs, and I represented a humble past that perhaps embarrassed her.

My grandchildren were my joy.

Ethan was eight and Liam was six.

When I saw them, I felt that all my effort had made sense.

I bought them candy, told them stories from when their father was a boy, and played with them.

They called me Grandma Hortense and ran to hug me every time I arrived.

At the country house, I kept everything spotless. I cleaned the house every weekend, watered the plants, and took care of the small garden I had created next to the entrance.

Every corner of that place had been worked on with my own hands.

I sewed the curtains myself, and I chose the decorations in local markets.

Every detail had my personal touch.

The neighbors in the area were kind, but we kept a certain distance. The closest country house was about two hundred yards away.

Mrs. Dolores Williams lived there with her husband. She was my age, sixty-five, and occasionally we exchanged greetings or a few words about the weather or the plants.

I was never one to make deep friendships. My life had been too busy working and raising Robert, but I appreciated the tranquility of knowing there were people nearby in case I needed help.

Dolores had invited me for coffee a few times, but I always politely declined, preferring my solitude.

Three months ago, Robert started visiting me at the country house, too.

He would show up unannounced, usually when I was there on weekends.

He said he wanted to spend time with me, that he missed the country air.

I was happy to have him around to share that space I loved so much.

During those visits, he would walk around the property as if evaluating it.

He would ask about the condition of the roof, the pipes, and how much each improvement had cost.

I would answer with pride, telling him how much I had invested in making that place a comfortable and safe home.

Once, I found him looking at documents on the small desk where I kept my important papers.

He said he was just looking for a pen, but I noticed some papers were in a different order.

I didn’t give it importance at the time.

He was my son. I trusted him completely.

Sarah accompanied him once. She walked through the house with a critical expression, making comments about how outdated the furniture was, how small everything was.

I felt a pang of pain in my chest, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to create conflict with my son’s wife.

That afternoon, while I was preparing coffee for the three of us, I heard Sarah talking to Robert in a low voice in the living room.

I couldn’t understand everything they were saying, but I caught a few words: value, location, opportunity.

I thought they were talking about some business of their own, unrelated to me.

The children only came with me to the country house once.

It was a beautiful day. They ran around the garden, played under the trees, and got their knees dirty climbing and exploring.

I looked at them happily, imagining that maybe someday they would also enjoy that place, that the country house would pass down to the next generations of our family.

Robert took a lot of pictures that day of the house, the land, every angle of the property.

He said he wanted to have nice memories of that special place.

I posed smiling next to my grandchildren, unaware that those photos would have a completely different purpose.

Two months ago, Robert asked me to give him a copy of the country house keys.

He said it was for security, that if something happened to me or I had an emergency, he could get in to help me.

It seemed like a reasonable request from a concerned son.

I gave him the keys without hesitation.

A week after giving him the keys, Robert mentioned that he had been to the country house one weekday to check that everything was okay.

He said he had noticed a loose window and had secured it. I thanked him for caring, for looking after my property as if it were his own.

What I didn’t know then was that that visit hadn’t been to help me.

Dolores would tell me later that she saw a truck parked in front of my house that day, that she saw people going in and out, and that she saw Robert measuring walls and taking notes.

But at that moment, I didn’t know any of that.

My relationship with Robert seemed closer than ever.

We talked on the phone almost every day. He asked me about my health, my work, and my plans.

I told him everything, happy to have that connection with my son.

I felt blessed that after so many years of sacrifice, we finally had a good relationship.

Sarah also started being nicer to me.

She called me occasionally, asked how I was, and invited me to dinner at her house.

I accepted those invitations gladly, thinking I had finally managed to win her appreciation.

How naive I was not to see the signs.

The first real sign that something was wrong came six weeks ago.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. I was at my city apartment resting after cleaning one of the offices.

My phone rang and it was an unknown number. I hesitated to answer but finally did.

It was a man who identified himself as an employee of a notary’s office.

He asked if I was Hortense Smith, owner of the country house upstate.

When I confirmed, he told me they needed to verify some data because there was a request for processing related to my property.

He asked if I had initiated any legal or transfer process.

I told him no, that I hadn’t initiated any proceedings.

The man was silent for a moment and then told me it was strange because they had documents with my signature requesting a property appraisal for a possible sale.

I felt a chill run down my spine.

I hadn’t signed anything like that.

I asked him for more information, but he told me he needed to verify some internal details first and that he would call me back.

He never called back.

I tried to contact the notary’s office using the number they called from, but no one answered.

That night, I couldn’t sleep well, tossing and turning over the issue.

The next day, I called Robert, going to tell him about the strange call.

He seemed surprised and worried.

He told me it was probably a scam, that there were many con artists trying to trick elderly people.

He advised me not to answer calls from unknown numbers and that if it happened again, to call him immediately.

His words reassured me.

What he said made sense.

I had heard stories of scammers who called older people pretending to be authorities or institutional employees.

I decided to follow his advice and forget about the matter, but a part of me remained uneasy.

Two weeks later, I received an unexpected visit at my apartment.

It was a man in his fifties, well-dressed, who introduced himself as a representative of a real estate company.

He told me they were interested in buying properties in the area where my country house was and wanted to make me an offer.

I clearly told him that my country house was not for sale, that it was my home, and I had no intention of selling it.

The man insisted.

He told me they had a very interested client willing to pay a good price.

He showed me papers with figures. He spoke of tens of thousands of dollars that sounded tempting, but I stood firm. I asked him to leave and told him not to bother me again.

Before leaving, he looked at me with a strange expression and said something that stuck with me.

His client had already made previous investments related to that property and expected to finalize the purchase soon.

I didn’t understand what he meant by that.

That night, I called Robert again.

I told him about the visit from the real estate man. This time, I noticed something different in his voice.

It took him a few seconds to respond, and when he did, his tone sounded tense.

He told me it was very strange, that surely someone was trying to take advantage of me.

He suggested that for security, it would be good for him to review all my property documents.

He said he wanted to make sure everything was in order, that there were no irregularities that could be exploited by unscrupulous people.

I agreed, seeing no reason to distrust him.

The following weekend, Robert came to the country house.

I was there as usual. He arrived alone, without Sarah or the children.

He brought a large folder and asked for all the documents related to the property.

He sat at the dining room table and began to review every paper carefully.

I prepared lunch while he worked.

From time to time, I looked at him from the kitchen and saw him concentrated, taking notes in a notebook and making brief phone calls.

I felt calm having him there, thinking my son was protecting my interests.

After lunch, Robert told me that everything seemed to be in order, but that he had noticed some documents needed to be updated.

He told me about changes in laws, new legal requirements, and the importance of having everything perfectly registered.

I didn’t understand much about those things, so I trusted his judgment.

He asked permission to take some original documents to the city.

He said a lawyer friend of his could review them and make sure everything was in accordance with the new regulations.

I gave him permission.

He was my son, the man I had raised, the person I trusted most in this world.

A week later, Robert brought the documents back to me.

He explained that the lawyer had made some minor corrections, that everything was perfect now.

He showed me papers with official stamps, with signatures I didn’t recognize.

He told me they were necessary certifications, updates to the registration.

I signed where he indicated.

I signed without reading completely, without understanding all the legal terms, trusting that my son would never hurt me.

Those signatures I put that day on documents I didn’t fully understand would later be used in ways I never imagined.

The following week, Robert was more present than ever.

He visited me constantly, called me every day, and was extremely attentive.

I was happy with that closeness, feeling that I finally had the affectionate son I had always dreamed of having.

Sarah also changed her attitude.