My son called me: “Mom, I’m getting married tomorrow. I’ve withdrawn all your money and sold your apartment.”

Ernesto, and I started with a small bakery in a town in Jalisco. We worked seven days a week, no vacations, no rest, hands covered in flour and bodies worn down. That bakery became two, then a chain of small markets. When Ernesto died twelve years ago, I sold the business, invested everything in real estate, funds, and stocks, and chose a quiet life.continue reading …