My mom met him in Costa Rica during her “solo soul-searching sabbatical.” Came back glowing—and engaged to Nico, a 31-year-old smooth talker with no clear past.
He was charming, too charming. Never answered real questions. But Mom was in love—gave him power of attorney after one week.
Then I found a letter. From a woman begging her:
“Don’t let him do this again. You’re not the first.”
When I confronted him, he smiled and said, “Curiosity’s dangerous.”
That’s when I knew—I was right.
My cousin traced his real name. Behind it? Fraud. Restraining orders. Civil suits.
I told my mom everything. She already knew. She read the letter.
She just wanted to believe in second chances.
Two weeks later, I got a call from a recovery center. She’d admitted herself—said she needed help before doing something she’d regret.
Turns out, Nico had started controlling her—locking accounts, raising his voice. That was her wake-up call.
We froze the money just in time. Recovered most of it. He vanished.
But my mom? She’s healing. In her own apartment. Cactus on the windowsill. She named it “Rumi.”
She told me,
“You warned me. But I had to choose to protect myself.”
She’s right.
Love shouldn’t make you question your safety.
So yeah—she almost married a scammer.
But instead, she found herself again.
And I got my mom back.
Leave a Reply