I traveled with my siblings, Mel and Gui, the youngest. The three of us left the airport with suitcases in hand and smiles full of emotion. We believed that Mom would be surprised, that she would be stronger, calmer, maybe even happier. We laughed without any doubt in our hearts.

But something began to feel wrong. The streets grew narrower. The houses were made of wood and sheet metal. Children played in the mud. It looked nothing like the neighborhood we had imagined. The taxi stopped and, as we stepped out, we felt the heat, the dust, and the strong smell of sewage. Something inside me tightened.

I asked an elderly woman if Dona Florência Silva lived there. When we said we were her children, the woman began to cry and asked why we had taken so long. She told us to prepare ourselves. We ran without thinking.

The house was a shack about to collapse, with no door, just an old curtain. Mel went in first and screamed. There was Mom, lying on a thin mattress on the floor, so thin she looked like skin and bones. When she recognized me, I felt my heart break.

There was no food. Just a can of sardines. Mom said she had eaten bread the day before. It was already two in the afternoon. Gui trembled with anger. I could barely breathe.

Then a neighbor told us the truth. The money never reached Mom. For five years, she had been deceived. Roberto kept everything. He spent it on gambling, addictions, and luxury. He forced her to pretend during video calls and threatened her so she wouldn’t say anything.