My daughter said she would take me to live with her to take care of me and my son-in-law promised to give me ten thousand pesos every month. But exactly one year later, when I heard what they said about me in the kitchen… I understood that I was wrong.

One night, when Mariana came home from work, she found me in the kitchen washing a cup.

“Mom,” he said, “I was thinking—” Next month we could better organize the expenses of the house. The city is very expensive.

I nodded calmly.

“Sure, daughter.

She looked relieved.

I didn’t know that by then I had already made up my mind.

The day I left was a Tuesday morning.

Mariana and Javier had gone to work as usual.

The apartment was silent.

I finished closing the suitcase. It wasn’t big. At my age you learn that you don’t really need that many things.

I left the room tidy.

The bed made.

The window closed.

On the kitchen table I left a small letter for Mariana.

I didn’t write much.

Just a few lines.

Then I took the elevator one last time.

When the doors closed, I looked at my reflection in the metal mirror.

A sixty-three-year-old woman with a simple suitcase.

I wasn’t crying.

When I left the building, the morning air was cool.

For the first time in a long time I felt something like tranquility.

Because sometimes leaving doesn’t mean losing.

Sometimes leaving is the only way to find yourself again.