150 pesos a day — three years of patience, love, and a complicated history
My name is Raúl, and I live in sunny Guadalajara, where every dawn comes filled with hope and promise. When I met Anita, she was a strong and independent woman: a successful accountant at a prestigious firm, earning a salary of around 30,000 pesos a month. Together, we dreamed of a shared future: a home, a family, children.
My salary, approximately 60,000 pesos a month, seemed enough to save, invest, and build a solid foundation for our life together. I believed it would guarantee stability and happiness.
Shortly after we were married, we discovered that Anita was pregnant. It was news that filled our days with joy, although it also brought fear: everything was changing too quickly. Two months after the wedding, Anita was expecting a baby, and we were overwhelmed with happiness.
But fate had other plans. Shortly after, Anita lost the baby. The pain was enormous for both of us. The doctors prescribed complete rest, time to heal, but her company couldn’t give her the necessary permission, and she was forced to resign.
From then on, our life changed radically. Anita left her career to dedicate herself to the home, recover, and dream of having a new child. I assumed all financial responsibilities, establishing a very strict daily food budget: 150 pesos a day.
I thought it would be enough, so I could save the rest of my salary, invest in gold, and ensure a stable future for the family.
The first few months were extremely hard. However, Anita showed extraordinary patience and dedication. She made every peso count and found small joys in the simplest details. She prepared simple meals, made with love, and gave up everything so our son would lack nothing.
I remember how, when I came home late from work, I would always find something hot on the table. I deluded myself into thinking everything was going according to plan and continued buying gold, proud of my „forward-looking vision.”
I couldn’t see the nights when Anita cried silently, tired and alone, while our son was sick. I didn’t understand her silence; I interpreted it as acquiescence.
My friends warned me again and again:
„Raúl, you can’t save like that. Anita and the child need more.”
I, on the other hand, boasted about my ability to manage money.
One day, Anita timidly asked me to increase the budget to buy better quality milk for our son. I replied, „We didn’t have special milk as children… and yet we grew up well.” Her eyes filled with pain, but she said nothing.
Time passed. Our son grew healthy and strong. I thought I was doing the right thing as a husband and father. She continued to run the house, always in silence.
Until the day came of a work trip of barely a week. When I returned… the house was empty.
Nor Anita, nor our son.
The closets… empty.
My gold… gone.
In the safe, I found only a white envelope. A letter from Anita.
She wrote to me that she had endured everything for three years for the love of our son, but that now she was choosing a new life: a life of respect, attention, and mutual care. She had taken half of the accumulated gold with her; that part represented her sacrifices, renunciations, and love.
I was left alone, in a huge, cold house, with a heavy heart… and a truth that crushed me:
True wealth isn’t gold.
It isn’t money.
It’s family.
It’s love.
It’s the respect we give each other every day.
I learned that lesson… too late.