For more than forty years, Carmen López lived alone in her old apartment in the Chamberí neighborhood. Her daughter had long since moved out on her own, and even her granddaughter had married. But when she turned eighty, Carmen felt she couldn’t handle it all.

The apartment was large, the stairs were heavy, and her health was beginning to fail. Not even a week ago, she’d gotten so dizzy that she had to call her lifelong neighbor, Don Manuel. He was also elderly, in a wheelchair for years, but always impeccable and polite.

“He never loses his spirits…” Carmen murmured, remembering the times Manuel would bring her wildflowers from the park or ring her doorbell just to make sure she was okay.

That day, when Carmen felt ill, it took him less than two minutes to arrive with a glass of water and a pill.

“This will help you. And if you’d let me, I’d always be close by and you wouldn’t have to call,” he said with a smile.

Carmen liked the attention, but she never considered living with him. Until one day her daughter, Lucía, came over as usual on Tuesday afternoons.

“Mom, being alone isn’t good for you. Look, Anabel and her husband are still paying rent… why don’t they move in here, with you?” Lucía said, in that tone that didn’t ask for permission.

“Let them come,” Carmen grumbled, without enthusiasm.

That same night, Anabel and Sergio arrived with boxes, as if they had already planned it. Carmen pretended not to notice how the house was filling up.

At first, everything seemed normal. Anabel was preparing breakfast, bringing her flowers, cooking her favorite dish. Carmen, grateful, began to relax… until one morning, she accidentally heard something from the kitchen.

“How long are you going to keep sucking up to her?” Sergio muttered, while looking at his phone.

“Until she signs the will,” Anabel replied in a low voice. “I can’t pressure her. She has to trust me.”

“But we’ve been here for two weeks!” he snorted. “What if she leaves the apartment to that old man on the third floor?”

“She doesn’t have anyone else. I’m her only granddaughter.” Anabel seemed confident, but her voice trembled.

Carmen, in her room, felt a lump in her chest.

Days passed, and the comments were repeated. Sergio complained about the expenses, Anabel tried to calm him down. But the theater was falling apart. One night, upon returning from the medical center, Carmen heard the worst sentence of all:

“The real estate agent is coming tomorrow. If she doesn’t sign, I’ll take her to a nursing home myself. That’s it.”

That night Carmen didn’t sleep. At five in the morning, she got dressed, put some things in a wheeled suitcase, and left her cell phone and a note on the nightstand: “Don’t look for me. I’ve already decided.”

When Anabel entered her room and saw the empty bed, she screamed.

“Sergio!” He’s gone!

– What? Where?

– I don’t know!

They called Don Manuel. He only said:

– He left a little while ago. He greeted me, gave me a kiss, and said he was finally going to live among good people. I thought you knew.

They went to the police. They waited for news. They visited stations, asked neighbors, nothing.

Until the fourth day, they received a call from the notary.

– Carmen López asked me to meet you today at eleven.

They entered nervously. On the table, a blue folder and a recording.

The notary pressed “play.”

Carmen’s voice sounded calm:

“If you’re hearing this, it means I arrived safely. I’m leaving the apartment to Hogar San José, a foundation that cares for elderly people without family. I don’t want arguments. Don’t fight. And learn to value people for who they are, not for what they have.”

Anabel burst into tears. Sergio didn’t look up.

The notary handed them a piece of paper with an address: a quiet residence on the outskirts of Segovia.

When they arrived, Carmen was sunbathing, wrapped in a blanket, with a guitar on her lap. Beside her, Don Manuel was reading the newspaper.

“Grandma…” Anabel whispered, her voice breaking.

“What are you doing here? Here there’s peace, clean air, and daisies. I’m fine.”

“Forgive me… for everything.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. But remember: love can’t be faked. And greed, even if hidden, always shows.

A month later, a photo of Carmen teaching old songs to other residents appeared on the foundation’s website. She was smiling.

And although she was still alone by blood… she finally felt truly accompanied.