The day my father returned from the hospital, he arrived quietly, leaving a document on the table: a promissory note for 900 thousand pesos, signed by him as the debtor. My two older siblings and I exchanged glances, looking for an excuse. The eldest said he was spending everything on his children’s college; the second had just opened a hardware store and had no capital.
I—the youngest—had just gotten married and was still paying the mortgage. But when I saw his gray hair and his back stooped, I couldn’t say no. I took the promissory note, signed it to assume the debt, and arranged everything for him to come and live with me, so I could take care of him.
A year passed and life was not easy. I worked from dawn till dusk to pay off the debt; often our meal was just a plate of boiled nopales (cactus paddles) or beans. My wife stopped buying clothes, she even sold the new motorcycle we had bought. In return, I saw a rare but sincere smile on my father’s face, enjoying living with his grandchildren.
On the exact day that marked one year since I signed the promissory note, my father called me into his room and asked me to sit down. He took a letter-sized sheet folded in half from a drawer and carefully placed it in front of me.
“Read this,” he said.
I opened it… and I froze.
It wasn’t a promissory note. Nor a letter of thanks. It was a will—stipulating that the entire three-story house in the center of town and a 300-square-meter plot of land in the most commercial area of town would be left to me.
I looked up, and before I could even speak, my father smiled:
“All my life I just wanted to know… In a time of crisis, someone would truly support me.”
At that moment, I was touched and my eyes moistened. Moments later, I heard footsteps at the door: my two older siblings. Their gazes were fixed on the will in his hands, and their faces changed color.
They stood silently, unmoving. Their expression was no longer the indifference of a year ago, but a mixture of regret and confusion.
The eldest cleared his throat: “Father… why did he do that?” We are his children too.
My father raised his head and, in a slow but steady voice, said: “I know everyone has their own problems. But when I really needed them, only the younger man dared to take this on. This house and this land are the reward for that sacrifice.”
The second one wanted to say something but just remained silent. They both turned and left, dragging their sandals on the floor, as if they weighed a ton.
I was still seated, my hands shaking as I held the will. My father placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it tightly:
“You no longer have to pay that debt. That money… That was a test. I liquidated it a long time ago.”
It was then I understood that the note was not just a way to pay off a loan, but a test of loyalty to see who truly valued blood and family.
The next day, news of the will spread throughout the family. Some said my father was shrewd, while others accused him of being unfair. But I continued to care for him as before, because I knew that the most important inheritance I received… was not the house or the land, but the complete trust he gave me.