After my husbands funeral, my son drove me to the outskirts of town and said, “This is where you get out, Mum. We cant look after you anymore.”
But I carried a secret I had kept for yearsone my ungrateful son would come to regret.
On the day of my husbands burial, a fine drizzle fell. The little black umbrella did nothing to shield the loneliness gnawing at my heart. Trembling, I clutched the incense stick, staring at the freshly dug grave, the earth still damp.
My companion of nearly forty yearsmy beloved Williamwas now nothing more than a handful of cold soil.
There was no time to drown in grief after the funeral.
My eldest son, Edward, in whom my husband had placed absolute trust, wasted no time taking the keys.
Years earlier, when William was still in good health, he had told me, “Were getting old. Lets put the deed in Edwards name, so he can take responsibility.”
I didnt objectwhat parent doesnt love their child?
So, the house and land were transferred to Edward.
A week after the burial, Edward suggested we go for a walk to clear my mind.
I never expected that stroll to feel like a knife in the back.
The car stopped at the edge of town, near an abandoned bus stop.
Edward spoke coldly, “Get out here. My wife and I cant support you anymore. From now on, youre on your own.”
My ears rang, my vision blurred.
I thought Id misheard.
But his gaze was firm, as if he wanted to shove me from the car.
I sat in shock by the roadside beside a little shop, holding only a cloth bag with a few clothes.
The housewhere Id lived, cared for my husband, raised my childrenwas no longer mine. It was in his name. I had no right to return.
They say, “When a husband is gone, there are still the children,” but sometimes, it feels as if there are none.
My own son had cornered me.
Yet Edward didnt know I wasnt empty-handed.
Hidden in my dress pocket was my savings bookthe money William and I had set aside our whole lives, worth hundreds of thousands of pounds.
Wed kept it well hidden, never speaking of it to the children or anyone else.
One day, William had said, “People are only good when they have something to lose.”
That day, I decided to stay silent.
I didnt beg. I didnt reveal a thing.
I wanted to see how Edwardand lifewould treat him.
The first night they left me alone, I sat under the shops awning.
The owner, Mrs. Whitmore, took pity and gave me a steaming cup of tea.
When I told her Id lost my husband and my children had cast me aside, she sighed deeply, “These days, dear, stories like yours are all too common. Children care more for money than love.”
I rented a small room, paying with the interest from my savings.
I was carefulno one knew I had a fortune.
I lived simply, wore worn clothes, bought cheap food, and drew no attention.
Some nights, curled on my creaky bed, I missed my old homethe hum of the ceiling fan, the scent of the ginger salad William used to make.
The longing ached, but I told myself, as long as I lived, I must go on.
I adjusted to my new life.
By day, I asked for work at the marketwashing vegetables, carrying loads, tying bundles.
The pay was meagre, but it didnt matter.
I wanted to stand on my own two feet, without relying on pity.
At the market, they called me “kindly Mrs. Margaret.”
They never knew that back in my rented room, Id open my savings book in secret before tucking it away.
It was my lifeline.
One day, I ran into an old friendMrs. Hartley, my dearest companion from youth.
Seeing me in a rented room, I simply said my husband had passed and times were hard.
She pitied me and invited me to help at her familys tea shop.
I accepted.
The work was gruelling, but I had a roof and meals.
It gave me more reason to keep my savings hidden.
Meanwhile, word of Edward reached me.
He lived in a grand house with his wife and children, bought a new car, but had taken to gambling.
A friend whispered, “Id wager hes already put the deed up as collateral.”
My heart clenched, but I resolved not to reach out.
Hed left me without remorse at that bus stop.
I had nothing left to say to him.
One afternoon, as I swept the tea shop floor, a well-dressed but tense-faced man entered.
I recognised himone of Edwards drinking mates.
He studied me and asked, “Youre Edwards mother?”
I paused, then nodded.
He stepped closer, urgency in his voice, “He owes us thousands. Hes in hiding now. If you care for him at all, save him.”
I was stunned.
He gave a bitter smile, “Im broke myself. I cant help him.”
He left in anger. But it made me think.
I loved him, yet the hurt ran deep.
He, whod cast me aside without a second thought.
Was this his comeuppance? Was it fair?
Months later, Edward came to me.
Gaunt, dishevelled, eyes red-rimmed.
The moment he saw me, he fell to his knees, voice breaking, “Mum, I was wrong. Ive been wretched. Please, save me one last time. Or my familys ruined.”
My heart twisted.
I remembered the nights Id wept for him, the abandonment Id endured.
But I also recalled Williams dying words: “No matter what, hes still our son.”
I stayed silent a long while.
Then I went to my room and brought out the savings bookthe money my parents had left me, worth hundreds of thousands of pounds.
I placed it before Edward, looking him straight in the eye, my voice steady:
“This is the money my parents left me. I hid it because I feared you wouldnt respect it.
I give it to you now, but rememberif you trample a mothers love again, no amount of money will ever let you walk with dignity.”
Edward trembled as he took the book.
He wept like a child in the rain.
I knew he might changeor he might not.
But at least, Id done my last duty as a mother.
And the secret of that moneyfinallyhad been revealed, right when it needed to be.
