My son needed $70,000 to buy a house, so I packed all my savings and took an overnight bus to bring it to him. Outside the window, I heard my daughter-in-law laughing on the phone—bragging that once the papers were signed, she’d send me back to my “filthy rural hometown.” My hands trembled. That night, I pretended to be sick, and after that, nothing was ever the same again.

Hello everyone, and welcome to the channel Solar Stories.

My son needed money for a down payment, so I scraped together $70,000. On my way to give it to him, I overheard my daughter-in-law on the phone, so I faked an illness and left.

My husband has been gone for three years, and my only hope is my son, Cody. He wants to put down roots in the city, and he told me they were still $70,000 short for their house. I didn’t think twice. I dug out my old savings passbooks, cashed them all out, and took the Greyhound bus overnight to bring them the money.

My daughter-in-law, Jenna, is pregnant, and I kept thinking this money would finally let the two of them settle down.

I had just walked up to the window of their rental apartment when I heard Jenna on the phone, her voice sharp.

“Mom, don’t worry. I’m getting every last scent of the old hag’s savings. As soon as the deed is signed, I’ll tell him the baby can’t stand the smell of her, and she can go rot back in her rural town.”

It felt like the sidewalk cracked open into a bottomless pit. I, Eleanor, stood frozen, my hands and feet ice cold. That voice was Jenna’s, and every word was a knife in the heart.

The faux-leather bag I was carrying slipped from my hand and hit the pavement with a heavy, muffled thud from the bundles of cash inside. The harsh sun beat down on my graying hair. I leaned against the apartment building’s brick wall and forced myself to take slow, deep breaths. The color drained from my face.

I couldn’t go in there like this.

I picked up the bag, brushed the dust off it, zipped it shut again, and felt sweat soaking through the back of my shirt.

A few minutes later, I stood in front of their apartment door. I raised my hand and knocked.

The door opened. It was Jenna.

“Mom, you’re here!”

Jenna’s face was all smiles as she reached to take the bag from my hand. I flinched back, stumbling slightly.

“Oh my gosh, Mom, are you okay?” Jenna asked, grabbing my arm, her voice full of concern.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice weak. “I think I just got a little heat stroke on the way.”

“Quick, come in and sit down,” Jenna said, guiding me inside.

Cody came out from the bedroom when he heard us.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

He took the bag from my hand and tossed it casually onto the couch.

Tiny beads of sweat formed on my forehead. I pressed a hand to my chest, my breathing a little short.

“It must have been the heat. It was so stuffy on the bus. I just feel really dizzy.”

“I’ll get you some water,” Jenna said, turning to the kitchen.

Cody helped me sit down on the edge of the sofa.

“I’ll take you to an urgent care, Mom,” he said.

I waved my hand. “No. It’s an old problem. I’ll be fine after rest.”

My eyes darted to the bag with the money.

Jenna came back with a glass of lukewarm water. It was one of those cheap glasses with faded red flowers printed on it.

“Here, Mom. Drink some water. Or I can find you an Advil.”

I took the glass and took a tiny sip.

The money.

Cody started looking at me.

“I’ll hold on to the money for now,” I said. “Let me just catch my breath. What if… what if I need it for something?”

Jenna’s eyes flickered for just a second, but she quickly smoothed her expression back into one of concern.

“Mom’s right,” Jenna said. “Just leave the money. Her health is what’s important.”

She gave Cody a look. He nodded.

“Yeah, Mom. Just get some rest.”

I leaned back against the sofa and closed my eyes. The apartment went quiet for a moment, except for the monotonous ticking of the clock on the wall.

I didn’t stay at my son’s place for long. I said I wasn’t feeling well and wanted to go back to the small room I rent, to rest in quiet.

Cody offered to take me, but I refused.

Jenna walked me to the door, her tone gentle. “Mom, you get some good rest. I’ll bring you dinner later.”

I mumbled okay and walked slowly down the stairs.

My little room was in an alley, part of an old converted bungalow. My rent was $200 a month.

Inside, there was just a cot, an old table, and one chair. I shoved the bag with the $70,000 deep underneath the cot. Then I lay down on the bed, staring at the water-stained ceiling.

Sunlight streamed through the single narrow window, casting a bright square of light on the floor.

I was freezing cold.

Those words echoed in my ears over and over.

The old hag.

Go rot back in her rural town.

I rolled over, burying my face in the coarse blanket. It smelled like sunshine and laundry soap. I didn’t cry. I just felt this heavy, suffocating weight in my chest, like it was stuffed with wet cotton.

In the evening, just as promised, Jenna brought over dinner. It was white rice, a small bowl of steamed egg, and a side of green vegetables.

“Mom, eat it while it’s hot. Cody got held up at work. He’ll be back late.”

Jenna put the container on the table.

I sat up and looked at the food. “Thank you,” I said.

“Mom, are you feeling any better? Is it serious?” Jenna asked.

“Much better. Just feel a little weak.”

“Well, you just take care of yourself. Don’t worry about the house. Your health is the most important thing,” Jenna said with a polite smile.

She sat a few more minutes, making meaningless polite small talk, then got up to leave. I listened to her footsteps fade away. I picked up the fork. The egg was tender with green onions and a little soy sauce, but I couldn’t taste a thing.

Two days later, a visitor came to my little room. It was Brenda, a neighbor from down the alley, who was also a distant relative from my late husband’s hometown.

Brenda was loud and friendly.

“Eleanor, honey, I heard you were sick. I had to come check on you.”

She was carrying a small plastic bag with a few bruised apples in it.

I offered her a seat. There wasn’t much to offer, just a glass of tap water.

Brenda looked around the tiny room, clicking her tongue.

“Honey, you’re being too hard on yourself. You came to the city to be with your son. Why are you living in a place like this?”

I looked down. “It’s quiet.”

“Quiet my foot. I’m telling you, that girl Jenna is a piece of work,” Brenda said, lowering her voice. “I heard she’s been pushing Cody hard to buy a house.”

My hand tightened.

“Housing prices in the city are high,” I said. “It’s not easy for young people like Cody.”

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t squeeze your elderly mother’s retirement money,” Brenda snapped. “Eleanor, I’m not trying to tell you your business, but you better hold on tight to that $70,000. Don’t you dare give it all to them in one go.”

My lips moved, but I said nothing.

“That Jenna, she’s a sharp one. Don’t let her sweet talk you,” Brenda continued. “You just keep saying you’re sick and that the money isn’t moving. See how she reacts. If she’s really a good daughter-in-law, she won’t be in such a rush.”

I listened in silence.

Brenda went on bad-mouthing Jenna for a while longer before she left, looking quite satisfied with herself.

I put the bag of apples on the table. I didn’t touch them. My mind was in even more turmoil.

Over the next few days, Jenna kept bringing my meals on time. The food was still simple and decent. She was still polite, asking about my health, but woven into the conversation, she’d always find a way to bring up the house.

“Mom, I saw a condo the other day. The location and the light were perfect, just a little expensive. The realtor said if we don’t lock it down, it’ll be gone.”

“Mom, that new guy at Cody’s office—he started two years after him, and they already bought a new place.”

I just listened, using the excuse that I wasn’t fully recovered yet. The smile on Jenna’s face started to look more and more strained.

Cody came by twice.

The first time, he came with Jenna, sat for a bit, and mostly asked about my health.

The second time, he came alone. He sat on the little stool by my cot, wringing his hands.

“Mom… that money.”

I looked at my son. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked thinner.

“Cody,” I said quietly. “That money is my whole life’s savings. I saved it all for you.”

“I know, Mom,” Cody said, his voice hoarse. “But Jenna… she’s really pushing hard.”

“Is a house that important?” I asked.

“She said without a house, she doesn’t have a real home in this city. That the baby will have nowhere to belong,” he said, staring at the floor.

A sharp pain went through my chest.

The son I had worked so hard to raise—now his wife was the only one in his heart.

A few more days passed. When Jenna brought dinner, her mood was obviously bad.

“Mom, shouldn’t you be all better by now? You can’t just keep dragging this out,” she said, putting the container down on the table with a thump.

“Soon, soon,” I said.

“Cody’s under a lot of pressure at work. His boss even talked to him. Said he’s not focused,” Jenna said, staring at me. “He’s sick with worry about this house.”

I didn’t respond.

“Mom, what are you really planning to do with that money? Can you just give me a straight answer?” Jenna’s voice was sharp with impatience.

“Jenna?” I looked up.

“That money is my retirement fund.”

“Your retirement fund?” she shot back. “Isn’t that the same as Cody’s money? He’s the one who’s going to have to take care of you in the end anyway.”

“Cody is Cody. You are you.”

“Mom, what’s that supposed to mean? We’re a family,” Jenna said, her voice rising.

“A family?” I said, each word deliberate. “A family doesn’t plot to steal an old woman’s retirement money.”

Jenna’s face changed. It went from red, to white, then white to a sickly pale.

“Mom, I don’t appreciate that,” she snapped, standing up. “I’m carrying Cody’s child. I’m doing everything for this family, and now I’m the bad guy who’s trying to scam you out of your money?”

I just looked at her, saying nothing.

In the last few days, I had thought a lot. Those toxic words were burned into my mind.

“Fine,” Jenna spat. “If that’s how you feel, you can just keep your money.”

She turned to leave. She stopped at the door, looked back, and sneered.

“We’ll just see who Cody listens to. You or me?”

The door slammed shut.

I sat there for a long time without moving.

That evening, Cody came. He looked angry the second he walked in.

“Mom, what did you say to Jenna? She came home crying. Said you accused her of terrible things.”

I looked at my son, my heart cold with grief.

“I just told the truth.”

“What truth?” Cody snapped. “Mom, she’s pregnant with my child. Can’t you just cut her some slack?” His tone was full of blame.

“Is she supposed to respect me, or am I supposed to let her walk all over me?” I shot back.

“Mom.” Cody’s voice got louder. “Who are we buying this house for? It’s for the family, for your future grandchild.”

“And for the grandchild, you have to empty your grandmother’s nest egg,” I said, unable to stop myself. My voice rose too.

Cody froze. He didn’t expect me to be so forceful.

“You… how can you think that about Jenna? She’s not like that.”

I closed my eyes, not wanting to argue anymore.

When Cody saw I wasn’t talking, he paced the room angrily.

“Fine. If you don’t give us the money, this family is over.”

He threw that threat at me and slammed the door, too.

From that day on, Jenna stopped bringing food. Cody didn’t come back.

I went back to living like I did in my old town—buying my own groceries and cooking for myself. Only now, there was a huge hole in my heart.

About two weeks later, Brenda showed up again. The second she walked in, she looked agitated.

“Oh, Eleanor, something big is happening.”

I felt a jolt of alarm.

“I heard that Jenna found out from somewhere that your old house back in your hometown… they’re planning to rezone the area for development. They’re saying there’s going to be a big payout.”

I was stunned. This was news to me.

“Is that true?”

“It’s pretty much a done deal,” Brenda said, slapping her thigh. “And now that girl Jenna is at it again. She’s demanding that Cody get you to sign the deed to the old house over to her name. She’s saying she’s afraid the zoning laws will change and they’ll lose out.”

A chill ran from the soles of my feet to the top of my head.

Jenna’s greed was far beyond what I had imagined. My husband and I had built that house with our own hands, brick by brick. It was my last connection to him. It was my last root.

Sure enough, two days later, Cody was back. This time, his attitude was even more determined.

“Mom, about the old house back home. What have you decided?” He went straight to the point.

I looked at my son. He looked impatient.

“Cody, that house is mine.”

“I know it’s yours,” he said quickly. “Jenna said we should just transfer the deed to my name now. It’s for your own good—to save you trouble later.”

“What trouble?” I asked.

“What if… what if the payout rules change?” Cody hesitated. “Jenna said, ‘You’re getting older. What if something happens? The house will be mine eventually anyway. It’s just easier to do it now.’”

My heart went completely cold.

What if something happens.

Those words, coming from my own son.

I stared at Cody—the boy I raised from a baby—and he was a total stranger to me.

“Cody,” I said, my voice calm. “What if I say no? I’m not giving you the house.”

Cody’s face darkened instantly.

“Mom, why do you have to be so stubborn? Jenna said if you don’t agree… she’s going to get an abortion.”

I snapped my head up, staring at him in disbelief.

Using his unborn child to threaten me.

This was my wonderful daughter-in-law. This was my wonderful son.

Suddenly, I started to laugh. I laughed so hard tears streamed down my face. I laughed at how stupid I’d been—how blind.

“Good,” I said three times. “Good, good, good.”

Cody looked thrown off by my reaction.

“Mom… so you agree?”

I stopped laughing and wiped the tears from my eyes. My gaze became perfectly calm—so calm it seemed to frighten him.

“Cody, you go back and tell Jenna,” I said, enunciating every word, “that she has miscalculated.”

Cody left, looking confused and faintly uneasy.

I sat on the edge of the cot for a long time as the sky outside darkened. I knew I couldn’t back down anymore. One more step back and I’d fall into an abyss.

The next day, I woke up early. I combed my hair carefully and put on a clean blue blouse. I took a few bills from the bag under my cot and tucked them into my pocket, then locked my door and went to the city’s biggest flea market.

I walked slowly between the stalls, looking carefully. Finally, I stopped at a booth in the corner. The vendor was a skinny, middle-aged man bent over a pile of miscellaneous gadgets.

My eyes landed on a small black plastic object. It was an old Sony-brand digital voice recorder. The casing was a bit scratched, but it looked like it would work.

I haggled with the vendor and bought it for $30. He even threw in two new AA batteries.

I tucked the recorder into my pocket, wandered the market a bit more to buy some groceries, and then headed back.

Back in my room, I locked the door and fumbled to put the batteries in the recorder. A small red light blinked twice. I pressed the record button and spoke a few quiet words into it. Then I pressed play, and my own voice came back clear as day.

I put the recorder away, my heart beating a little fast.

From that day on, my life looked the same as always. I still bought my own food and cooked my own meals. Sometimes I’d go sit in the little park at the end of the alley and talk with the other old folks.

But now, that little recorder was always secretly in my pocket.

Jenna and Cody didn’t come by, but Jenna’s calls came every few days to Brenda’s convenience store at the end of the alley. Brenda would always run over, happy to deliver the message.

“Eleanor, honey. Jenna wants you to go over there. Says it’s important.”

“Eleanor. Jenna’s asking what you’ve decided about the house.”

I always made an excuse. Sometimes I was sick. Sometimes I said I needed to go back to my hometown for a bit.

Jenna’s voice on the other end of the line got more and more impatient.

One day, I was at Brenda’s store buying some soap when the phone rang again. It was Jenna.

Brenda handed me the receiver. I took it, and with my other hand I pressed the record button on the device in my pocket.

“Hello, Mom. It’s me,” Jenna said. Her voice was ice cold.

“Oh, Jenna. What is it?” I asked gently.

“The house. What’s your final answer? Cody’s about to lose his mind over this.”

“Jenna,” I said quietly, “that house is my last memory. I don’t want to do anything with it right now.”

“You don’t want to,” Jenna snapped, “or you’re just afraid we’ll take advantage of you?”

Her voice turned shrill.

“Let me tell you— that house is going to be Cody’s sooner or later. If you give it to us now, it’s a favor. If you don’t, we’ll find a way to get it anyway.”

“Is that so?” I asked calmly.

“Don’t be stubborn. This baby in my belly is his son. If you won’t think about Cody, you’d better think about your own grandchild.”

The phone slammed down.

I quietly placed the receiver back on the hook.

Brenda stood nearby, her jaw on the floor.

“Well… that Jenna is just shameless.”

I didn’t say anything. I paid for my soap and left.

A few days later, I took a bus back to my hometown. The old house was still standing. The pomegranate tree in the yard was covered in red blossoms.

I went to find the town supervisor, Mr. Henderson. He was an older man in his sixties, a pillar of the community everyone respected.

I told Mr. Henderson the whole story from beginning to end, including what my son and daughter-in-law were planning. I didn’t exaggerate. I just stated the facts calmly.

When I finished, Mr. Henderson slammed his hand on his desk.

“That’s outrageous. It’s absolutely criminal.”

He looked at me. “Eleanor, you don’t worry. As long as I’m here, nobody is going to bully you. Your house, your money—it’s all yours. Nobody can steal it.”

My eyes welled up. “Mr. Henderson, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. We look out for our own here,” he said. “I’m not going to stand by and watch this happen. Here’s what you do. You set up a time. Get them all in one room. I’ll go with you, and we’ll settle this face to face.”

I knew it was time.

When I got back from my hometown, I sent a message to Jenna through Brenda. I said I’d thought it over, and I was willing to discuss the old house with them in person.

The meeting was set for three nights later at Cody and Jenna’s apartment.

Jenna was overjoyed when she got the news. She thought I was finally giving in to the pressure. She immediately called her own mother, Sharon, and told her to be there for backup.

She even went out and bought a new outfit and got her hair done, ready to celebrate her victory.

Three days later, in the evening, I put on a clean blouse and went to my son’s apartment a little early.

Cody opened the door. He looked conflicted when he saw me.

“Mom, you’re here.”

Inside, Jenna and her mother, Sharon, were sitting on the couch chatting. When Jenna saw me, her face lit up with a smile that was a little too enthusiastic.

“Mom, come sit down. You must be tired.”

Sharon gave me a half smile, half smirk.

I sat down calmly on the small stool opposite them.

A few minutes later, Mr. Henderson arrived. I had specifically asked him to come as a witness.

Jenna and Sharon looked a little surprised to see him, but they didn’t think much of it.

Everyone was there.

Jenna cleared her throat and spoke first.

“Mom, we are just so happy you’ve decided to see reason.”

Her voice was sweet, but her eyes were gleaming with triumph.

“We’re really just doing this for your own good, so you don’t have to worry about things later. Did you bring the $70,000 today and the deed to the old house? We can go to the county clerk’s office tomorrow and get the transfer filed. How does that sound?”

She glanced at her mother.

Sharon chimed in. “Yes, Eleanor. This baby in Jenna’s belly—this is your grandchild. It’s only right for you elders to do what’s best for the kids.”

Cody sat off to the side, staring at the floor, not saying a word.

Mr. Henderson frowned, but remained quiet.

I watched the two of them—this mother-daughter performance.

I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t upset.

I just calmly reached into my cloth bag and slowly took out a small object.

It was the black Sony-brand voice recorder.

I placed it gently on the coffee table.

“What’s that?” Jenna asked, confused.

“Jenna, Cody, and Sharon,” I said slowly, “before we talk about the money and the house, I’d like you all to listen to something.”

I reached out and pressed the play button.

The apartment was silent.

And then Jenna’s voice filled the room, crystal clear.

“Mom, don’t worry. I’m getting every last scent of the old hag’s savings. As soon as the deed is signed, I’ll tell him the baby can’t stand the smell of her, and she can go rot back in her rural town.”

This was the conversation I had heard from outside the window.

Jenna’s face went chalk white. She whipped her head around to stare at me, her eyes wide with terror and disbelief.

Sharon froze, the smile stuck on her face.

Cody looked like he’d been struck by lightning. He shot up, staring first at the recorder, then at Jenna, then at me.

The recording continued.

“That house is going to be Cody’s sooner or later. If you give it to us now, it’s a favor. If you don’t, we’ll find a way to get it anyway.”

“Don’t be stubborn. This baby in my belly. If you won’t think about Cody, you’d better think about your own grandchild.”

Every word—every cruel, greedy, toxic word—in her own voice.

The room was deathly quiet. Only the sound of Jenna’s voice hanging in the air, each sentence like a hammer blow.

The recording finished.

I pressed stop.

I looked up calmly, meeting the gaze of the pale, trembling Jenna, the equally shocked Sharon, and my stunned son.

“Now,” I said slowly, “let’s talk about the money and the house.”

Jenna’s lips trembled. She couldn’t speak. She looked desperately at her mother.

Sharon was ashen-faced, opening and closing her mouth, but making no sound.

Cody’s face flushed red, then white.

He shot to his feet, pointing at Jenna, his voice shaking with rage and shame.

“You, Jenna… you—”

He couldn’t even finish. He just stared at his wife with utter disgust, anger, and betrayal.

“I… I was… I was just angry,” Jenna finally found her voice. “That’s right. I was just angry,” she pleaded desperately. “Mom, don’t take it seriously. I was just… I was just spouting nonsense.”

“Spouting nonsense,” I repeated, letting out a cold laugh. “You lie to your own mother. You use your unborn child as a bargaining chip. That’s just nonsense.”

“I—” Jenna sputtered.

At that moment, Mr. Henderson cleared his throat loudly. He stood up, his face grim.

“Jenna and Sharon—what you’ve done, it’s a disgrace. You have broken this woman’s heart. And Cody… you too. This is your mother. How could you be so blind?”

Cody’s head hung even lower, his shoulders shaking.

Mr. Henderson turned to me.

“Eleanor, as I see it, that money and that house are yours and yours alone. Nobody has any right to tell you what to do with them.”

“No, you can’t!” Jenna suddenly shrieked. “That money is for our house—the house—”

She didn’t finish.

She cried out, clutching her stomach, her face twisting in pain.

“Oh—my stomach. It hurts. It hurts so bad.”

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead, and she began to collapse.

“Jenna!” Cody and Sharon yelled at the same time, rushing to catch her.

The room exploded into chaos.

Jenna was rushed to the hospital. After examining her, the doctor said the extreme emotional distress, combined with a pre-existing issue, had triggered contractions. She was in pre-term labor and had to be admitted immediately to try to stop it.

In the stark white hallway of the hospital, Sharon waited outside the room, sighing.

Cody—looking completely broken—found me. He walked right up and fell to his knees.

“Mom, I’m so sorry. I was blind. I was such an idiot.”

He choked on his sobs, hitting himself in the face.

I looked down at my son, kneeling and crying at my feet. I felt a mix of everything. I didn’t help him up.

“Cody,” I said, my voice flat. “Get up.”

He stayed on his knees, his face streaked with tears.

“Mom, please forgive me. I’ll never— We don’t want the money. We don’t want the house. We just want you to be okay.”

“The money and the house were always mine,” I said. “I’ll be keeping them for my retirement.”

I paused.

“As for you two… let’s just see if this baby arrives safely. If Jenna truly changes her ways, I will still be this child’s grandmother. But this family—from now on—you’re the one who has to hold it together.”

Cody nodded hard.

In the end, Jenna did give birth prematurely. She had a boy weighing less than five pounds, as frail as a tiny kitten. He was rushed to the NICU incubator immediately.

Jenna herself had a hard recovery and stayed in the hospital for more than two weeks.

After she was discharged, her status in that little apartment plummeted. Cody was cold and distant to her. He barely spoke to her about anything other than the baby. Sharon didn’t dare say another word and scurried back to her own home.

And of course, no one ever mentioned buying a house again.

The story of how Jenna had schemed for my retirement money and tried to blackmail me for my house spread like wildfire through their apartment complex and even at Cody’s office. She couldn’t hold her head up in public.

Brenda heard all about it, of course. She saw me in the alley one day and tried to sidle up, eager for gossip. I just gave her a polite nod and walked right past her.

I never went back to my son’s cold apartment.

I moved back into my old house in my hometown. The pomegranate tree in the yard was covered in red blossoms.

I took that $70,000 and put it all safely into a savings account at the local credit union.

Occasionally, Cody drove out to see me, looking tired and guilty. He told me how the baby was doing. I just listened.

I knew that some things, once they’re broken, can never be put back together. But my heart felt calmer and more at peace than it had in years. I finally understood: you can’t rely on anyone but yourself. With money in your own account, your heart is steady.

As for the future, I tried not to think about it. Just living each day as it comes. That was enough.

---

I collapsed and was hospitalized after retiring. I asked my daughter-in-law for $3,000 and was refused. One month later, at my birthday party, I made her regret it forever.

It was my first hospital stay after I retired. I needed to borrow $3,000 for the hospital deposit. My daughter-in-law, Melissa, was sitting on the sofa painting her nails. She didn’t even look up.

“Dad, things are tight for us, too. Besides, with your pension, how do you not even have enough for a hospital bill?”

One month later, on my birthday, my daughter-in-law pushed me in a wheelchair into the private dining room. The whole table of relatives and friends stood up and clapped.

“Everyone, thank you for coming to my father-in-law’s birthday party,” she announced, beaming. “This dinner tonight cost a total of $8,000.”

I reached into my pocket, pulled out a stack of property deeds, and placed them gently on the table.

“Everyone, I’ve decided to donate all ten of these properties to charity.”

That all happened last month.

Right now, I’m sitting in a hospital bed watching the IV fluid drip, drip, drip. The results from my cardiac tests aren’t back yet, and the doctor said I need to pay a $3,000 deposit to continue treatment.

I felt my pocket. I only had the $300 in cash I’d taken out for spending money.

Besides me, there was another man in his seventies in the room. His son was processing his discharge papers.

“Dad, let’s just go home. We’ll take care of you there. This hospital is too expensive,” the son said loudly.

The old man just sighed and didn’t say anything.

My son, Gregory, had left on a business trip two days ago. He said it was an important project and he’d be gone for at least a week.

My only choice was to call Melissa.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” Her voice came over the phone. The background was noisy, like she was at the mall.

“I’m in the hospital. The doctor says I need to pay $3,000.”

“Three thousand?” Her voice went up an octave. “Dad, how do you spend money so fast? Didn’t you just get your pension check last month?”

I heard the click-clack of high heels on a hard floor.

“Dad, Gregory and I are under a lot of pressure right now. We just bought a new car and we have the monthly payments. Look… I’ll go home later and see if I can figure something out.”

She hung up.

I lay back on the bed.

A nurse came in to change my IV bag. She was a young woman in her twenties with a kind voice.

“Sir, your bill needs to be paid or we’ll have to stop medication tomorrow.”

“I know,” I said. “My family will be here soon.”

The nurse nodded and left.

I closed my eyes, thinking about what to do.

The truth was, I wasn’t broke. But for years, I’d made a habit of living simply, of not showing off. Those properties from the eminent domain buyout were all sitting quietly in a safe deposit box. I’d never told anyone, not even Gregory.

Back when I got the settlement, I was afraid that if my son and daughter-in-law knew, they would change—that they’d stop working hard.

It seemed that even without knowing, they had changed anyway.

At four in the afternoon, Melissa arrived.

She was wearing a new outfit and carrying a designer handbag, the sound of her heels echoing in the hallway. She walked into the room, glanced at me, then sat in the chair by the bed.

“Dad, what did the doctor say?”

“They said it’s a heart issue, and they need to run more tests.”

“And how much will that cost?”

“They need $3,000 now and probably more later.”

Melissa frowned, pulled her phone out of her bag, and started scrolling through her social media feed.

“Dad, I was just talking to some friends. Times are tough for everyone right now. My friend Lisa just renovated her kitchen, and Karen’s kid is starting preschool. It all costs money.”

She kept her eyes glued to the screen while she spoke.

“And Dad, you’re usually so frugal. How do you not have any emergency savings? I really think you need to learn how to manage your money better.”

The room was quiet. The old man in the next bed was gone, so it was just us.

“Well, I’m going to head out. When Gregory gets back, we’ll talk about it,” Melissa said, standing and adjusting her bag. “Dad, don’t worry. Medical care is so good these days. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”

She walked to the door and looked back.

“I’ll make you some oatmeal at home and bring it tomorrow.”

When her footsteps disappeared, I opened my eyes. The sky outside was already dark.

The next morning, the nurse came by again to chase the payment.

“Sir, your medication is running out. When is your family coming to pay the bill?”

“Today,” I said. “They’ll be here today.”

After she left, I called my older brother, Robert.

“Arthur, what’s wrong?” Robert’s voice sounded tired.

“Robert, I’m in the hospital. I need to borrow some money for an emergency.”

The line went silent for a few seconds.

“How much?”

“Three thousand.”

“Oh, Arthur… you know things are tight for us, too. Our daughter just got married and the wedding cost a fortune. They’re still paying off loans. Why don’t you ask someone else?”

I hung up and called my younger sister.

“Arthur, you’re in the hospital? Is it serious?” Her voice was full of concern.

“Not serious. I just need to cover the bill.”

“How much?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Three thousand?” she repeated, then sighed. “Oh, that’s a lot, brother. We’re really stretched right now. My daughter is a senior in high school, and her SAT prep classes cost $2,000 a month. Why don’t you ask Gregory and Melissa? Young people can usually figure these things out.”

I made a few more calls. The answers were all the same. Everyone said times were tough. Everyone told me to ask someone else.

Around noon, Melissa came carrying a small container of oatmeal.

“Dad, I thought about it all night and this just can’t go on,” she said, sitting down and looking at her phone as she talked. “You need to learn to plan. You can’t just wait for an emergency. We young people—we have financial plans. Money needs to be spent wisely.”

I didn’t say anything. I just ate the oatmeal she brought. It was watery—probably made from an instant packet.

“Dad. Gregory and I talked. When he gets back, we’ll figure something out,” she continued. “But you have to understand us, too. The cost of living is high and everything costs money.”

She left after that, saying she had an appointment.

In the afternoon, the doctor came by. He was a middle-aged man with a kind demeanor.

“Mr. Johnson, your test results are in. It’s nothing critical, but you’ll need some time to recover and manage it.”

“The payment,” he added. “When do you think you can settle that?”

“This afternoon,” I said. “My family is coming.”

“All right,” he said. “Just rest. Let the nurses know if you need anything.”

After he left, I thought about it.

The money wasn’t the issue. I just wanted to see—when I really needed help—what would the people around me do.

Now I had my answer.

In the evening, a new patient was admitted to the bed next to me. A woman in her fifties, looking frail. Her daughter was filling out the forms, wiping away tears.

“Mom, don’t you worry about the money,” the daughter said. “I’ll figure it out. If I have to, I’ll sell my apartment. The most important thing is getting you better.”

The woman grabbed her daughter’s hand, her eyes red.

“Don’t be silly. That apartment is your home. You can’t sell it.”

“Mom,” the daughter said, voice breaking, “you are more important than a home.”

I listened from my bed, a complicated feeling tightening in my chest.

At eight at night, Melissa came back.

“Dad, I brought you some fruit,” she said, holding a small plastic bag with maybe three or four apples.

Then she asked, “When are you being discharged?”

“I have to stay for a few more days of observation.”

“And what about the bill?” she asked, her tone sharpening. “It has to be paid tomorrow.”

Melissa sat down, looking annoyed.

“Dad, I asked a few friends today. Everyone says the economy is bad and it’s hard to lend money. Why don’t you… why don’t you just check out and go home? You can recover at home. You don’t need to waste all this money in a hospital.”

I looked at her, thinking of the conversation I had just overheard.

“Melissa,” I asked quietly, “what do you think is more important—money or a person’s life?”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“A person, obviously,” she said. “But, Dad, we have to be realistic. It’s not like you have a major illness. You’d probably get better faster at home. Besides, hospitals are full of germs. What if you get a worse infection here?”

She sounded like she was making perfect sense.

“Dad, you need to understand the pressure we’re under. Mortgages, car payments, bills—none of it is free. We want to be good kids, but we have to be practical.”

She checked her phone.

“I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After she left, I lay in bed for a long time.

For all these years, I thought my quiet, frugal life was what was best for my family.

Now I saw I was wrong.

The third morning, I decided to handle it myself.

From my duffel bag under the bed, I pulled out a small wooden box. Inside were a few pieces of jewelry my late wife had left me, and a watch I’d bought when I was young. I had planned to give them all to Gregory, but it seemed I couldn’t worry about that now.

I got dressed and told the nurse I had to step out for an errand.

There was a street near the hospital with a few pawn shops and antique buyers. I walked into the first one. The owner was an old man in his sixties.

“Sir, these items…” he said, picking up the watch. “This one’s old.” He looked at the bracelet. “This one’s in okay shape.” He held a jeweler’s loupe to his eye and inspected the ring. “I’ll give you $2,000 for the lot. How about it?”

“It’s not enough,” I said. “I need $3,000.”

“Sir, that’s a fair price,” he replied. “These things… they just aren’t worth much more.”

I went to a second shop, then a third. At the fourth shop, a woman in her forties gave me $2,800.

“Sir, I’ll take them all, but this is really the most I can do. Maybe you can find another way.”

I stood outside the shop, staring at the cash in my hand.

I felt sick.

Those things held so many memories, and I had just traded them for $2,800.

I was still $200 short.

I thought about the woman in the next bed whose daughter was willing to sell her home to save her, and my own son and daughter-in-law wouldn’t even lend me $3,000.

I went back to the hospital and paid the bill.

The nurse looked relieved.

“Mr. Johnson, now you can rest and focus on getting better.”

That afternoon, Melissa arrived.

“Dad, the bill is handled?” she asked, surprised. “Handled? Where did you get the money?”

“I sold some things.”

She visibly relaxed.

“Oh, good. That’s great. I knew you’d find a way. Dad, really—we wanted to help, but things are just tight. Now that it’s settled, we can all relax.”

She sat down and started telling me about a sale she’d found at a department store. I listened, my heart growing colder.

“Oh, by the way, Dad,” she said brightly, “next month is your birthday. We’re planning to throw you a party.”

That caught me off guard.

“A party?”

“Yes. You’re turning sixty-seven. We should celebrate properly. I want to invite all our relatives and friends. Get everyone together.”

She sounded so excited. Her eyes had a strange sparkle.

“Where?” I asked.

“I’ve been looking at a few hotels. There’s one that’s amazing. Just a bit expensive. But for your birthday, it’s worth the splurge.”

I looked at her, and suddenly it all clicked.

“You have money for a birthday party,” I said slowly, “but not for my hospital bill?”

“Dad, that’s different,” she said, looking awkward. “The party… that’s about our image. It shows people how much we care about you. The hospital bill is just an expense. It’s better to save money if you can.”

Realizing what she’d said, she hurried on.

“I mean, a party is a special one-time thing—a memory. The hospital… well, it’s great you were able to handle it yourself.”

I didn’t say anything. I just nodded.

“So, which hotel do you want?” she asked.

“You decide,” I said.

She brightened immediately, launching into a description of the hotels, the decor, the menus—what would be better for photos.

In the end, she chose the most expensive hotel in the city center.

“Dad, don’t worry. We are going to give you such a classy party. We’ll invite everyone—all our relatives and friends. Let them all come and celebrate you.”

After she left, I lay in bed thinking.

A birthday party?

I’d never had one. I always thought it was something for rich people, but now Melissa was insisting.

I thought about the deeds in my safe deposit box.

Maybe it was time to let everyone know.

The next day, Gregory returned from his trip.

Melissa brought him to the hospital.

“Dad, how are you feeling?” Gregory asked. He looked tired.

“No major problems,” I said. “I can check out in a couple of days.”

“That’s good.” He sat down. “Dad, Melissa told me about the birthday party idea.”

“She mentioned it,” I said.

“That’s great,” Gregory said. “At your age, you deserve a big celebration.”

Gregory and Melissa shared a look.

“Dad,” Gregory said carefully, “the hotel we picked is really nice. The cost is a little high.”

“How much?” I asked.

“Around $8,000,” Melissa said quickly. “But for your birthday, it’s worth it.”

“Eight thousand?” The number hit me like a stone. “Where are you getting $8,000?”

“We… we’ll figure it out,” Gregory said, shifting.

“Dad, don’t you worry about the money. We’ve got it handled,” Melissa cut in. “You just focus on getting better and look forward to your party.”

After they left, I thought hard.

$8,000 for a party, but $3,000 for my hospital bill was impossible.

I finally understood.

They thought I was a rich old man.

They just didn’t know where the money was.

Three days after I was discharged, Melissa threw herself into party planning. She came over every day, asking about the menu, the seating chart.

“Dad, I’ve invited everyone. All our relatives and friends. They all said they’re definitely coming. Your brother Robert and his wife, your sister, all your old coworkers—I’ve contacted everyone.”

She held a little notebook filled with names.

“Forty-two people. That’s a perfect four tables. I’ve picked the menu, too. All your favorites.”

She buzzed like this party was the most important thing in the world.

“Melissa,” I asked, “why such a big party?”

“Dad, think about it,” she said. “You’re getting on in years, and your health isn’t perfect. While you’re still able, we should have everyone come celebrate you.”

Then she added, her eyes glinting with something I couldn’t place, “All these relatives say they care about you. We’ll see who actually shows up and who doesn’t. Then you’ll know who really truly loves you.”

On the day of my birthday, Melissa came over early. She had a new suit for me and even combed my hair.

“Dad, you’re the star today. You have to look sharp.”

At two in the afternoon, she came to take me to the hotel, pushing a wheelchair. My legs were fine, but she insisted, saying it would look better—show that I was frail—and highlight how devoted she was.

The hotel was opulent, lavishly decorated. The private room was huge.

When we arrived, a few relatives were already there.

My brother Robert and his wife were at a table. They rushed over.

“Arthur, are you feeling better?” my sister-in-law asked, grabbing my hand.

“Much better,” I said. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. It’s your birthday.”

My brother-in-law came over too.

“Arthur, I heard you were in the hospital. Why didn’t you call us?”

“It was nothing,” I said. “I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

“Nonsense. We’re family,” he said.

One by one, they arrived—everyone concerned, everyone polite. It was a complete reversal from when I was in the hospital.

Melissa floated between tables, glowing.

“Everyone, thank you for coming to my father-in-law’s party. We’re so busy. We rarely get to see each other like this. Let’s enjoy it.”

The food came out—extravagant, every dish looking expensive. People ate and chatted.

Eventually, the conversation turned to me.

“Arthur, how’s retirement treating you?” an old coworker asked.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I get by.”

“You’re too modest,” he said. “I heard you got a huge settlement from that eminent domain buyout years ago.”

As soon as he said that, the whole table went quiet, listening.

“Yeah,” someone said. “Arthur, how many properties did you end up with?” my brother-in-law chimed in.

I just smiled.

Melissa jumped in quickly. “Oh, uncles, aunts, we’re here to celebrate Dad’s birthday. Let’s not talk about that.”

But her eyes were shining.

That day, Melissa had me in a new suit, my hair combed, and she pushed me in the wheelchair into the private dining room. All our friends and relatives stood and clapped.

“Everyone, thank you for coming to my father-in-law’s birthday party,” she announced, beaming. “This dinner tonight cost a total of $8,000.”

People murmured, praising her for being generous, their eyes filled with a certain expectation.

I slowly reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out the stack of property deeds, and placed them in the center of the table.

“Everyone,” I said, my voice calm, “I have an announcement to make. These ten properties—I have decided to donate all of them to the city’s charitable foundation.”

The room went instantly silent.

Everyone stared at the deeds on the table.

“Dad, what did you say?” Gregory’s voice shook.

“Ten properties,” I repeated. “All of them. To charity.”

Melissa’s face went white.

“Dad, you’re… you’re joking, right?”

“I’m not joking. I’ve made up my mind.”

My brother Robert stood up.

“Arthur, calm down. This is a huge decision. You can’t be impulsive.”

“I am calm,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”

My brother-in-law tried too.

“Arthur, you should leave the properties to the kids. Why give them away?”

“The kids don’t need them,” I said, looking at Melissa. “They’re very capable. They can spend $8,000 on a birthday party. They’re clearly doing very well financially.”

Melissa’s face twisted.

“Dad, are you not feeling well? Why are you saying this?”

“I feel fine,” I said. “My mind is clear.”

The atmosphere thickened. People whispered. Those who had been friendly moments ago now looked away.

Melissa suddenly stood up, her voice shrill.

“Dad, you can’t do this! Those properties should go to Gregory. To our children.”

“Why should they?” I asked quietly.

“Because… because we’re family!”

“Family?” I laughed. “One month ago, I was in the hospital. I needed $3,000. You told me you were broke. Today, to show off for everyone, you can spend $8,000 on a party. This is family?”

Melissa’s face turned beat red.

“Dad, that’s… that’s different.”

“How is it different?” I asked.

She couldn’t answer. She just stood there, fists clenched.

Gregory stood up.

“Dad, calm down. Let’s talk about this at home.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, picking up the stack of deeds. “Tomorrow, I’m filing the donation paperwork.”

The party guests looked at each other, horrified.

The birthday party ended right there.

After the party broke up, Melissa grabbed Gregory and confronted me at the hotel entrance.

“Dad, how could you do this to Gregory after he’s been so good to you all these years? You’re just going to give the houses to strangers?” she demanded loudly, drawing stares.

“When was he good to me?” I asked.

“He… he comes to see you all the time.”

“He comes once a month, sits for half an hour, and leaves,” I said. “You call that being a good son?”

Gregory stood there, face grim, not saying a word.

“Dad, that’s not fair!” Melissa shouted. “Gregory is busy. He has a career.”

“He’s busy,” I said, “but he has time to go out for drinks with his friends. He has time for happy hours. He has time for trips. He just doesn’t have time for his old man.”

“Dad, you’re being unreasonable,” she snapped.

“Unreasonable?” I looked at her. “When I was in the hospital, where were you? When I needed $3,000 to stay in the hospital, where were you?”

Melissa went silent.

Finally, she said, “Dad, we have our own problems, too.”

“What problems?” I asked. “The problem of having $8,000 for a party but not $3,000 for my medical bills?”

The crowd near the entrance was growing. Melissa looked humiliated.

“Dad, stop making a scene. We can talk about this at home.”

“Home?” I said. “I have a home.”

That finally made Gregory speak.

“Dad, that’s going too far.”

“What’s gone too far is you,” I said, and I turned and walked away.

Back at my house, I looked at the deeds one by one. I got them all five years ago from the city buyout. The government compensated based on occupancy and square footage, and I ended up with ten properties.

I never told anyone—not even Gregory. I thought the money would make him soft.

Now I saw: with or without money, people become who they are.

The next morning, Gregory came. He was alone.

“Dad, we need to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?” I asked.

“What happened yesterday… Melissa shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I apologize for her,” he said, sitting on the sofa and looking sincere. “But Dad, are you really going to donate all the houses?”

“Yes.”

“Why? They’re part of our family. Why give them to strangers?”

“Because I want to give them to people who actually need them.”

Gregory paused. “Dad, do you… do you misunderstand us? You think we’re not good kids? That we don’t care about you. That’s not true, is it?”

He looked earnest, even a little misty.

“And Dad, Melissa isn’t a bad person. She just speaks without thinking. She cares about you, too.”

I listened.

“Dad, please give us a chance. Let us start over,” he said. “Okay… the houses. Just think about it. Don’t be so rash.”

Seeing my son like this, I wavered. Maybe he was right.

“Gregory,” I said, “if I don’t donate the houses, can you promise me you’ll change?”

“Yes,” he said too quickly. “Dad, we will be so good to you. We’ll come see you twice a week. Anything you need, we’ll be there. I’ll get Melissa to change her ways.”

I looked at him for a long time.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll reconsider.”

Gregory exhaled in relief. “Thank you, Dad.”

“But I have conditions,” I said.

“Anything.”

“From now on, you’ll give me $2,000 a month for my living expenses. I want to save it for emergencies.”

“No problem.”

“And I’m moving out. I’m moving into the assisted living facility in the community.”

Gregory stared. “Why?”

“I want some peace and quiet,” I said. “And I want to see what my life is like without you in it.”

“Dad, don’t say that. We can change.”

“My mind is made up,” I said. “I’ll reconsider the houses, but I am moving out.”

He saw I was serious and finally agreed.

That afternoon, he came back with Melissa. Her attitude was completely different.

“Dad, I am so, so sorry about yesterday,” she said. “I was awful. Please don’t be mad. I’ll change. I promise.”

She held several large bags.

“Look—I bought you all these vitamins and supplements. From now on, I’ll come every day. I’ll cook for you. I’ll chat with you. Please don’t move out. We’ll take such good care of you.”

I watched her performance, knowing full well it was about the houses, but I wanted to give them one last chance.

Maybe people really can change for money, and maybe that change can teach them to value what they have.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll stay for now. But the houses… I’m still thinking.”

Melissa’s face split into a huge smile.

“Dad, take your time. No rush. We’ll prove to you with our actions that we really do love you.”

From that day, they did change. Gregory came by every other day, always bringing something. Melissa came every day—cooking, cleaning, impossibly busy.

But I knew it was an act. I could see the impatience in her eyes, the calculation. I could see Gregory’s occasional flashes of annoyance.

They were waiting—waiting for me to change my mind and give them the houses.

But they didn’t know.

I was waiting too—waiting for their masks to slip.

This went on for a month. They were very attentive, but I could feel them getting frustrated, especially Melissa. Sometimes, when she thought I wasn’t looking, her face would twist in annoyance.

One day, I deliberately said I wasn’t feeling well just to see what they would do.

“Dad, do you need to go to the hospital?” Melissa asked, but her voice was flat.

“No,” I said. “I’m probably just tired.”

“Okay,” she said. “Well, get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She left much faster than usual.

The next day, I said I felt sick again. This time, Melissa didn’t even ask questions. She just said, “Dad, you’re getting older. Aches and pains are normal. Just rest.”

On the third day, I mentioned my illness again.

Melissa finally snapped.

“Dad, are you doing this on purpose?”

“Doing what on purpose?” I asked.

“Saying you’re sick to test us,” she said, her voice sharp with anger. “We have been here every single day for a month taking care of you. What more do you want?”

“I never said I wasn’t satisfied,” I replied calmly.

“Then why do you keep saying you’re sick? If you’re sick, you have to go to the hospital and spend money,” she blurted. “You’re not going to like that, are you?”

The second the words left her mouth, she knew she’d messed up. She tried to backtrack.

“I mean, there’s no point running to the doctor for every little thing—”

But it was too late. Her true feelings were out.

I wasn’t angry. I just nodded.

“You’re right,” I said. “No point going to the hospital for little things.”

That night, Gregory came.

I could tell Melissa had already told him what happened.

“Dad,” he said carefully, “Melissa said something today. She probably shouldn’t have, but you have to understand—she’s just worried about your health. That’s why she gets frustrated.”

“I understand,” I said. “She’s just worried about me.”

My calm response seemed to make Gregory more nervous.

“Dad, you’re not still angry, are you?”

“Not angry,” I said. “I’ve made my decision about the houses.”

Gregory’s eyes lit up. “You’ve decided to leave them to us.”

“No,” I said. “I’ve decided to go file the donation paperwork tomorrow.”

Gregory’s face fell.

“Dad, why? Haven’t we been… haven’t we been great this whole month?”

“You have,” I said. “Your acting has been excellent.”

“Acting?” he protested. “We were being sincere.”

“Sincere?” I laughed once. “A sincere person—when I say I’m sick—their first thought isn’t about how much it’s going to cost.”

Gregory went silent.

“Dad, let me explain—”

“Don’t,” I said. “I get it. This whole month, I’ve seen every move, heard every word. You weren’t taking care of me. You were performing for the houses.”

Gregory’s face flushed red.

“Dad, even if that’s true… we’re still your family. The houses should come to us. Why would you give them to strangers?”

Finally, he said what he really meant.

“Why?” I asked, turning to face him. “Because those strangers wouldn’t leave me to die when I needed $3,000 for a hospital bill. Because those strangers wouldn’t whine about being broke one day and then spend $8,000 on a party the next. Because those strangers don’t treat love and respect like a business transaction.”

Gregory had nothing to say.

After a long silence, he whispered, “Dad, I know we messed up, but please… just give us one more chance.”

“I already did,” I said. “You had one month. And in that month, you proved you don’t care about me. You care about my property. So why should I leave it to you?”

Gregory stood up, his voice shaking.

“Dad, are you really going to be this cruel?”

“You’re the cruel ones, not me,” I said. “I never thought the son I raised wouldn’t even lend me $3,000. The doctors and nurses I didn’t even know treated me better than my own family.”

Gregory stood there for a long time, then sighed.

“Dad, I guess there’s nothing I can say. But no matter what you do, I’m still your son. That will never change.”

He left.

This time, he left for good.

The next day, I went and filed the paperwork—all ten properties donated to the city’s housing foundation. The staff were shocked, asking me over and over if I was sure.

“Mr. Johnson, this is a massive donation.”

“I’m sure.”

“But what about your own retirement?”

“I have my pension,” I said. “It’s enough.”

After the papers were signed, I went to the assisted living facility. It was nice. Lots of people my age. I decided to move in.

On moving day, Gregory and Melissa both came. They didn’t say a word. They just quietly helped me pack. Melissa’s eyes were red, like she’d been crying. Gregory looked awful.

I didn’t feel bad. Some lines—once you cross them—you can’t go back.

Life at the facility was simple and full. I chatted with the other residents, played chess, watched TV, and even did some volunteer work.

The staff from the housing foundation came by often to thank me. They told me the properties had been converted into subsidized housing, rented out to low-income families. The rent was cheap, and it was helping a lot of people.

Hearing that made me feel good. The houses were finally being used for something worthwhile.

Gregory came to see me sometimes, but we didn’t say much.

Melissa never came again.

I heard they were having problems—fighting all the time. About the houses, she blamed him for not managing me better. He blamed her for her terrible attitude.

But that had nothing to do with me anymore.

About six months later, I was sitting in the courtyard when Gregory showed up. He looked haggard, and his hair had more gray.

“Dad,” he said, voice cracking, “Melissa and I are divorced.”

I didn’t say anything. I just nodded.

“I moved out. I’m renting a small apartment after work. I just sit there in the empty room and I miss you so much.”

He started to cry.

“Dad, I know I was wrong. I really know. I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just… I just want to ask if… if I had just given you that $3,000, would things be different?”

I thought about it.

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. But at least I would have known that when I was at my lowest, you were on my side.”

He cried harder.

“Dad, I regret it so much.”

“What’s the use of regret?” I asked calmly. “What’s done is done.”

“But Dad,” he said, wiping his face, “we’re still father and son.”

“Yes,” I said. “We will always be father and son. But even between a father and son, there is right and wrong. There are principles.”

Gregory knelt in front of me.

“Dad, can you… can you ever accept me again?”

I looked at him. It hurt me too, but some wounds don’t heal.

“Gregory,” I said softly, “just go live your life. I’ll live mine. We’ll just be. That’s the best we can do.”

He knelt there for a long time. Finally, he stood up.

“Dad, I’ll come see you often. Whether you forgive me or not, I’ll come, because you’ll always be my father.”

He turned and left.

I watched him walk away and remembered what he was like as a little boy—so innocent.

But people change, and some changes you can’t take back.

The sun was setting. I sat there in the courtyard of the assisted living facility, looking at the hills in the distance.

I felt calm. I felt at peace.

This life… it was pretty good, too.

Thank you for watching. We hope today’s story resonated with you.