My son vanished 13 years ago, leaving me alone with crushing debt and a chronic illness. Last night, he reappeared on my doorstep with a smile and two suitcases, but as I drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
I woke up that morning like any other, my joints aching as I dragged myself out of bed. The house was quiet, too quiet. I shuffled to Daniel’s room, hoping he’d finally come home after our argument last night.
The door creaked open, revealing an empty bed and a folded piece of paper on the pillow.
My hands shook as I unfolded it. “Mom, I’m leaving. Don’t try to find me. I’m not coming back.” The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. How could he do this? How could my 18-year-old son just abandon me?
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” Daniel said, his voice cracking. He dropped to his knees in the living room. “I had… problems. Serious ones. I didn’t want to drag you into them.”
I stood there, arms crossed. “What kind of problems?”
Daniel looked up at me, his eyes brimming with tears. “I got mixed up with some bad people. Drugs, gambling… I was in way over my head. I thought leaving would protect you.”
My anger softened, just a little. “You could have told me. We could have faced it together.”
“I know that now,” he said, hanging his head. “I was young and stupid. Can you ever forgive me?”
I sighed, feeling the heaviness of thirteen years of loneliness and hurt. “I… I need time, Daniel. But you can stay for now.”
We ate dinner together, the silence broken only by the clink of forks on plates. I couldn’t help but notice how much he’d changed. The lanky teenager was gone, replaced by a man with broad shoulders and tired eyes.
“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “What have you been doing all these years?”
Daniel pushed his food around his plate. “It’s a long story, Mom. I’ve been… all over. Trying to sort myself out.”
“And have you?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. “Sorted yourself out?”
He nodded. “I think so. I’m clean now. Have been for a while. I’ve got a job lined up in the city. I just… I needed to see you first. To apologize.”
I wanted to believe him. God, how I wanted to believe him. But thirteen years of disappointment and loneliness had taught me to be cautious.
“That’s… good, Daniel. I’m glad you’re doing better.”
As I showed him to his old room, Daniel whispered, “I missed you every day, Mom.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. As I closed my bedroom door, I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe we could rebuild our relationship.
That hope shattered at 2 a.m. when I woke to strange noises. I crept down the hallway, my bare feet silent on the cold floor.
There was Daniel, illuminated by moonlight, rifling through the closet where I kept my savings. The money I’d scrimped and saved for years, working through illness and exhaustion.
“What are you doing?” My voice was barely a whisper, but Daniel jumped like he’d been shot.
He spun around, a wad of cash in his hand. “Mom! I… I can explain!”
“Get out.” The words were ice cold. “Get out now, or I’m calling the police.”
Daniel’s face crumpled. For a moment, I saw the little boy he used to be. Then his expression hardened. Without a word, he grabbed his bags, which still stood beside the front door, and left.
As the door slammed behind him, I sank to the floor. Tears streamed down my face, but I felt a strange sense of peace. I’d survived thirteen years without him. I’d survived Robert’s death, crippling debt, and a chronic illness.
I could survive this too. As dawn broke, I made a decision. It was time to focus on myself, to build a life filled with people who truly cared. Daniel had made his choice. Now, it was time to make mine.
I picked up the phone and dialed Dr. Chen’s number. When her answering service picked up, I left a message.
“Dr. Chen, it’s Evelyn. I think I’m ready for that support group you mentioned. And… I think I might need to talk to someone. A therapist, maybe. Call me back when you can.”
What would you have done?
Leave a Reply