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.

Two police officers got out of the patrol car and approached my children.

One of them was young, probably about 25 years old, and the other was older, looking like he had seen a lot in his career.

“Good afternoon,” the older officer said.

“We received an emergency call from this phone number, but communication was cut off.” “Everything’s fine here.” Michael managed to compose a fake smile.

“Yes, officer.

Everything is fine.

We were just visiting our mother.” And where is your mother?” the young officer asked, looking around.

Patricia quickly intervened.

She must be in town running errands.

We arrived and she wasn’t here, so we decided to wait for her.

And the men we just saw leave in the gray car? The older officer asked suspiciously.

“What men?” Michael lied shamelessly.

“We don’t know what you’re talking about.” At that moment, I decided to come out of my hiding place.

I couldn’t allow my children to continue lying to the police.

And besides, I realized it was safer to face the situation with the officers present.

Officers, I shouted, walking towards them.

I made the call.

Everyone turned to look at me.

Michael and Patricia had faces of pure terror, while the officers seemed confused.

You are the owner of this house? The older officer asked me.

Yes, I am Martha and these are my children.

But officer, they came here with two men who scare me a lot and I had to hide because I feel threatened.

Mom, that’s not true.

Patricia shouted.

We only came to visit you.

Why did you hide from your own children? The young officer asked me.

I briefly explained the situation, the sale of the farm, the aggressive demands for money, the veiled threats, and the plans they had been making to declare me mentally incompetent.

The officers listened carefully, especially when I mentioned the strange men who had been with my children.

“Ma’am,” the older officer said, “do you have any evidence of these threats? My cousin Ethan heard them talking at the bar last night.

He can confirm it.

Michael became very aggressive.

All of that is lies.

Our mother is inventing stories because she doesn’t want to give us the money that legally belongs to us.

What money? The young officer asked.

The money from the sale of a property that was our father’s inheritance, Patricia replied.

She sold it without consulting us, and now she refuses to share the money with her family.

That property was mine, I said firmly.

I paid the taxes.

I maintained it.

And I had every legal right to sell it.

The older officer looked at me with understanding.

Ma’am, you want to file a formal complaint against your children.

Before I could answer, Michael exploded with rage.

This is ridiculous, he shouted, approaching me dangerously.

That money is ours by right.

And if you don’t understand it nicely, we’ll make you understand it the hard way.

Sir, step away from the lady, the young officer ordered, placing himself between Michael and me.

But Michael had completely lost control.

All the frustration and anger he had been accumulating for days burst out, and he headed towards me with his fists clenched.

You are going to give us that money right now,” he shouted, pushing the young officer who was trying to stop him.

What happened next was all very fast.

Michael managed to dodge the two officers and lunged at me with such fury that I didn’t have time to move away.

His shove was so violent that it threw me backward, and I fell heavily onto the stones of my garden.

The pain I felt in my left side was indescribable, as if a knife had been plunged into me and was being twisted.

I screamed in agony while the police wrestled with Michael to handcuff him.

Patricia turned completely pale when she realized what her brother had done.

Michael, have you gone crazy? From the ground, with unbearable pain shooting through my side, I could see the horror on Patricia’s face as the police handcuffed Michael.

My older son struggled like a wild animal, shouting obscenities and threats while the officers held him.

“Let go of me! That crazy old woman is stealing our money!” he kept yelling with saliva drooling from the corner of his mouth.

The older officer immediately called an ambulance on the radio while the younger one kept Michael controlled.

Patricia approached me, but when she tried to help me up, I cried out in pain.

“Don’t touch me.

Stay away from me,” I told her, feeling the tears streaming down my cheeks, not just from the physical pain, but from the emotional betrayal.

Mom, please let me help you.

Patricia pleaded in a broken voice.

Michael didn’t mean to hurt you.

He just lost control.

Didn’t mean to hurt me, I repeated in disbelief.

Your brother just broke my ribs, and you’re telling me he didn’t mean to hurt me.

The paramedics arrived in less than 10 minutes.

And while they examined me to determine the severity of my injuries, I could hear the older officer interrogating Patricia about the men who had fled when the sirens arrived.

Miss, I need you to tell me exactly who those men were and what they were doing here.

Patricia stammered, clearly nervous.

I I don’t know them very well.

They are friends of my brother.

Friends who fled when we arrived? Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you? Officer, I didn’t know they were coming.

Michael didn’t tell me anything about bringing anyone else.

One of the paramedics, a man about 40 years old with very gentle hands, was carefully checking my side.

Mom, you definitely have at least one fractured rib, possibly two.

We need to take you to the hospital immediately for X-rays.

As they lifted me onto the stretcher, I could see Michael being put into the patrol car.