PART 1: A MOTHER’S DAY IN A LEAKY HOUSE

Chapter 1: The Glamour and the Loneliness

The second Sunday of May. Mother’s Day.

Golden sunlight stretched across the quiet streets of Dayton, Ohio. But inside my old two-story wooden house, the air remained damp and cold. The roof had been leaking since last winter, and I still didn’t have the money to fix it. I, Martha Evans, 68 years old, sat on a frayed armchair, holding a tea bag that had been brewed for the second time.

I looked out the window. The neighbors were having a BBQ party, laughter echoing joyfully. As for me, I was waiting.

Waiting for my son, Daniel.

Daniel was my only pride. He was a self-made millionaire, a renowned real estate investor in New York. He had everything: money, fame, and a beautiful wife named Clara – the daughter of a prestigious family.

It had been 3 years since Daniel visited home. He was too busy. I understood. Successful people are always busy. He only called during holidays, calls lasting no more than 5 minutes. But today, he texted saying he was coming.

Screech…

The piercing sound of brakes rang out in front of the door. A shiny black Bentley pulled up, taking up my entire narrow driveway. The car’s luxury was completely out of place in this poor working-class neighborhood.

Daniel stepped out. He wore a hand-tailored Italian suit, sunglasses on, exuding authority. Following him was not Clara, but a private driver carrying large gift bags from luxury brands: Hermes, Chanel, Tiffany & Co.

“Mom!” Daniel took off his glasses, walked quickly into the house, and hugged me tight. His expensive cologne overpowered the moldy smell of the house. “I missed you so much. You look… much thinner.”

“I’m old, that’s all,” I smiled, patting his back, trying to hide my rough, cracked hands from washing dishes for hire. “You coming back makes me happy. Where is Clara?”

“She’s busy preparing for a charity auction tonight in Manhattan. She sends her congratulations,” Daniel said smoothly, but his eyes avoided mine. I knew, Clara never liked this “slum.”

Daniel sat down on the sofa, grimacing slightly as the springs underneath creaked. He looked around the house. Peeling paint, ceiling stained yellow from rainwater, and a bulky old TV.

“Mom,” Daniel frowned. “Why are you still living like this? I thought you hired someone to renovate the house?”

“Ah… I’m used to it. Why renovate, it’s wasteful,” I evaded, pouring him a glass of water since there was no soda or wine left in the house.

Daniel held the water glass, staring at me. Suddenly, he asked a question that stunned me.

“Mom, are you happy with the $5,000 Clara sends you every month? I see you’re still living so frugally. Or is $5,000 not enough? Do you want me to increase it to $10,000?”

The cup in my hand almost fell to the floor.

“$5,000?” I stammered. “What $5,000?”

“The monthly living allowance,” Daniel looked surprised. “Five years ago, when I started to succeed, I tasked Clara with transferring $5,000 to you on the 1st of every month. She said you received it regularly and were very happy; you even said you used that money to travel and do charity.”

I froze. My ears rang.

5 years. 60 months. A total of $300,000.

I had never seen a single cent of it.

I lived on a meager pension of $800 a month and extra money from dishwashing. I ate instant noodles, bought clothes at Goodwill, and endured the cold all winter because I didn’t dare turn on the heater.

“Daniel,” I said, voice trembling, tears starting to well up. “I… I have never received a dime from Clara. Never.”

Chapter 2: The Truth Exposed

Daniel stood up abruptly, knocking over the water glass.

“What did you say? Not a single dime?”

“No. I thought you were having difficulties, or you forgot. I didn’t dare ask because I was afraid you’d think I was a burden,” I confessed, the self-pity suppressed for years bursting out.

Daniel’s face turned from surprise to crimson with rage. He pulled out his phone, fingers trembling as he swiped the screen. He opened the banking app.

“Clara… she always said she transferred it and even showed me receipts…” Daniel muttered.

He checked the transaction history. There was indeed a transfer order of $5,000 every month. But when he clicked on the beneficiary details, his face went pale.

The recipient’s name was not “Martha Evans.”

The recipient names were “Louis Vuitton – VIP Account” and “Sapphire Casino.”

“Oh my God…” Daniel slumped into the chair, holding his head. “She used the money meant for you to buy handbags and gamble online. For 5 years!”

I looked at my son, my heart breaking. He wasn’t just deceived, but his filial piety was also trampled upon by his wife.

“I’m sorry Mom… I’m so sorry…” Daniel buried his head in my lap, crying like a child. “I am an unfilial son. I thought throwing money back was fulfilling my duty. I didn’t care if you were alive or dead. I trusted the wrong person.”

I stroked his hair. “It’s okay, son. Now you know, that’s enough.”

But Daniel wasn’t one to let things go easily. He wiped his tears and stood up. The eyes of a ruthless businessman returned.

“Mom, pack your things.”

“Where are we going, son?”

“To New York. Right now. I’m taking you to the charity auction tonight. I want Clara to answer in front of you.”

“But I don’t have nice clothes…”

“You don’t need nice clothes,” Daniel said coldly. “Just wear what you are wearing. Your appearance itself will be the heaviest sentence for her.”

Chapter 3: The Banquet of Hypocrites

5:00 PM. Manhattan, New York.

The Plaza Hotel was ablaze with lights. The high-society charity auction was in full swing. Clara was the center of the party. She wore a $20,000 evening gown, a shiny pearl necklace around her neck, holding a glass of champagne, laughing and talking with wealthy ladies.

“Oh, my husband, Daniel, he’s wonderful,” I heard Clara’s high-pitched voice as we entered the lobby. “He is very filial. We send my mother-in-law $10,000 every month for her retirement. She lives like a queen in Ohio.”

The crowd gasped in admiration. “You are truly a filial daughter-in-law, Clara.”

Just then, the large doors burst open.

Daniel walked in, still in his elegant suit but with a face full of murderous intent. And beside him was me – a gaunt old woman wearing a frayed sweater, worn-out sneakers, carrying a faded canvas bag.

Our appearance was like a discordant note in a luxurious symphony. Everyone fell silent, focusing their eyes on the “beggar old woman” standing next to billionaire Daniel Evans.

Clara, who was laughing, suddenly froze. The wine glass in her hand fell to the floor, shattering.

“Daniel? Mom?” Clara stammered, her face drained of blood.

Daniel said nothing. He led me straight onto the stage where the host stood. He snatched the microphone.

“Hello everyone,” Daniel’s voice echoed, cold and sharp. “Sorry for interrupting this party honoring kindness. I want to introduce you to someone. This is my mother, Mrs. Martha Evans.”

Whispers began to rise.

“My mother,” Daniel continued, gripping my hand and raising it high, “The person my wife, Clara, just boasted is living like a queen with $10,000 a month.”

Daniel turned to look at Clara, his gaze threatening to burn her.

“But the truth is, she is living in a dilapidated house, eating instant noodles, and washing dishes for hire to survive. Because the $300,000 I sent to my mother over the past 5 years was swallowed whole by a greedy person.”

The entire auditorium gasped in horror. Contemptuous looks began to point at Clara.

Clara panicked. She rushed onto the stage, trying to grab the microphone. “What are you saying, Daniel? You’re drunk! Don’t embarrass me! Mom is senile, she’s talking nonsense!”

“Senile?” Daniel sneered. He pulled a stack of printed papers from his pocket. “This is the bank statement I just printed from the VIP branch this afternoon. All the money was transferred directly to casino accounts and fashion boutiques under your name, Clara. Do you want to explain why my mother didn’t receive a cent, while you added to this Hermes bag collection?”

He threw the papers in Clara’s face. The sheets fluttered down to the floor like snowflakes.

Clara collapsed to her knees, trembling. She knew she had no way out.

“Daniel… I’m sorry… I just borrowed it… I intended to pay it back…”

“You didn’t borrow money,” I spoke up. My voice trembled but was clear. I looked straight at the daughter-in-law I once respected. “You stole my old age. You stole my son’s trust. You left me to die slowly in poverty while you draped yourself in glamour with his money.”

“Security!” Daniel ordered. “Escort Ms. Clara out. And call my lawyer here. Immediately.”

Two large security guards approached, hoisting Clara up by her armpits to drag her away. She screamed, begged, but no one sympathized. In the world of these hypocrites, having one’s poverty of character exposed is the most painful death.

Daniel turned back to hug me, in front of hundreds of people.

“Mom, I’m sorry. From now on, I will never let you suffer again.”

PART 2: RISING FROM THE ASHES

Chapter 4: The Price to Pay

The scandal at the Plaza Hotel became the focus of the New York press for the entire week following. The name Clara Evans became a symbol of greed and deceit. She didn’t just lose her reputation; she lost everything.

Daniel was a decisive man. The very next morning, he filed for divorce. With clear evidence of financial fraud and asset misappropriation, Clara had to leave empty-handed. According to the prenup (which Daniel luckily signed on his lawyer’s advice), everything she bought with embezzled money was confiscated. Handbags, jewelry, shoes… all were auctioned off for charity. Clara also faced potential jail time for tax evasion and fraud, but out of respect for their past marriage, Daniel did not pursue criminal charges to the end, only demanding she leave New York forever.

I heard Clara returned to her hometown, working as a sales clerk for a small supermarket, living the struggling life she once despised. It was a fitting price for those who live on the sweat and tears of others.

But punishing Clara wasn’t the most important thing. The important thing was healing what was lost.

Daniel didn’t let me go back to Ohio.

“That house holds too many sad memories, Mom,” he said. “Stay here with me.”

He took me to the penthouse overlooking Central Park. But he knew I wasn’t used to this stifling luxury. He knew I missed gardens, missed the smell of soil.

So, Daniel did something that made me cry.

He bought a small farm in the suburbs of New York, with an apple orchard, a chicken coop, and a cozy wooden house equipped with modern amenities but retaining a rustic charm.

“This is your new home, Mom,” Daniel led me by the hand for a walk in the garden. “And it’s also my home every weekend. I will reduce my work. I’ve delegated more management to subordinates. From now on, I want to spend time being your son.”

Chapter 5: Belated Happiness

My life turned a new page. I no longer had to worry about money, but I didn’t sit idly enjoying it. I used the money Daniel gifted me to open a small soup kitchen in a nearby town. I cooked soup, baked cakes for the homeless, lonely elderly people just like I used to be.

Daniel changed a lot. He was no longer the businessman who only knew how to bury his face in his phone. Every weekend, he drove to the farm, took off his suit, wore jeans and a t-shirt to help me fix fences, water plants.

We cooked together. I taught him how to make the family stew recipe he used to love so much.

“You know, Mom,” Daniel said while peeling potatoes, “I’ve earned millions of dollars, eaten at the most luxurious restaurants in the world. But nothing tastes as good as your cooking.”

“Don’t flatter me,” I laughed, but my heart felt incredibly warm.

One autumn afternoon, when the maple leaves turned the garden red, Daniel brought home a girl.

Her name was Sarah, a simple, gentle pediatrician. She didn’t use designer goods, didn’t wear flashy makeup. She rolled up her sleeves to help me pick vegetables in the kitchen as soon as she arrived. She listened to my rambling stories with patience and sincerity.

I watched the way Daniel looked at Sarah. That gaze didn’t have the flashy infatuation as when he looked at Clara in the past, but rather peace and trust.

“What do you think of her, Mom?” Daniel whispered to me while Sarah was playing with the Golden Retriever in the yard.

“Son,” I held his hand. “This time you chose right. She looks at you with her heart, not her wallet.”

Chapter 6: A Mother’s Day Gift

Another Mother’s Day arrived.

This year there was no shiny Bentley, no cold Hermes gift bags.

Daniel, Sarah, and I sat gathered around a wooden dining table in the garden. On the table was a vase of wild daisies Sarah had just picked, and a cake clumsily made by Daniel himself (it was a bit lopsided and the frosting uneven, but to me, it was more beautiful than any store-bought cake).

“Mom,” Daniel stood up, raising a glass of juice. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

He pulled an envelope from his pocket. I started, the trauma of last year rushing back.

“It’s not money, Mom,” Daniel laughed, understanding my thought. “Open it.”

I opened the envelope. Inside was a plane ticket and an itinerary.

“I remember you once said your lifelong dream was to visit Grandma’s homeland in Ireland,” Daniel said. “Next month, all three of us are going. Me, Sarah, and you. We will travel together.”

I burst into tears. Not because of the trip, but because I realized I had truly gotten my son back.

The lost $5,000 or $300,000 didn’t matter anymore. That loss was the price paid in exchange for the truth and awakening.

I looked at Daniel, looked at Sarah, looked at the warm house behind me. I am Martha Evans, the person once abandoned in a leaky house, now the happiest woman on earth.

And I know, from now on, no matter how much money there is, my greatest asset is sitting right in front of me, smiling and calling me “Mom.”

THE END