Vanessa didn’t fall into Thiago’s life — she stormed in like velvet wrapped around ambition. She wasn’t searching for love. She was searching for leverage.

Within months, she convinced my son that he was destined for luxury — and that I was the only obstacle standing in the way. According to her, my “careful saving” was nothing but selfishness. Slowly, I watched Thiago begin to resent me. Every peso I protected became, in his mind, proof that I was denying him the life he deserved.

So when he called me that Wednesday afternoon to proudly announce that he had emptied my savings and sold my apartment to fund his wedding, something inside me shifted. The illusion of motherhood — the belief that love alone guarantees loyalty — finally shattered.

Thiago ended that call convinced he had outsmarted me. He pictured himself at the altar of the Country Club, raising a glass of champagne paid for by my sacrifices. In his fantasy, I would be quietly searching for a modest nursing home.

What my “brilliant” attorney son forgot is that I spent decades running a bakery. Flour teaches you patience — and discipline. If you don’t knead the dough firmly, it collapses.

Ten years earlier, after my husband Alberto passed away and I noticed the first signs of entitlement in Thiago’s eyes, I visited an old friend — a traditional notary who understood not just law, but human weakness.

“Thiago is my son,” I told him, “but I fear his ambition may one day outweigh his gratitude.”

That afternoon, under a blazing sun, we signed a document my son never bothered to examine carefully. Yes, I granted him power of attorney. But it included two critical protections: a Lifetime Usufruct clause and a Revocation for Ingratitude condition.