My Daughter Said: “The Best Gift Would Be If You Just Died” – So I Immediately Canceled the Funding.

She would be the one to give Rebecca the news that I was gone forever.

“Remember,” I said as we called a cab.

“You have to act very concerned. Tell her I didn’t answer the phone for two days, that you knocked on my door and got no response, and that when you used the emergency keys you found the apartment empty and the letter on her table.”

“Don’t worry, Julieta. I was a drama teacher for 30 years. It will be the performance of a lifetime,” Elvira said with a mischievous smile.

The taxi arrived promptly at 6:00 in the morning. As they loaded my suitcases, I took one last look at my apartment.

I had lived there for 15 years, but strangely I felt no nostalgia. It was as if I were finally freeing myself from a prison I had built myself.

“To the airport?” the taxi driver asked.

“To the airport,” I confirmed.

And it felt as if those two words marked the beginning of my new existence.

During the 40-minute ride, I thought about everything I was leaving behind: my volunteer work at the hospital, my daily routines, the constant worry about Rebecca and her problems.

But I also thought about everything that awaited me: the freedom to make my own decisions, to spend my money on myself, to live without the constant weight of my daughter’s emotional demands.

At the airport, while waiting for my flight, I received three calls from Rebecca that I didn’t answer. Then a text message arrived.

“Mom, you’re being ridiculous. The kids are asking for you. Call me.”

I deleted the message without replying. It was fascinating how now that I wasn’t available 24/7, she suddenly needed me.

The flight to Zurich was long but peaceful. For the first time in years, no one knew where I was.

No one could call me to ask for favors, money, or time. It was an intoxicating feeling of freedom I hadn’t experienced since before I was a mother.

During the 12-hour journey, I wrote in my journal everything that had happened in the last week. Every detail, every emotion, every decision that had led me to this moment.

I wanted to remember exactly how it felt to break free from a toxic relationship, even when that relationship was with my own daughter.

I arrived in Zurich on Tuesday night local time. The travel agency representative was waiting for me at the airport with a sign bearing my name.

He was a kind young man named Klaus who spoke perfect Spanish.

“Mrs. Julieta,” he greeted me with a genuine smile.

“Welcome to Switzerland. I hope you’re ready for a new adventure.”

“More than ready,” I replied.

And for the first time in weeks, my smile was completely authentic. Klaus took me to a beautiful furnished apartment in the center of Zurich that I had rented for a month while I decided if I wanted to stay permanently.

It was small but cozy, with windows overlooking a lovely park and a partial view of the lake.

“Here is all the information about the city,” Klaus said, handing me a thick folder.

“Places to eat, activities for people your age, German classes, social groups. I’ve also scheduled an appointment for you with a financial adviser for tomorrow afternoon to help you with the paperwork if you decide to stay permanently.”

That night I slept better than I had in years. There was no phone that could ring, no one who needed anything from me, no responsibilities other than taking care of myself.

On Wednesday morning, I woke up early and went out to explore the city. I had breakfast at a charming cafe by the lake, bought fresh flowers for my temporary apartment, and for the first time in decades, I spent money on something completely unnecessary.

A beautiful silk scarf that cost $100. I bought it simply because I liked it, without worrying about the price or whether that money could be better spent on my daughter’s needs.

As I walked through the streets of Zurich, I mentally calculated how much money I had spent on Rebecca in just the last five years.

Between the mortgage payments when Hugo was unemployed, the twins’ braces, the constant gifts, the gas to go babysit the kids, the food I always brought when I visited them—it had been at least $50,000.

$50,000 that I could have used to travel the world, to live comfortably, to fulfill the dreams I had postponed for decades.

Instead, I had given it to a daughter who considered my love a burden and my presence a nuisance.

At 2:00 in the afternoon Zurich time, I calculated it would be 8:00 in the morning in my hometown. Elvira would be getting ready to go to Rebecca’s apartment and deliver the letter that would change everything.

I sat on a bench by the lake and waited. I knew that in a few hours, my phone would start ringing desperately.

Rebecca would finally understand what it meant to truly lose me.

The Fallout of a Final Wish

At 5:00 in the afternoon, my phone started to vibrate. It was Rebecca.

I let it ring until it went to voicemail. It immediately rang again.

Rebecca again. This time I answered.

“Mom!” she screamed, her voice breaking.

“Where are you? Elvira came to the house with a letter from you. She said you disappeared. What’s going on?”

“Hello, Rebecca,” I replied calmly, enjoying the Swiss lake as I spoke.

“Have you read the letter?”

“Yes, I read it! Are you crazy? How could you do this to us? Where are you?”

“I am exactly where I need to be,” I replied.

“Away from you, as you wished.”

“But I didn’t want this! I didn’t want you to actually leave! I was just angry. I didn’t mean it.”

There it was—Rebecca’s typical tactic. Minimize the damage she had caused, make me feel guilty for reacting to her cruelty.

“You didn’t mean it when you told me your biggest birthday wish was for me to die?” I asked.

“Because you sounded quite convincing.”

“It was just… I was just frustrated. Hugo lost his job again. The kids are having trouble at school. I’m under a lot of stress. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have. But it’s done. And words can’t be taken back.”

“But Mom, please come back. We need you. I need you.”

How interesting. Now she needed me.

Now that she had read in the letter all the financial benefits she had lost. Now that she knew she could lose her house.

Now that she understood she would have to pay for her own health insurance and find a babysitter for the twins.

“Do you need me or do you need my money?” I asked directly.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “I need you,” she finally murmured, but her voice didn’t sound convincing.

“Rebecca, for 45 years I lived for you. I sacrificed my dreams, my money, my time, my opportunities. And when I finally needed to feel that you loved and valued me, you told me you’d rather I were dead.”

“Those words broke my heart in a way that I will never be able to repair.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry. What I said to you was horrible.”

“Sorry isn’t enough, Rebecca. The damage is done. And you know what? Maybe it was the best thing you could have said to me because it finally opened my eyes and made me realize I’ve been living my life the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that for the first time in decades, I’m living for myself. And it feels wonderful.”

“Where are you, Mom? Please tell me,” Rebecca pleaded, her voice choked with sobs.

“The kids are asking for their grandma. They don’t understand why you’re not coming to see them.”

It was fascinating how now, when I was no longer available, the grandchildren suddenly missed me.

For all these years when I canceled my plans to take care of them, when I bought them expensive gifts, when I took them to the park while Rebecca went shopping, it was simply what was expected of me.

But now that I was gone, my absence was felt. “The kids will be fine,” I replied, looking at the Swiss mountains in the distance.

“They are resilient. What they will learn is that actions have consequences and that hurtful words can destroy relationships forever.”

“But Mom, please, you can’t just disappear like this. What if something happens to you? What if you get sick? How will we know?”

Now she was worried about my well-being. How convenient.

“Rebecca, over the last five years I’ve had three episodes of high blood pressure that landed me in the hospital. Do you know how many times you visited me? Zero.”

“You always had something more important to do. So don’t come to me now with concerns about my health.”

“That’s not true,” she protested weakly.

“Isn’t it? The first time I was hospitalized, I called you from the emergency room. You told me you couldn’t come because you had an appointment at the beauty salon.”

“The second time it was Hugo’s birthday and you were celebrating. The third time you simply didn’t answer the phone.”

The silence on the other end of the line confirmed that she remembered each occasion perfectly.

“I… I thought it wasn’t serious,” she murmured.

“Of course, because my health was never a priority for you. But my checks were.”

“It’s not about the money!” Rebecca shouted.

“It’s about you! I miss you, Mom!”

“Do you miss me or do you miss having someone available 24 hours a day to solve your problems?”

I hung up the phone without waiting for an answer. It immediately rang again, but this time I turned it off completely.

I needed peace to enjoy my first night of freedom.

That night I went out to dinner alone at an elegant restaurant by the lake. I ordered the most expensive dish on the menu, salmon with caviar that cost $80, and drank an entire bottle of French wine.

It had been years since I had indulged in such luxuries, always thinking that the money could be useful for Rebecca.

The next day, Thursday, I turned on my phone and found 47 missed calls and 23 text messages, all from Rebecca and Hugo.

The messages evolved from “please” to threats. “Please Mom, answer,” said the first. “We’re very worried,” said the fifth. “If you don’t answer, we’re going to call the police,” threatened the 10th.

“We already called the police. They said there’s nothing they can do because you left a letter explaining your departure,” admitted the 15th.

“The bank called us. You canceled the joint account. How are we going to pay for emergencies?” said the 20th.

It was beautiful to see how the concern for my well-being quickly turned into panic over the financial implications of my absence.

I decided to reply to just one message. “I am fine. I am exactly where I need to be. Do not look for me.”

The response arrived in less than five minutes. “You don’t understand what you’re doing. You’re going to ruin us. The mortgage lawyer called. He says you can take our house.”

There was the truth. She wasn’t worried that I might be suffering or in danger.

She was worried because she had finally understood the financial implications of losing me. I replied: “Now you understand what it’s worth to have me in your life. Too bad you realized it too late.”

That afternoon I had my appointment with the Swiss financial adviser. He was an older, very professional man named Herr Müller who helped me understand all my options for residing permanently in Switzerland.

“With your current savings and your American pension,” he explained, “you can live comfortably here for the rest of your life. Switzerland has excellent health care programs for retired foreigners and the quality of life is exceptional.”

For the first time in years, I talked openly about my finances without worrying about saving money for Rebecca’s emergencies.