My daughter went crazy when I refused to give her the money from selling my farm. My older son took her side and broke my rib. Twenty minutes later, both of them regretted ever being born.

One Thursday afternoon when I was watering my tomato plants, I heard the engine of a car approaching along the dirt road that leads to my house.

And when I looked up, I saw my daughter Patricia’s white car parking in front of my door.

I was very surprised to see her on a weekday because she worked in an office in the city and normally only visited me on Sundays.

Patricia got out of the car with a strange smile.

One of those smiles that I knew very well because I had seen them since she was a little girl.

It was the smile she put on when she wanted to ask me for something important or when she had played a trick.

She was wearing a yellow dress I had never seen her in before, high heeled shoes that sank into the dirt of my yard, and a large handbag hanging from her arm.

Mom, what a lovely surprise to find you out here, she said, approaching to give me a kiss on the cheek.

I need to talk to you about something very important.

I invited her into the house and prepared a glass of cool water with ice.

We sat in my small living room, she on the sofa, and I in my favorite chair, the wooden rocking chair that had been my grandmother’s.

Patricia seemed nervous.

She played with her car keys and avoided looking me directly in the eyes.

Mom, she began softly.

Yesterday I was talking to Mrs.

Judy, the one who lives near where your property was, and she told me something that left me very surprised.

My heart started beating faster.

I knew exactly where this conversation was heading, and a sense of alarm began to grow in my chest.

Judy was the biggest gossip in the area and she had clearly seen all the movement of the construction company around my property.

She told me you sold the farm.

Mom, is that true? Patricia was now looking at me intently with that expression she put on when she was a teenager and questioned me about whether I had found anything suspicious in her room.

I couldn’t deny the truth to my own daughter, especially when it was obvious she already knew.

So I nodded slowly.

Yes, Patricia.

I sold the property a few weeks ago.

My daughter’s eyes lit up in a way I had never seen before, as if she had won the lottery.

Oh, mom, what wonderful news.

And for how much did you sell it? It must have been for a good amount, right? Something in her tone of voice made me very uncomfortable.

It was not the reaction I had expected from a daughter worried about her mother.

She didn’t ask me how I felt about selling her father’s land, or if it had been difficult to make that decision, or if I needed emotional support.

She only wanted to know how much money I had received.

“It was a fair sale,” I replied cautiously, without giving specific details about the amount.

Patricia leaned forward, getting closer to me.

Mom, you know you can trust me.

I am your daughter and I worry a lot about your future.

I imagine it must have been a considerable amount and I want to make sure you are making the best decisions for your financial security.

Her words sounded nice, but there was something about her attitude I didn’t like at all.

It was as if I were talking to a salesperson trying to convince me to buy something, not my daughter genuinely concerned about my well-being.

Patricia, I appreciate your concern, but I am perfectly capable of handling my own financial affairs.

Of course, Mom, I didn’t mean to say you weren’t capable.

Her voice softened, but I could detect a hint of frustration.

It’s just that well Aaron and I have been going through some financial problems lately.

The business hasn’t been going as well as we hoped and I thought maybe there it was the real reason for her unscheduled visit.

She hadn’t come to see me because she was worried about me or because she wanted to spend time with her mother.

She had come because she had found out I had money and she wanted a piece.

Maybe what, Patricia? I asked, although I knew perfectly well what she was going to say.

Maybe you could help us a little bit.

Mom, I’m not asking for charity.

It’s just a temporary loan until the business stabilizes.

You could lend us about 20 or $30,000, and I promise we’ll pay you back with interest as soon as we can.

I remained silent for several seconds, looking at my daughter’s face and trying to process what I had just heard.

20 or $30,000 was not a small amount, and the casual way she had asked for it left me completely bewildered.

It was as if she were asking to borrow $20 to buy bread, not a fortune that represented years of my life working.

Patricia, I said firmly, that money from the sale of the property is not for lending to anyone.

I have my own plans for it.

The expression on her face changed immediately.

The sweet smile disappeared and was replaced by a grimace of disapproval that painfully reminded me of when she was a spoiled child who didn’t get what she wanted.

What plans, Mom? What are you going to do with so much money at your age? It’s not like you’re going to buy a new house or travel the world.

It would be much smarter to invest that money in something productive like errands and my business.

Her words hurt me deeply.

“At my age,” I repeated, feeling as if she had slapped me.

“You’re telling me that because I’m 64, I no longer have the right to enjoy my own money.” “No, Mom, that’s not what I meant,” she quickly replied.