Youre to blame for not having money: no one forced you to get married and have children, my mother snapped when I asked her for help.
Its your own choice that landed you in this mess because you didnt have cash. Nobody made you marry or have kids. Those were the words she hurled at me as I pleaded for assistance.
At twenty, I married Rui. We rented a tiny onebedroom flat on the outskirts of Setúbal. He worked in construction, I was employed at a pharmacy. Our income was modest, but it was enough. We dreamed of saving enough to buy our own home, and at the time it felt like anything was possible.
Then Tiago arrived, followed two years later by Pedro. I went on maternity leave while Rui started pulling extra shifts. Still, the money never stretched far enough. Every cent vanished on diapers, formula, doctors, bills and, of course, renthalf of what he earned went straight to the landlord.
I stared at our boys and woke each morning with the same dread: what if Rui fell ill? What if we lost our jobs? What would we do then?
My mother lived alone in a twobedroom flat, as did my grandmother, both in Lisbon, both with empty living rooms. I wasnt asking for a palace; I only wanted a temporary corner while the children were still small, while we could get back on our feet.
I suggested my mother move in with my grandmotherboth of them sharing an apartmentso we could occupy the other one. We didnt need much spacejust me, Rui, and the two kids. She wouldnt even consider it.
Live with my mother? she scoffed. Are you crazy? Do you think my life is over? Im still young. Living with an old lady would drive me mad. Stay wherever you like, just dont bother me.
I swallowed her contempt in silence, then called my father. He has been living with his new wife for years in a spacious fourroom apartment, and I hoped he might take my grandmother there, since she is his mother. He refused as well, saying his children from the second marriage already filled the house to the walls.
Desperate, I called my mother again, crying, begging her to shelter us even briefly. She spat back:
The fault is yours for not having money. No one told you to marry. No one told you to have children. You wanted to be an adult? Face the consequences now. Solve your problems on your own.
It hit me like a shock. I sat in the kitchen, phone in hand, as if the world were collapsing. The words came from the woman who should have been my support. I hadnt asked for anything extravagantjust a place, a little compassion.
The next day Rui and I argued about our next step. The only person who answered our plea was his mother, Dona Anabela. She lives in a village near Alcácer do Sal, in a house with a yard, and has a spare bedroom. She offered to welcome us gladly and even said she could look after the kids while we worked.
But Im scared. Its not the city; its the countryside. Theres no health center, no decent school, not even transport. I fear that if we go, well never leave. That the children will grow up without opportunities, without a future, and that Ill give up, shut myself off from life.
Still, we have no other option. My mother has turned her back on me. My grandmother is too old to take us in. My father doesnt see us as family. Now I stand at a crossroads: head into nowhere or accept help from strangers, however sincere it may be.
Do you know what hurts the most? It isnt poverty. It isnt hardship. Its realizing that those who share our blood are the farthest away when we need them most. And my greatest fear isnt for myselfits for my children, that they never feel the pain of being unwanted by their own grandmother.
