Millie had lived a quiet, bittersweet life. At 78, most of her days were spent in the calm routine of her nursing home—meals, medicine, and memories. The house she once lived in had sat untouched for years. Though she never sold it, she never returned. What was the point? It had become a place filled with ghosts of what used to be.
Her only child, her son, had walked out of her life over three decades ago. He fell in love, started a family, and severed all ties. Millie never heard from him again. The silence was deafening, but eventually, she accepted it.
One day, on a whim—or maybe it was fate—she asked the staff to drive her to her old neighborhood. She missed the flowers she planted, the front porch swing, and the warmth of what she once called home.
But as they pulled up to the address, Millie’s mouth parted in disbelief.
Her quaint home was gone.
In its place stood a palatial mansion. It towered over the street, pristine and modern, with polished marble steps and an iron gate that didn’t exist before.
Shaking, she climbed the steps and tried her key. Nothing.
The locks had been changed.
She pressed the intercom, her heart pounding. Who lived here now? Why hadn’t she been notified?
Moments later, the door creaked open—and standing there was a face she never expected to see again.
Her son.
And in that moment, decades of silence, abandonment, and heartbreak collided with one question:
Why was he here?