My husband left twenty years ago, and since then, I’ve been juggling late-night shifts, scraping together meals, and counting down every payday like it was a lifeline. Being a single mom should have made me used to constantly balancing everything, but it always felt like one wrong move could make everything fall apart.
Jake was my world—my bright, artistic son who kept me going through all the hard times. But there was a big problem: at 25, he still hadn’t found his footing.
He had no job, no income. Art was his passion, but it didn’t pay the bills, and believe me, the bills kept piling up. To make matters worse, someone broke into my home and stole all the cash I’d been saving for years.
“Mom, trust me. I’ll find out who took the money. Everything will be okay,” Jake said calmly the week it happened. But his quiet voice only made my worries grow worse.
Then, one day, everything shifted. Jake went out—probably off chasing another art project that wouldn’t earn him a cent. At the corner store, I saw it: a flashy red sports car gleaming in the sun, completely out of place in our neighborhood. And Jake was walking toward it.
My jaw dropped when he climbed into the driver’s seat. Back home, he was casually spinning the car keys on the kitchen counter like it was nothing.
“Where did you get that car?” I asked, trying to keep calm.
He shrugged it off, “Oh, that? I got a new job.”
“A job?” I scoffed, crossing my arms. “You’ve never held a job.”
Jake rolled his eyes and grabbed a soda. “I’m not working minimum wage. It’s legit.”
I laughed, unable to believe it.
“I’m not stealing, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, jaw tight.
“Then where’d the money come from? You expect me to believe you just stumbled into it?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” he snapped. “You wouldn’t understand.”
My heart tightened. The suspicion I’d been hiding since the robbery was now impossible to ignore.
“You didn’t take my money, did you?”
He spun around, furious. “How could you even think that of me? I’ve only tried to make things better, and this is what I get?”
He slammed out the door.
I didn’t want to think my son had stolen from me, but I needed answers. I grabbed my keys and followed him.
It was easy to tail the flashy car. He drove across town to a high-end beauty salon. I watched as he got out and waited on the curb, then a woman—older than Jake, maybe in her 40s—came out. They embraced and kissed—not just a quick peck, but something intimate.
My throat tightened as I sank into the seat. Who was she? And why was Jake with her?
I kept following them as they drove to the outskirts of town, where mansions replaced houses. My stomach churned as Jake pulled into the driveway of a sprawling estate.
My heart raced. This wasn’t just unusual—it felt wrong. I had to stop it.
Without thinking twice, I got out and pounded on the front door.
The woman opened it with a smile. Jake appeared behind her, pale when he saw me.
“Mom?” he said.
“Oh, yeah, it’s your mom!” I shouted. “Jake, what’s going on?”
The woman smiled and introduced herself as Doris. “Jake has told me so much about you.”
“Doris?” I snapped. “What’s really going on here? Are you his girlfriend?”
Jake admitted they’d been together for three months but avoided my eyes. “Calm down, Mom.”
Relax? After everything? I demanded answers.
“You’re using her for her money,” I accused. “Is the car part of the deal?”
Jake’s face darkened. “That’s not true.”
“To me, it looks like it.”
He said softly, “I love Lydia. Even if that’s hard for you to believe. Don’t fight me now. We’ll talk later.”
He shut the door.
Later that night, he came home and said quietly, “Mom, we need to talk.”
I nodded.
He explained that Lydia wasn’t just some rich woman he was using. She’d been supporting his art when no one else did. She connected him with people who appreciated his work.
He’d been scared to tell me because of everything we’d been through. But thanks to her help, he’d gotten his first real show—he’d even sold enough to cover my bills.
I stared at him, stunned.
“The car and money? It all came from my art. Lydia helped me get ready for the show, which starts in two days. I was going to surprise you.”
Tears welled up as I whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
The next day, I went to his show and watched people admire Jake’s work. He was finally getting the recognition he deserved.
When he spoke on stage, he thanked me for never giving up on him. Then, to my shock, he held up the car keys.
“I wanted to give you something to help you out. You deserve it. Thank you, Mom.”
The crowd cheered, but all I could do was cry. After years of struggle, we were finally okay.