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.
The day of my husbands burial, a light drizzle fell. The small black umbrella did little to shield me from the loneliness gnawing at my heart. I trembled as I clutched the incense stick, staring at the freshly dug grave, the earth still damp. My companion of nearly forty yearsmy beloved Edwardwas now little more than a handful of cold soil.
There was no time for grief after the funeral. My eldest son, Thomas, whom my husband had trusted completely, wasted no time in taking the keys.
Years before, when Edward was still in good health, he had told me, Were getting older. Lets put the house in Thomass namehe can take responsibility. I didnt objectwhat parent doesnt love their child? So the house and land were transferred to Thomas.
On the seventh day after the burial, Thomas suggested we go for a walk to clear my mind. I never expected that walk would feel like a knife in my back.
The car stopped on the towns edge, near a deserted bus stop. Thomas said coldly, Get out here. My wife and I cant support you anymore. From now on, youll have to manage on your own.
My ears rang. My vision blurred. I thought Id misheard. But his gaze was hard, as if he meant to shove me from the car.
In shock, I sat by the roadside beside a small shop, clutching only a cloth bag with a few clothes. The housewhere Id lived, cared for my husband, and raised my childrenwas no longer mine. It was in his name. I had no right to return.
They say, When you lose your husband, you still have your children. But sometimes, its as if you have none at all. My own son had cast me aside.
Yet Thomas didnt know I wasnt empty-handed. In the pocket of my blouse, I still carried my savings bookthe money Edward and I had set aside all our lives, tens of thousands of pounds. Wed hidden it well, never speaking of it to our children or anyone else.
One day, Edward had told me, 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 would see how Thomasand lifewould treat him.
The first night alone, I sat beneath the shops awning. The owner, Mrs. Bennett, took pity and gave me a steaming cup of tea. When I told her Id lost my husband and my children had abandoned me, she sighed deeply. These days, love, stories like yours are 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 money. I lived simply, wore worn clothes, bought cheap food, and drew no attention.
Some nights, curled on my rickety bed, I missed my old homethe creak of the ceiling fan, the smell of Edwards ginger biscuits. The ache of memory was sharp, but I told myself: As long as I lived, I had to keep going.
I adjusted to my new life. By day, I asked for work at the marketwashing vegetables, carrying loads, bagging goods. The pay was poor, but it didnt matter. I wanted to stand on my own feet, not depend on pity.
At the market, they called me Kindly Mrs. Agnes. They never knew that back in my rented room, Id secretly open my savings book before tucking it away. It was my lifeline.
One day, I ran into an old friendMargaret, my dearest companion from youth. Seeing me in that rented room, I simply said my husband had died and life was hard. She pitied me and offered work at her familys tea shop. I accepted. The work was gruelling, but I had shelter and meals. It gave me more reason to keep my secret.
Meanwhile, news of Thomas reached me. He lived in a big house with his wife and children, bought a new car, but had taken to gambling. A neighbour whispered, Ill wager hes already put the house up as collateral. My heart clenched, but I refused to seek him out. Hed left me heartlessly at that bus stop. I had nothing left to say.
One afternoon, as I swept the tea shop, a well-dressed but tense-faced man entered. I recognised himone of Thomass gambling mates. He stared and asked, Youre Thomass mother? I stopped, nodding. He stepped closer, voice urgent. He owes us thousands. Hes hiding now. If you still care, save him.
I was stunned. He gave a bitter smile. Im broke myselfI cant help him. He left in a fury. But it made me think. I loved him, yet the hurt ran deep. He whod abandoned me without remorsewas this his reckoning? Was it just?
Months later, Thomas came to me. He was gaunt, ragged, eyes bloodshot. The moment he saw me, he fell to his knees, voice breaking. Mum, I was wrong. Ive been wretched. Please, save me once moreor my familys lost.
My heart twisted. I remembered nights weeping for him, the abandonment Id endured. But I also recalled Edwards dying words: No matter what, hes still our son.
I stood silent a long while. Then I went to my room and brought out the savings bookthe money my parents had left me, tens of thousands of pounds. I laid it before him, meeting his gaze steadily.
This is what my parents left me. I hid it because I feared you wouldnt respect it. I give it to you nowbut remember: If you trample a mothers love again, no amount of money will let you walk with dignity.
Thomas trembled as he took it. He wept like a child in the rain. I knew he might changeor not. But at least I had done a mothers last duty. And the secret of that moneyat lastwas revealed, just when it had to be.
