“Chris, don’t worry about anything. I’m paying for as much as I can. Whatever you need, just call me.”
Those were my mother’s parting words at the train station as I headed to New York for college. She had finally landed a well-paying job, a stark contrast to most of my life. Growing up, we didn’t have much. My presents were always second-hand, and I knew she had struggled, raising me alone and studying at night. I never lacked food or shelter, but I knew she felt a quiet guilt for not giving me the things my friends had. Now, she finally had a decent salary and was ready to give me the world. I hugged her, whispered my thanks, and stepped onto that train, not knowing it would be seven years before I saw her face in person again.
During my junior year, I met Rosalie. We were both working toward graduation when we found out she was pregnant. We got engaged, and though my mother, whom I called Mrs. Franklin in front of Rosalie, met her through the computer screen, they had never actually touched. Rosalie couldn’t travel much in her condition, and Mom was always working.
“Mrs. Franklin, you should come to visit! I’m so huge now!” Rosalie would tell her through the screen.
“Soon, Rosalie! I hope to meet you soon. When I get a free moment,” Mom would nod.
She seemed to be working more hours than ever, despite her supposed high salary. She was paying for my college, my housing, and my growing expenses. She always lived frugally, but I assumed that was just her way. One afternoon, I asked Rosalie to leave the room so I could speak to Mom privately.
“Mom, I wanted to ask you something,” I started, scratching the back of my head. “Since Rosalie and I are graduating and having a baby, I was wondering if you could help me with a house. It’s in New Jersey—beautiful, and it reminds me of home.”
Mom stared at me through the screen for a long time. She looked tired. “Well, I… I don’t know,” she muttered. I knew she was thinking about her savings and her retirement, but I pressed her. I told her the down payment was more than we could manage and that Rosalie had no family to help.
“Okay, Chris. I think we can work something out,” she finally said. I almost cried with relief. “Thank you, Mom! I don’t know what I would do without you!” I told her, and seeing her smile made me feel like everything was going to be perfect.
Years passed. We only ever talked through video chat. “I wish you guys could come this Christmas,” she’d say, a request she’d made many times over the seven years since I’d left our Maryland home. I was busy, Rosalie was busy, and our daughter, Mallory, was growing up without ever knowing her grandmother’s hug.
I had even asked for more money later to start a business, and Mom had come through again. She never asked for anything in return. “We can’t come this year, Mom,” I’d say, shaking my head. “But thank you for the gifts you sent Mallory. She loves them.”
Finally, I decided it was time to surprise her. I couldn’t afford tickets for the whole family yet, but I wanted to see her. When my taxi pulled up to my childhood home at 9 p.m., my heart sank. The house was pitch black. The porch furniture was gone. The plants she loved were missing, and the garden was an overgrown mess. Even the welcome mat was gone.
I knocked. No response. I peered through the window and felt a cold wave of shock. The house was empty. There was nothing inside. Had she moved? Why wouldn’t she tell me?
“Chris? Is that you?”
I turned to see Mrs. Torres, our lifelong neighbor. “Mrs. Torres! Do you know where my mom is?”
“Oh, dear. Your mother moved away about two years ago,” she said, her forehead wrinkling. “She sold the house. I thought you knew.”
She gave me a piece of paper with a new address. It was on a side of town I knew was dangerous and run-down. Mrs. Torres mentioned Mom had a roommate now, which baffled me even more.
I took a taxi to an apartment complex with peeling paint and flickering lights. There was no security. I found her door and knocked, my hands trembling. When she opened it, she looked smaller than I remembered.
“Chris? What are you doing here?” she gasped.
“Mom! What is going on? Why did you sell the house?” I demanded, looking around the tiny, cramped living room.
She sighed and pulled me inside. Then, the truth came out. When I had asked for the house money, she had depleted every cent of her savings. When I asked for the business money, she had nothing left to give—so she sold her own home, gave me the profit, and moved into this place with a roommate to keep supporting me.
I felt like the smallest, most selfish person alive. “Why didn’t you say anything? I wouldn’t have taken it if I’d known!” I was breathless with guilt.
“I wanted you to succeed, sweetie,” she whispered. “I failed to give you so much when you were younger, I just didn’t want you to struggle like I did.”
“Mom, you gave me everything I ever needed,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for being so careless. For not visiting. For letting you live like this.”
We hugged, both of us crying. That night, I called Rosalie. We didn’t even have to debate it. We moved Mom to New Jersey immediately. We built an in-law suite for her so she would never miss another second of Mallory’s life. As my business took off, I repaid every single penny she had ever given me. But more importantly, I made sure she would never have to sacrifice a single thing ever again. I realized then that while I had been looking at her through a screen for seven years, I hadn’t really been seeing her at all. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
