PART 1: THE COLD BIRTHDAY PARTY

Chapter 1: Soulless Candles

The November wind in Montana whistled through the window cracks like the wailing of lost souls. Inside the vast dining room of Stone Creek Ranch, the fireplace was crackling, but the air felt colder than it was outside.

I, Eleanor Vance, sat at the head of the long oak dining table – the table my late husband had built with his own hands 40 years ago. In front of me was a chocolate cake with the number 70 stuck on top. The candles were burning, wax dripping onto the cake like teardrops.

Around the table was the only family I had left: My daughter, Sarah; her husband, Mike; and my two grandchildren who were buried in their phones.

“Blow out the candles, Mom,” Sarah said, her tone rushing, fingers swiping quickly on her iPad screen. “We still have company matters to attend to.”

I looked at my daughter. Sarah inherited my blonde hair and blue eyes, but her gaze was sharp and calculating, completely unlike my gentle look from the old days. Since I handed over the management of the ranch to the couple 5 years ago due to health reasons, Sarah had changed. She was no longer the little girl who used to run after me to the stables. She had become a ruthless businesswoman.

“Alright,” I whispered, taking a breath to blow out the candles.

No applause. Only the sound of Mike clearing his throat and the ding of a text message.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” Sarah said mechanically, not even looking up. “Your gift is on the coffee tea table. A wool scarf.”

I looked at the hastily wrapped box. I owned assets worth tens of millions of dollars, vast lands, but my 70th birthday gift was just a wool scarf bought in a hurry at a supermarket.

“Thank you,” I replied, trying to swallow the piece of cake that felt stuck in my throat.

The meal proceeded in silence. Mike and Sarah whispered about selling off the breeding horses to invest in a ski resort project. They talked as if I didn’t exist, or as if I were already dead.

“Are you done eating, Mom?” Sarah asked when I had only eaten half a slice of cake.

“I’m a bit tired,” I put down my fork.

“Then go to your room and rest,” Mike said, his tone like an order. “We need to discuss adult matters.”

I leaned on the table, standing up with difficulty. My arthritic leg tormented me whenever the weather turned cold. I walked toward the stairs, my old shadow stretching long on the wooden floor.

Just a few steps up, the phone in my cardigan pocket vibrated.

A message from Sarah.

I froze. She was sitting right downstairs, less than 10 meters away. Why text?

I opened the phone. The words appeared on the screen sharp as a knife stabbing straight into my heart:

“Make a choice, Mom. 1 is to go to Sunny Hill Nursing Home (I’ve already done the paperwork), 2 is to go out back and sleep with the black horses. I’m sick of cleaning up and smelling the old person scent in this house. You have 24 hours to decide.”

I turned my head, looking down at the dining room. Sarah was looking at me, a sarcastic smile on her lips, raising her glass of red wine as if toasting her own cruelty. Mike beside her also smirked.

It turned out, this party wasn’t to celebrate longevity. It was a party to get rid of me.

I didn’t cry. at this age, tears had dried up. Or perhaps, the pain was so great it numbed me. I silently turned off the phone, continuing up the stairs.

In my mind, there was no longer sadness. Instead, a flame of anger, cold and alert, began to kindle. Did they think I was a senile, useless old woman living off them?

They had forgotten who pioneered this wilderness. They forgot that the blood flowing in my veins was the blood of the Wild West pioneers.

Chapter 2: Night at the Stable

That night, I didn’t sleep in my luxurious master bedroom. I packed a few sets of clothes, important documents, and my husband’s photo.

I went down the back stairs, stepping out the back door. Snow began to fall.

I walked toward the stable.

It wasn’t a dilapidated stable. It was my favorite place. Where there was the smell of dry grass, the smell of leather, and the warmth of the most loyal creatures. The old black horse Midnight – my soulmate – neighed softly when he saw me enter.

“Hello, old friend,” I stroked his silky mane. “It seems only you welcome me.”

I spread a wool blanket on a pile of clean straw in the corner of the stall. I would sleep here. Not because I was afraid of Sarah. But because I wanted to etch this ingratitude into my bones. I wanted the cold of this night to freeze the last bit of weak maternal love left in me.

I took out my phone, dialing a number I hadn’t called in 5 years.

“Hello?” A deep, sleepy male voice answered.

“Arthur,” I said, my voice clear, not trembling at all. “Sorry for calling you at 2 AM. But I need you here. First thing tomorrow morning.”

The other end was silent for a second, then the voice became alert and sharp. Arthur Sterling – private attorney and also my husband’s closest friend.

“What’s wrong, Eleanor? Did Sarah cause trouble again?”

“Not just trouble,” I looked into Midnight’s eyes. “She just gave me a choice. And I have chosen.”

“What did you choose?”

“I chose to teach her a final lesson. Bring the original will, Arthur. And the 2018 asset power of attorney file too. We have work to do.”

“I’ll be there at 7 AM. Eleanor… are you okay?”

“I’ve never been more awake, Arthur.”

I hung up. Leaning back on the straw, I looked up at the old wooden ceiling. Sarah gave me 24 hours. But I didn’t need that much time. Just one morning was enough to turn the tables.

Tomorrow, when the sun rises, my daughter will realize that: The scariest thing is not a weak old mother, but a mother who has decided to stop forgiving.

Chapter 3: Dawn of Judgment

7:00 AM.

The sound of car engines rang out in front of the ranch gate. Not one car, but three. Arthur’s black Bentley, and two large moving trucks.

I walked out of the stable. I was still wearing last night’s clothes, draped in my husband’s old leather jacket. My face was bare, deep with wrinkles, but my eyes burned like hot coals.

I entered the main house through the front door.

Sarah and Mike were eating breakfast. They were laughing and talking happily, discussing turning my bedroom into a gym or a home theater.

Seeing me enter, Sarah startled, putting down her coffee cup.

“Mom?” She frowned, looking at my appearance. “Where have you been since early morning? But wait, have you thought it through? Sunny Hill Nursing Home has a VIP room, I’ve already put down a deposit…”

“Shut your mouth,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but it held an authority that made Sarah pause.

The door behind me opened. Arthur Sterling walked in, carrying a leather briefcase, followed by two men in black suits and the town sheriff – Mr. Miller.

“Attorney Sterling?” Mike stood up abruptly, face changing color. “What are you doing here? And the sheriff too?”

“Sit down, Mike,” Arthur said coldly, placing the briefcase on the dining table, shoving Sarah’s plate of fried eggs aside. “We are having a family meeting.”

“Meeting about what? My mother is old, she’s senile…” Sarah tried to argue.

“I am not senile,” I stepped forward, standing at the head of the table, the position of the house’s master. “I remember last night’s message very clearly, Sarah. You wanted me to choose between the nursing home and the stable, right?”

Sarah’s face went pale. She didn’t expect me to dare speak of this in front of outsiders. “Mom… what are you saying? I was just joking…”

“Stop lying,” I threw the phone onto the table, the screen still displaying that cruel message. Sheriff Miller glanced at it, shaking his head in disgust.

“According to Article 4, Section B of the Asset Management Power of Attorney Agreement that Mrs. Eleanor signed 5 years ago,” Arthur opened the file, his steely voice ringing out, “The right to manage the ranch and related assets of Ms. Sarah and Mr. Mike is conditional. The prerequisite is to ensure the care, respect, and safety of Mrs. Eleanor Vance.”

“So what?” Mike craned his neck. “We still take care of her! She lives in luxury!”

“Evidence of mental abuse and threats of abandonment of the elderly,” Arthur pointed at the phone, “is sufficient to trigger the Unconditional Revocation clause immediately.”

“Revocation?” Sarah screamed. “What the hell are you saying? This ranch is mine! Mom gave it to me!”

I looked straight into the eyes of my ungrateful daughter.

“I never gave it to you, Sarah. I only authorized you to manage it. I am still the sole legal owner of Stone Creek, of this house, and of every inch of land you are standing on.”

I pulled a paper from my pocket. It was an eviction order.

“And now,” I said, voice lowering, “I make my choice. I don’t choose the nursing home. I don’t choose the stable either. I choose to take it all back.”

“Within 1 hour, you two must leave here. You are not allowed to take anything belonging to the ranch’s assets. Cars, credit cards, jewelry… they are all in the company’s name, and the company returned to my control 5 minutes ago.”

“You can’t do that!” Sarah rushed forward, intending to grab my hand but was blocked by the sheriff. “I am your daughter! Are you going to kick me out onto the street?”

“You intended to kick me out to the stable,” I retorted, heart aching but face remaining cold. “You said you were sick of seeing me in this house. Now you have your wish. You won’t have to see me anymore.”

I turned to Arthur.

“Arthur, make sure they leave on time. And call the charity team. I want to donate all the clothes and items in their room to the poor.”

“Understood, Mrs. Vance,” Arthur nodded respectfully.

I turned my back, walking out of the dining room, leaving behind the screams, curses, and begging of two greedy people. I walked toward the stable.

PART 2: LATE REGRET

Chapter 4: The Meaningless Trump Card

An hour later, Sarah and Mike stood in front of the ranch gate with a few suitcases containing personal clothes. The keys to their luxury car had been confiscated. They had to call a taxi.

But before leaving, Mike turned back, a malicious smile appearing on his face.

“Do you think you’ve won, Eleanor?” He shouted. “You forgot one thing. Your grandchildren! Our two children. If you kick us out, you will never see Tom and Jerry again! We will take them far away, and you will die old and alone without any relatives beside you!”

Sarah chimed in too, eyes dry: “That’s right! If you want to keep the assets, keep them and take them to your grave. But you will lose your grandkids! Choose!”

I stood on the porch, looking at two people using their own biological children as hostages to blackmail their old mother. Disgust rose in my throat.

“Tom, Jerry!” I called out loud.

My two 10-year-old twin grandsons ran out from the house. They were bewildered, holding game consoles, not understanding what was happening.

“Come here to Grandma,” I opened my arms.

“Don’t go there!” Sarah shouted. “Tom, Jerry! To the car now! We’re leaving!”

The two children stopped, looking at their parents, then at me.

Arthur stepped up, whispering in my ear: “Eleanor, legally, they have custody. We can’t keep the children without a court order.”

I knew that. But I also knew a secret that Sarah and Mike had no idea about.

“Children,” I said to my two grandsons, voice gentle but firm. “Your parents are about to go on a long trip. Life will be very difficult. There will be no beautiful house, no private school, no expensive toys. Do you want to go with them?”

“What the hell are you saying?” Mike roared. “We will sue you in court!”

“Sue,” I replied calmly. “But while waiting for the court to resolve it, I want to announce a truth.”

I pulled another envelope from my pocket.

“This is the result of a DNA test I secretly conducted 1 month ago.”

Blood drained from Sarah’s face. Mike looked confused.

“Test… what test?” Sarah stammered.

“Tom and Jerry… they are not Mike’s biological children,” I said, articulating every word. “Sarah, you had an affair with the ranch’s old horse trainer, didn’t you?”

Mike spun around to look at his wife, eyes bulging. “What? You… what did you say?”

“Don’t listen to her! She’s crazy!” Sarah screamed, but the panic in her eyes betrayed everything.

“Here is the result,” I threw the envelope on the ground, right in front of Mike’s shoes. “Mike, you have been deceived by her for the past 10 years. You raised cuckoo birds thinking they were your own. And Sarah, did you think you could use these two children to threaten me? When Mike is the one legally named on the birth certificate but shares no bloodline?”

Mike snatched the paper, reading ravenously. He shook violently, then turned and slapped Sarah with a thunderous blow that knocked her to the ground.

“You bastard! I suspected it for a long time!” Mike screamed. “I quit! I don’t need these bastards! You raise them yourself!”

Saying that, Mike grabbed his suitcase, jumped into the taxi that just arrived, leaving his wife and two children standing frozen.

Sarah sat on the ground, hair disheveled, crying miserably. Her plan had gone up in smoke. She lost the house, lost her husband, and lost her final card.

Tom and Jerry, witnessing the scene, ran terrified into my arms.

“Grandma… Dad left…”

I hugged my two grandsons. They were innocent. They were just victims of the greed and lies of adults.

“It’s okay,” I stroked their hair. “Grandma is here. Grandma will never abandon you.”

I looked down at Sarah.

“Now you can go,” I said coldly. “But the two children will stay here. I will file for emergency custody because I don’t trust handing them over to a mother who has no financial ability, no morals, and was just abandoned by her husband.”

Sarah looked up at me, eyes full of hatred but also despair. She knew she had lost everything. She stood up, stumbling out the gate, lonely and empty-handed.

Chapter 5: The Rebirth of Stone Creek

One year later.

Stone Creek had changed. No longer the gloomy, cold atmosphere of calculation. The ranch was now filled with laughter.

I had turned the main house area into a shelter for lonely elderly people and destitute children. I used my money to create a place where no one is abandoned, no one has to receive cruel messages on their birthday.

Tom and Jerry still lived with me. They were educated strictly but with love. They learned to care for horses, learned to grow vegetables, and most importantly, learned to appreciate what they had. They were no longer children glued to phones.

And me? At 71, I felt young again. I still rode Midnight for a walk every morning. I still ran the business, but now I had Arthur and a new management team – honest and dedicated people.

One afternoon, while I was drinking tea on the porch, an old car stopped in front of the gate.

Sarah stepped out. She had lost a lot of weight, dressed simply, her face etched with the marks of hardship. She had been working as a waitress in a town 200 miles away.

She dared not enter, only stood at the gate looking in.

I put down the teacup, walking out.

“Mom…” Sarah murmured, not daring to look me in the eye. “I… I came to visit Tom and Jerry. And… I want to apologize.”

I looked at my only daughter. My heart still ached, but the anger had subsided.

“Tom and Jerry are at school,” I said. “As for the apology… I accept it. But that doesn’t mean things will go back to the way they were.”

“I know,” Sarah cried. “I’ve lost everything, Mom. I was wrong. I was too greedy and stupid.”

“People only truly grow up when they lose everything they once took for granted,” I said. “You can visit the children on weekends, but under supervision. As for moving back here to live? Never. You must stand on your own two feet.”

Sarah nodded, tears rolling down. “Thank you, Mom… for not chasing me away immediately.”

She turned and walked away. Her figure was lonely but had lost some of its arrogance.

I returned to the porch, looking out at the vast meadow. The sun was setting, dyeing the sky red.

I remembered the message from my birthday last year. “1 is nursing home, 2 is horse stable”.

In the end, I chose neither. I chose Myself.

I chose to live my life, my way, and protect the values I believe in. And that was the best birthday gift I gave myself at age 70.

Sometimes, to find peace, one must be willing to create a storm. And I, Eleanor Vance, weathered that storm to find my own sunshine.