Then two.
Then five.
I stopped asking.
Only the money kept coming — every year, exactly eighty thousand dollars, with a short message:
“Mom, take good care of yourself. I’m doing well.”
That word — well — was what worried me most.
We had a video call once.
He was still handsome, but his eyes weren’t the same.
Always tired.
Always in a hurry.
Always distant.
I asked why he didn’t come home.
He went quiet, then said:
“I’m very busy, Mom.”
I didn’t ask again.
Sometimes, mothers become cowards out of fear of hearing the truth.
Time passed.
My house improved thanks to the money he sent.
Everyone said I was fortunate.
But how can you be happy eating alone every day?
Every Christmas, I set a place for him.
I would cook his favorite stew and cry in silence.
Ten years.
It was too long.
Finally, I made a decision.
