The snow-covered pines of Aspen, Colorado howled through the snow-covered pines, creating a somber soundtrack to the December afternoon. Ethan Sterling stood huddled in front of an old laundry hidden behind the glitzy streets of this ultra-rich ski resort.

Ethan was the only son of Richard Sterling, the most ruthless real estate tycoon on the West Coast. With his $5,000 cashmere coat and Italian leather shoes, Ethan looked completely out of place in this chemical-smelling laundry.

The door opened. A middle-aged woman stepped out, carrying a trash bag. She wore a frayed down jacket that showed the seams at the sleeves. Her face was lined with austerity, but her blue eyes still held a gentle, resigned look. Her name was Clara.

Ethan swallowed. His throat was dry despite the chilly air. He stepped forward, blocking her path.

“Hey, can you be my mother… just for today?”

Ethan’s voice trembled. His hand tightened on a crumpled piece of paper that hovered between his leather-gloved fingers, like a desperate plea.

Clara froze. She looked at the elegant young man before her, then at the paper, then back at his eyes. A flicker of confusion crossed her face.

“What did you say?” Clara asked, her voice hoarse from the cigarette smoke and the cold. “You’ve got the wrong person. I’m just a laundry worker.”

“No, please,” Ethan pleaded, stepping closer. His breath turned to white smoke. “Tonight is my engagement party. My father… he’s going to invite the press, the partners, everyone. He’s forcing me to have the whole ‘family’ present. But my mother died when I was young. I need someone… to play the role of my mother. Just for tonight. I’ll pay you $10,000.”

Clara wanted to refuse. She wanted to turn away. She had been hiding from this world of the rich for 20 years. But when she looked into Ethan’s deep brown eyes—eyes filled with an extreme loneliness that was painfully familiar to her—she couldn’t move.

“Why me?” Clara asked softly. “You could have hired an actor.”

Ethan looked down at the crumpled paper in his hand. “Because… you have her eyes. In the only photo I have.”

Clara was silent. The snow seemed to stop blowing for a moment. She sighed, a sigh heavy with the past.

“Okay. Just for tonight.”

Ethan took Clara to a fancy salon, but she refused any further intervention. She simply brushed her hair back and put on a modest navy blue velvet dress Ethan had bought in a hurry. No fancy jewelry, no flashy makeup. She exuded a quiet elegance, an air that no amount of money could buy.

The limousine drove them to the Sterling mansion at the top of the hill. The sparkling crystal chandeliers, soft jazz, and clinking glasses created a world apart from the laundromat at the foot of the hill.

“Remember,” Ethan whispered as they entered the foyer. “Her name is Margaret. She’s my mother, who’s just returned from Europe after years of treatment. Don’t say much, just smile.”

Clara nodded. Her hand was cold, but Ethan held it tightly, transmitting warmth and his own trembling to her.

Richard Sterling stood in the center of the banquet hall, a glass of brandy in his hand, laughing loudly with the State Senator. When he saw Ethan enter with a strange woman, his smile faded.

Richard stepped forward, his sharp, scalpel-like eyes glancing at Clara. He squinted, trying to remember who this woman was. But 20 years of hardship had changed Clara too much. From the noble lady she once was, she was now just a shadow of herself.

“Ethan,” Richard growled. “What kind of joke is this? Who did you bring here?”

Ethan raised his head, still holding Clara’s hand tightly. “This is my mother. Mother Margaret. Don’t you remember? She came back for my engagement.”

The whole room fell silent. Whispers began to spread. Everyone knew that Richard Sterling’s wife had died in a tragic accident 20 years ago. Some thought Ethan was crazy, others were curious about this mysterious “mother”.

Richard sneered, a cruel smile. “Are you having a fit again, Ethan? Your mother is dead. I buried her. Who is this whore you hired to humiliate me?”

He turned to Clara, jerking his chin. “How much? $500? Get the hell out of my house before I call security and throw you out like a bag of trash.”

Clara trembled. This humiliation… it was exactly like that day. The day she was thrown out of this very house.

But before Clara could back away, Ethan let go of her hand. He took a step forward, facing his father directly.

“Dad,” Ethan said, his voice strangely calm. “Do you remember this paper?”

Ethan held up the crumpled paper he had been holding all afternoon. He slowly smoothed it out on the table.

It wasn’t a letter. It was a DNA test report.

“I took a sample of Clara’s hair at the dry cleaners a week ago,” Ethan said loudly, his voice echoing throughout the room.

And compared it to my DNA. The result: Mother-child relationship: 99.99%.”

Richard Sterling was stunned. His wine glass fell from his hand, shattering on the marble floor.

Ethan turned to look at Clara – or rather, the real Margaret Sterling. She was covering her mouth, tears welling up. She didn’t know Ethan knew. She thought he had just picked her randomly because of some resemblance.

TWIST & CLIMAX:

“Mom didn’t die,” Ethan continued, his eyes blazing at his father. “Twenty years ago, Dad didn’t bury her. Dad committed her to a mental hospital with a fake medical record, declaring her insane, to steal her inheritance from Grandpa. Then Dad faked a car accident, burned some homeless person’s body instead, and declared Mom dead.”

The audience gasped in horror. Cameras started flashing.

“Mom escaped from the asylum five years later,” Ethan walked up to Clara, hugging her shoulders. “But she didn’t dare come back because Dad threatened to kill me if she showed up. She lived in hiding, working as a laundress, just to be in the same city as me, to watch me grow up from afar.”

“You’re lying!” Richard yelled, his face red. “He’s a fraud! Where’s the security?”

“The security won’t come,” Ethan said coldly. He pulled a small microphone from his vest pocket. “Because this entire conversation is being broadcast live on the media channels. And the police are waiting outside the gate.”

Richard stepped back, bumping into the banquet table. He looked at the dour woman in the velvet dress. Her resigned gaze had changed. It was steady and full of judgment.

“Margaret…” Richard whispered. “You…”

Clara – Margaret stepped forward. She no longer needed Ethan’s help. She slapped Richard hard. The slap resounded loudly, ending all the arrogance of the real estate tycoon.

“I didn’t come here to be Ethan’s mother for a day,” Margaret said, her voice clear and sharp, regaining the demeanor of the heiress of yesteryear. “I came here to take back what you’ve taken away for the past 20 years. My life. And my son.”

The front door swung open. The police stormed in with a warrant for Richard Sterling’s arrest on charges of kidnapping, forgery, and attempted murder.

Richard was dragged away in handcuffs amid boos and flashbulbs. He screamed and cursed, but no one cared. His empire collapsed on the most glamorous night of the party.

When the chaotic crowd dispersed, Ethan and Margaret were left standing in the empty ballroom.

Ethan turned to his mother. He picked up the crumpled DNA sheet again, but this time he tore it up.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said, tears streaming down his face. “I’ve known the truth for a long time, but I needed proof. I needed a stage big enough for him to deny it. I’m sorry I dragged you into this drama without warning.”

Margaret smiled, the brightest smile Ethan had ever seen. She reached up and touched her son’s face—the face she’d longed to touch through the laundromat window for 20 years.

“You don’t have to apologize, Ethan,” she whispered. “You didn’t hire me to play your mother today.”

She hugged him.

“Today, you brought me home.”

Outside the window, the Aspen snow was still falling, but in their hearts, the long winter was finally over.