After the funeral in the US, my son pushed me to the edge of town—but the secret I had kept for 40 years made him regret it soon after

“The day my husband was buried in Maple Falls, Ohio, it was drizzling. The small black umbrella was not enough to hide the loneliness in my heart. I trembled, holding the incense stick, looking down at the newly made grave, not yet dry. My partner of nearly 40 years, now only a handful of cold dirt.”

After the funeral, I did not have time to grieve. My eldest son, Jacob (Jake) Parker, whom my husband trusted completely, quickly took the house keys. I remembered a few years ago, when my husband was still healthy, he said: “We are old, so we should put the deed (home ownership papers) in Jake’s name so he can be responsible.” I did not object, because I thought that all parents love their children. The house papers were all in Jake’s name.

On the seventh day after the funeral, Jake asked to take me out for a walk to get some fresh air. I didn’t expect that the bus trip that day would be a stab in the heart. The bus stopped at the edge of town, Jake said coldly:
— “This is where you get off the bus. My wife and I can’t support you anymore. From now on, you have to take care of yourself.”

My ears were ringing, my eyes were dizzy. I thought I had misheard. But his eyes were determined, as if he wanted to push me down immediately. I sat there blankly on the side of the road, with only a small cloth bag containing a few clothes in my hand. The house in Maple Falls—where I had lived, where I had taken care of my husband and children—now belonged to him. I had no right to return.

People say “when you lose your husband, you still have your children,” but I realized that sometimes having children is like not having them. I was forced into a corner by my own child. However, what Jake didn’t know: I wasn’t completely penniless. In my breast pocket, I always carried a passbook—actually, a savings account in a bank in Columbus—the amount of money my husband and I had saved up over our lifetimes, about $400,000. We kept it hidden from our children or anyone else. Because my husband used to say, “People are only good to you when you have something in your hands.”

That day, I decided to keep quiet. I would not beg, I would not reveal my secret. I needed to see how Jake and the rest of life would treat me.

The first day I was left behind, I sat at a roadside tea shop. The owner took pity on me and offered me a cup of hot tea. I told her that I had just lost my husband and had been abandoned by my children. She just sighed:
— “There are many situations like this nowadays. Children value money more than love.”

I rented a small room in a motel near the highway, using the interest from my savings account. I was careful: I never let anyone know that I had a fortune. I lived simply, wore old clothes, bought cheap food, and did not attract attention.

There were nights when I curled up on the creaky spring bed, missing the old house, the sound of the wooden ceiling fan, the smell of the green tea my husband used to make. The nostalgia tormented me, but then I told myself: I am still alive, I must continue to move on.

I began to integrate into the new life. During the day, I asked to help at the farmers’ market at the beginning of town: washing vegetables, serving, cleaning. People paid little money, but I did not mind. I wanted to stand on my own two feet, not rely on pity. My fellow traders at the market called me “gentle Evelyn”. They did not know that every time the market ended, I would return to my rented room, open the envelope containing my bank statements to look at it, then put it away carefully. That was the secret to survival.

Once, I accidentally met an old acquaintance—Mrs. Rosa Thompson, my close friend from my youth when I worked at the garment factory. She was surprised to see me staying at the motel. I just told her that my husband had passed away and life was difficult. She felt sorry for me and invited me to work at her family’s diner on Main Street. I agreed. The work was hard, but in return I had a place to sleep in the attic and meals. I had more reason to keep my savings account secret.

Meanwhile, news about Jake kept coming to me. He was living with his wife and children in a spacious house, had just bought a new pickup truck, but was in debt from gambling. An acquaintance whispered: “Is it possible that he mortgaged the house to get money?” I heard it and my heart ached, but I decided not to contact him. He had chosen the path of abandoning his mother, and this mother had nothing left to say.

One afternoon, while I was cleaning at the diner, a strange man came by to look for me. He was dressed smartly but his face was tense. I suddenly recognized him—he was Jake’s regular drinking buddy. He stared at me, then asked:…

— “Are you Jake’s mother?”

I paused, reluctantly nodding. He leaned closer, his voice urgent:

“He owes us tens of thousands of dollars. He’s hiding now. If you still love him, then help him.”

I was stunned. I just smiled faintly:

“I’m so poor now, I have nothing left to help.”

He left angrily. But that made me think a lot. I loved my son, but I was also angry with him to the core. He had once heartlessly abandoned me on the side of the road. Now he was getting his retribution, wasn’t it fair?

A few months later, Jake came to the diner. He was skinny, haggard, and his eyes were red. As soon as he saw me, he fell to his knees, choking:

“Mom, I was wrong. I’m a bastard. Please save me once. If not, my whole family will be lost.”

At that moment, my heart was in turmoil. I remember the nights I cried silently for it, remember the scene of it being abandoned. But I also remember what my husband told me before he died: “No matter what, it is still my child.”

I was silent for a long time. Then I slowly walked upstairs, opened the wooden chest, and took out the savings account documents of 400,000 USD. I placed it in front of Jake, my eyes cold:
— “This is the money my parents left me. I hid it because I was afraid that you wouldn’t know how to cherish it. Now I give it to you, but remember: if you ever trample on your mother’s love, no matter how much money you have, you will never be able to hold your head up high again.”

Jake tremblingly took it. He cried like rain.

I know, maybe he will change, maybe he won’t. But at least, I have fulfilled my final responsibility as a mother. And the secret of 400,000 USD was finally revealed—just when it was needed.