At 3:17 in the morning, my left leg suddenly gave out and my entire body pitched forward. In that instant, I instinctively reached out to grab the edge of the coffee table, but my hand only met the cool surface of the glass. My palm slid away, and my body slammed heavily onto the floor. A cry of pain escaped my throat, uncontrolled. My right hip hit the ground first, and a sharp, piercing pain immediately radiated from there through my entire lower body. I tried to roll over, but I found I had no strength at all.
At seventy-nine years old, my bones were as brittle as sun-dried twigs. I could even hear an ominous cracking sound from within my body.
The living room was pitch black, with only a sliver of moonlight filtering through the gap in the curtains. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling light fixture that had been with me for twenty years. It had once witnessed the laughter and joy of this home, but now it could only witness my helplessness.
“Michael, Linda,” I called out, raising my voice, hoping my son or daughter-in-law would hear my cry for help.
The only response was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room.
I took a deep breath, gathered my strength, and called out again, “Is anyone there? I’ve fallen.”
This time, my voice was louder, sounding particularly shrill in the silent night.
Just then, I heard a sound from my son’s room. Not the sound of hurried footsteps, but a chuckle.
“Your mom’s yelling again,” it was my daughter-in-law, Linda. Her voice tinged with obvious annoyance.
“Forget it. The old lady falls all the time,” my son, Michael, replied. His words were like a knife straight through my heart. “Every time she gets up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, she has to make a scene. It’s so damn annoying.”
“And what if she’s really hurt this time?” That was the voice of my ten-year-old granddaughter, Chloe, laced with a hint of concern.
“Kids should mind their own business. You have school tomorrow. Go to sleep,” Linda interrupted her daughter. “Your grandmother is tough as nails. She won’t die.”
Tears streamed silently down my face, tracing paths through my wrinkled cheeks and dripping onto the cold floor. This was the son I had sacrificed everything to raise. This was my reward for scrimping and saving to help them with the down payment on this house, for cooking and doing their laundry every single day.
Three years ago, after my husband passed away, Michael had said, “Mom, we can’t rest easy with you living alone.” He insisted on moving me out of the old house I’d lived in for thirty years and into this three-bedroom apartment with them. At the time, I was moved to tears, thinking my son was so devoted.
Only now did I understand.
They were only interested in my two-thousand-dollar monthly pension and the little savings my husband had left behind.
I lay on the floor, feeling my right leg go completely numb. Waves of pain washed over me, but the ache in my heart was far more unbearable than the physical agony. I suddenly remembered a documentary I had watched last month at the local senior center about elderly people living alone. At the time, I had secretly felt fortunate to have my son by my side. Now, it seemed I was more pathetic than those truly alone. At least they weren’t treated with such cold indifference by their own flesh and blood.
I struggled to move my body, trying to reach the phone on the coffee table. The moment I touched the edge of the phone, it slid further away. A sharp pain forced me to stop and gasp for breath.
“Chloe, go get your grandmother a pillow and a blanket. Let her just make do on the floor for the night,” Michael’s voice drifted from the bedroom, his tone as casual as if he were discussing what to have for breakfast.
“Dad, Grandma will get cold on the floor…” Chloe’s voice trailed off, clearly silenced by a look from her parents.
“I have a big meeting first thing in the morning. I don’t have time to deal with taking her to the hospital,” Michael said impatiently. “It’s normal for old people to fall. She’ll be fine after a night’s sleep. Now go to bed. Forget about it.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the blood freeze in my veins. This was the child I had brought into the world after twelve agonizing hours of labor thirty-five years ago. This was the result of working from dawn till dusk to put him through college, of giving him everything I had to buy him a house when he got married.
No, I couldn’t just give up.
I used my still-mobile left arm to support myself, inching toward the coffee table. Every movement sent a drilling pain through my right hip, but I clenched my teeth to keep from making another sound. I didn’t want to hear any more of those heartbreaking words.
Finally, my fingers hooked the phone. I pressed the power button with a trembling hand. The moment the screen lit up, I almost cried out. The first number in my contacts was Michael’s, but I swiped right past it and found the rarely used emergency call button.
Before pressing it, I hesitated for a second. I knew this button connected directly to the town’s emergency services and they would dispatch an ambulance immediately. This meant a huge commotion. It meant the whole neighborhood would know what happened tonight. It meant the thin veil of harmony between my son and me would be torn to shreds.
But when I heard the sound of the television and laughter coming from my son’s room again, my finger pressed down without hesitation.
“This is the 911 emergency center. What is your emergency?” a young woman’s voice said on the other end.
“I’ve fallen. My right leg. I can’t move,” I managed to say. I reported my address as clearly as I could, my voice broken with pain.
“Please stay on the line, ma’am. An ambulance will be there within five minutes. Do you have family at home? Do you need me to call them for you?”
“No, no, thank you,” I replied with a bitter smile. “They’re sleeping very soundly.”
After hanging up, I lay quietly on the floor, listening to the television and occasional laughter from my son’s room. Not a single one of them came out to see if I was still alive.
Scenes from the past three years flashed through my mind like a movie. The look on Linda’s face when she complained my cooking was too salty. Michael’s roar of anger when he accused me of messing up his files while mopping the floor. Linda’s cold remark, “Mom, don’t spoil the child,” when I used my own pension to buy Chloe a new backpack.
The wail of the ambulance siren pierced the night’s silence, growing louder as it approached. Soon, there were hurried footsteps in the hallway, followed by a loud knocking on the door.
“Paramedics, is anyone home? Open the door!”
The knocking grew louder, but there was still no movement from my son’s room. I knew they were awake, just pretending not to hear.
“We need to force entry. The patient could be in critical condition,” a man’s voice said. With a loud bang, the door was broken down.
Blinding light flooded the living room as several uniformed paramedics rushed in.
“Ma’am, she’s over here,” a young female paramedic said, kneeling beside me. “Ma’am, can you hear me? Where does it hurt?”
I opened my mouth but found my throat too dry to speak. The paramedic quickly performed a basic check and then said to her colleagues, “Suspected hip fracture. We need to get her to the hospital immediately.”
As they carefully lifted me onto the stretcher, I took one last look at my son’s closed bedroom door. An idea began to form in my mind. I was going to do something they would never forget.
“Ma’am, do you have any family you need us to notify?” the paramedic asked.
I shook my head, my voice weak but firm. “No, they wouldn’t care.”
As the ambulance doors closed, I saw through the window that the light in my son’s room finally turned on. The curtain was pulled back a fraction, and I saw Michael’s sleepy face, full of annoyance at being disturbed, but not a shred of worry.
The moment the ambulance started to move, I made my decision. All my life, I had given everything for my family, only to end up like this. Since my existence was so insignificant to them, then my departure should teach them a profound lesson.
I felt for the phone in my pocket and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time.
“Catherine, it’s me, Eleanor.” My voice trembled with pain, but it was exceptionally steady. “I need you to do something for me. Something that will make Michael regret this for the rest of his life.”
Catherine Reed was my old colleague from the district attorney’s office and one of the best estate lawyers in the city. Hearing her familiar voice, I knew the gears of my revenge had already begun to turn.
The ambulance sped through the night, carrying a heartbroken but resolute old woman toward the hospital and toward a meticulously planned retribution.
The bright white lights forced me to squint. The smell of antiseptic filled my nostrils. The sound of the gurney wheels rolling on the floor, the hurried footsteps of medical staff, and the faint groans from a distance—all of it reminded me that I was in a hospital.
I was still alive.
“Blood pressure, 140 over 90. Heart rate, 92. Oxygen saturation is normal,” a nurse’s voice said from above me. “The X-ray room is ready. Take her straight there.”
My right leg was so painful it had gone numb, but the emptiness in my heart was far worse than the physical suffering.
After that call in the ambulance, Catherine said she would be here right away. In this world, besides my late husband, she was probably the only one who genuinely cared about my well-being.
“Ma’am, can you hear me?” A middle-aged doctor with glasses leaned over me. “I’m Dr. Miller. My initial assessment is a possible hip fracture, but we need an X-ray to confirm. Where is your family? Do we need to contact them?”
I shook my head gently, my throat too parched to form words. Contact them? They’re probably wishing I’d just disappear forever.
The process of getting X-rays was painful and long. Every movement made me bite down hard on my lip. When I was finally wheeled into a private hospital room, the sky outside was already turning a pale white.
Catherine must have arranged for this room. She was always so thoughtful.
“Eleanor.” A familiar voice came from the doorway. Catherine walked quickly to my bedside. Her sharp eyes scanned my body, finally resting on my face. “How is it? What did the doctor say?”
“Fractured right hip. I need surgery,” I managed a weak smile. “Catherine, thank you for coming so quickly.”
Catherine pulled a chair over and took my hand. Hers was warm and dry, just as I remembered.
“Were Michael and the others home when the ambulance arrived?” she asked, getting straight to the point.
The tears I had been holding back suddenly burst forth, as if a dam had broken. I told her everything that happened last night, word for word, including the phrase, “The old lady falls all the time.” Saying it out loud was like cutting myself with the same knife all over again.
Catherine’s face grew darker and darker until it was almost terrifying. She was seventy-five this year, four years younger than me, but she looked much more energetic. Before retiring, she was a senior judge who specialized in family disputes. She had seen the true faces of far too many ungrateful children.
“That bastard,” she cursed through gritted teeth. “When Michael got that government job, you took me out to dinner to celebrate, saying how proud you were. Look at him now, so proud he doesn’t even care if his own mother lives or dies.”
I gave a bitter laugh. “It’s my failure as a mother.”
“Your failure?” Catherine rarely swore, but her anger pushed her to it. “You and Richard weren’t good enough to him. From the time he was a boy, you gave him everything he wanted. College, his wedding, his house— which one of those didn’t you support by draining your savings? Now Richard is gone. And this is how he treats you.”
I closed my eyes, not wanting to relive the memories of past sacrifices and present betrayals. It was too painful.
“Eleanor, you said on the phone you wanted to make him regret this for the rest of his life,” Catherine said, lowering her voice, her eyes glinting sharply. “What do you have in mind?”
I opened my eyes and looked at my old friend. “I want to change my will. The house, the savings, everything I had planned to leave him—I want it all donated to the Senior Care Foundation. I’m not leaving him a single penny.”
Catherine’s eyes lit up. “It’s about time.” She hesitated for a moment. “But just doing that might not achieve the ‘never forget’ effect.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Fake your death,” Catherine said, uttering the two words slowly.
Seeing my shocked expression, she continued, “We can create the illusion that you died from surgical complications. We’ll let them think you’re gone, and then we’ll observe their reaction.”
My heart began to race. The idea was both insane and tempting.
“Is… Is that even possible?”
“Don’t forget, my son-in-law is the vice president of this hospital,” Catherine said with a sly smile. “Arranging a medical ‘accident’ isn’t difficult. The question is, are you brave enough to do it?”
I was silent. The plan was audacious. Once it was set in motion, there would be no turning back for Michael and me. But when I remembered the biting cold of the floor last night and the sound of laughter from my son’s room, my hesitation vanished.
“I’ll do it,” I heard myself say, my voice eerily calm. “But on two conditions.”
“Name them.”
“First, the entire process must be legal. I don’t want to get your son-in-law into trouble. Second…” I paused. “I want to see their reaction with my own eyes.”
Catherine thought for a moment and nodded. “No problem. We can set you up in an adjacent room with a live video feed. As for the legality, patients die in hospitals every day. We just need to fudge the death certificate a bit. It won’t involve a real medical incident.”
As we were talking, the door to the room was suddenly pushed open. Catherine and I turned at the same time to see Michael standing in the doorway, a look of fake concern plastered on his face.
“Mom, how are you?” He walked over quickly, dressed in a sharp suit, clearly having come straight from the office. “I woke up this morning and you were gone. A neighbor said an ambulance came in the middle of the night, so I rushed right over.”
I watched his performance, my heart turning to ice. The entire building must have heard the ambulance and the paramedics breaking down the door, yet he claimed he slept through it all until morning.
Catherine stood up and said coldly, “Michael, your mother fell around three in the morning. She called for help. You didn’t hear her?”
Michael’s expression froze for a second before he recovered. “Aunt Catherine, I was working late and didn’t get to sleep until two. I was dead tired. Linda and Chloe didn’t hear anything either.” He turned to me. “Mom, how are you? What did the doctor say?”
“Fractured hip. I need surgery,” I said calmly, watching his reaction.
“That serious?” He frowned, but his eyes darted around, clearly calculating how much this would cost and how much time it would take. “So… when is the surgery? Do you need someone to stay with you? I’m incredibly busy at work this week.”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” I interrupted. “Catherine will arrange for a caregiver. You just focus on your work.”
Michael was visibly relieved, but he put on a show of protest. “How could I do that? You’re my mother. Tell you what, I’ll have Linda find some time to come over.”
“Really, don’t bother,” I insisted. “You two just take care of Chloe.”
He made a few more empty pleasantries, then asked, as if it were an afterthought, “By the way, Mom, for the surgery and hospital fees, are you using your insurance? Or…”
In that moment, my heart died completely. His mother was lying in a hospital bed, and the first thing he was concerned about was money.
“I have Medicare and a supplemental policy. You don’t need to worry about it,” I said coldly.
Catherine cut in at the right moment. “Michael, your mother needs to rest. Why don’t you head back for now? I’ll let you know when the surgery is scheduled.”
Michael nodded, said a few more perfunctory words, and left in a hurry, as if staying a second longer would infect him with something.
After the door closed, Catherine sneered. “It seems our plan is absolutely necessary.”
I stared at the ceiling and suddenly remembered something. “Catherine, I remember a case you handled once about an elderly person being abused by their children.”
“Heaven, too many to count,” she sighed. “The most outrageous one was a son who locked his mother on the balcony for three years just to take her pension checks.”
“What was the final verdict?”
“The court revoked his guardianship, sent the mother to a nursing home, and the son had to pay restitution and served a year in prison.” Catherine looked at me. “Are you thinking of taking legal action?”
I shook my head. “No, I just wanted to confirm that my decision isn’t wrong.”
Catherine squeezed my hand. “Eleanor, some children are just ungrateful wolves. Your decision isn’t just ‘not wrong.’ It’s far too merciful.”
A nurse came in to give me a pain shot, and our conversation paused. The medication made my thoughts fuzzy, but my resolve became clearer than ever.
When night fell, Catherine returned with a document.
“The will has been revised,” she said quietly. “Just as you wanted. Everything will be donated to the Senior Care Foundation.”
Then she took an envelope from her purse. “And this is your life insurance policy. The payout is seventy-five thousand dollars, and the beneficiary is Chloe.”
I was taken aback. “I bought one of those?”
“I advised you to get it three years ago. After Richard passed, remember?” Catherine explained. “You said you’d treat it as a college fund for Chloe. This policy is separate from your estate, so it’s not affected by the will.”
I took the envelope, a new idea forming in my mind.
“Catherine, the plan needs to change a little.”
“How so?”
“Don’t reveal the insurance policy just yet,” I said slowly. “I want to see how they react when they think I’ve left them absolutely nothing.”
Catherine’s eyes lit up. “Brilliant. The ultimate test.”
We discussed every step of the fake death plan in detail. The surgery was scheduled for three days from now. At its conclusion, it would be announced that I had died from a sudden pulmonary embolism despite resuscitation efforts. My body would be quickly sent to the morgue. In reality, I would be secretly moved to a VIP room on another floor of the hospital. The memorial service would be held over the weekend. I would be able to watch the entire thing via a live camera feed.
“One last question,” Catherine asked seriously. “If, and I mean if, Michael shows genuine grief and remorse at the memorial service, will you change your mind?”
I looked out the window at the darkening sky, remembering the cold of the floor and my son’s words: “The old lady falls all the time.”
“No,” I heard myself say. “Some wounds can never be forgiven.”
For the three days before the surgery, my hospital room became a secret command center. Catherine was with me almost around the clock, and we went over every detail of the plan. Her son-in-law, the hospital’s vice president, also joined our conspiracy, offering his professional advice.
“A pulmonary embolism is a common and fatal complication after orthopedic surgery,” he explained. “It won’t arouse suspicion. I’ll sign the death certificate myself and arrange for the body to be sent directly to the morgue’s cold storage. In reality, we’ll move you to VIP room 9002. It has a separate entrance and won’t be discovered.”
I nodded, my heart pounding. It all sounded like something out of a spy movie, but the thought of seeing my family’s true reaction made me agree without hesitation.
Michael visited daily, but never for more than ten minutes. He was always impeccably dressed in a suit, a faint scent of cologne clinging to him, looking as if he’d come straight from a meeting. His concern was superficial, and his eyes were always scanning the room for something.
“Mom, are those old bank books and your cards safe at home?” he finally asked on the third day. “Maybe I should hold on to them for you.”
I was drinking water and nearly choked. Catherine, who was sitting nearby, said coldly, “Michael, your mother isn’t dead yet.”
Michael gave an embarrassed laugh. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just worried. With no one at the house, what if there’s a break-in?”
“The bank books are in a safe deposit box,” I lied calmly. “As for the other things, they’re somewhere in the old house. I’ll look for them when I get out of the hospital.”
His eyes visibly brightened. “The old house? Didn’t you rent it out?”
“There are some things the tenants don’t know about,” I said vaguely, watching the greedy expression on his face with a wave of disgust.
After Michael left, Catherine shook her head. “He’s after the old house. How much is that place worth now?”
“At least four hundred thousand,” I sighed. “It was a subsidized home from Richard’s company. We paid less than five thousand to own it outright. Michael always felt it should have been his.”
“Greed is the greatest folly,” Catherine sneered. “The more he acts like this, the more meaningful our plan becomes.”
The night before the surgery, Chloe came to see me in secret. The ten-year-old girl stood timidly at the door, holding a bouquet of carnations.
“Grandma,” she called out softly, her eyes red as if she’d been crying.
“Chloe,” I beckoned excitedly. “Come in, quick. Who brought you?”
“I asked Mrs. Henderson from downstairs to bring me,” Chloe said, walking to the bed and placing the flowers on the nightstand. “Mom and Dad don’t know I’m here.”
I stroked her soft hair, a pang of sorrow in my heart. In this family, only this child still genuinely cared for me.
“Grandma, does it hurt?” Chloe asked carefully, her eyes fixed on my leg, which was in traction.
“It doesn’t hurt. Not when I see my Chloe,” I said with a smile, then lowered my voice. “Chloe, if… if Grandma wasn’t here anymore, would you miss me?”
The little girl’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Grandma, don’t say that. You’re not going anywhere.” She threw her arms around me, her small body trembling. “That night… that night I heard you fall. I wanted to get up and help you, but Dad wouldn’t let me.”
I hugged my granddaughter tightly, my own eyes welling up. At least there was still one pure heart in this house.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Grandma was just joking,” I soothed her, then took an envelope from the drawer. “This is for you. Don’t open it until Grandma is gone, okay?”
Chloe took the envelope curiously and nodded. “I’ll hide it in my diary. I won’t tell anyone.”
We chatted for a little while longer until a nurse came to remind us that visiting hours were over. Just before leaving, Chloe turned and asked, “Grandma, is it true that when people die, they become stars?”
My heart clenched. “Who told you Grandma was going to die?”
“Yesterday I heard Dad telling Mom that this kind of surgery is really risky for old people,” she said. “He said if you were gone, the house and the money would all be theirs.”
Chloe repeated the words she had heard with childlike innocence, unaware that each one was a dagger in my heart.
I forced a smile through my anger. “Grandma will be fine. Now run along. Don’t keep Mrs. Henderson waiting.”
Watching Chloe’s retreating back, my last shred of hesitation vanished. Tomorrow’s surgery would be the ultimate test for my son and his family. If they couldn’t even feign the most basic sorrow, then I would have no guilt about what was to come.
On the morning of the surgery, Michael and Linda showed up together, which was a rare occurrence. Linda was wearing a designer suit and flawless makeup, carrying a fruit basket. She looked more like she was attending a business meeting than visiting a sick relative.
“Mom, don’t be nervous about the surgery today,” Michael said, standing at the foot of the bed. His tone was as light as if he were discussing the weather. “I asked the doctor. It’s a very routine procedure with a high success rate.”
A high success rate—but not one hundred percent. I completed the thought for him in my head.
Linda placed the fruit basket on the table and said with false sincerity, “Mom, after the surgery, you should move into the downstairs bedroom at our place. It’ll save you from climbing stairs.” She paused, then added, “But we’ll have to clean that room out first. It’s full of junk right now.”
I knew her too well. The so-called “junk” was actually the packaging from all the luxury goods they bought and could never bear to throw away.
“Don’t trouble yourselves,” I said calmly. “The doctor recommended I stay at a rehabilitation center after the surgery, where there’s professional care.”
They were both visibly relieved. Michael even had the nerve to say, “But that would be so inconvenient for us to visit you.”
“It’s fine. You’re both busy with work anyway,” I said, my words carrying a double meaning they completely missed.
A nurse came in to prepare me for the operating room, cutting our conversation short. Michael and Linda stood to the side, their faces masks of professional concern. When the nurse asked if the family wanted to wait outside the OR, they exchanged a glance.
“We have an important meeting,” Michael said. “The head nurse will notify us when the surgery is over, right?”
The nurse looked at him, surprised, but nodded.
Lying on the gurney, I took one last look at my son and daughter-in-law and whispered, “Goodbye.”
They waved, and Michael was already pulling out his phone to check his emails. They had no idea how much weight that single word carried.
After the operating room doors closed, the real performance began. According to the plan, the surgery would proceed as normal, but at the end, the doctor would announce that I had suffered a sudden pulmonary embolism and that resuscitation efforts had failed. The anesthesiologist would administer a special drug to temporarily flatline my vital signs enough to fool a cursory examination. Then, my body would be sent to the morgue before being secretly transferred to the VIP room.
“Are you ready?” the masked anesthesiologist asked.
I took a deep breath and nodded. As the drugs flowed into my vein, my consciousness began to fade. In my final waking moment, I thought of Chloe’s red-rimmed eyes and her question: “Is it true that when people die, they become stars?”
I don’t know how much time had passed, but when I woke up, I was in an unfamiliar room. The night sky outside the window was dark, and the heart monitor by my bed beeped rhythmically. My throat was on fire and a dull, throbbing pain came from my right leg.
“You’re awake.” A familiar voice cut through the haze. Catherine’s face came into view. She looked tired but exhilarated. “Everything went according to plan. It was perfect.”
I swallowed with difficulty. “What time is it?”
“Eleven at night. Your time of death was recorded as 4:38 this afternoon,” Catherine said, handing me a glass of water. “Michael has been notified. He’s taking care of the paperwork now.”
I took a slow sip, feeling life seep back into my body. “What was his reaction?”
Catherine’s expression turned strange. “First, he asked, ‘Are you sure?’ Three times. Then he demanded to see the death certificate. His hand was trembling a little when he signed, but I couldn’t see any sadness. It was more like shock.”
“And Linda?”
“She asked three questions,” Catherine said, ticking them off on her fingers. “First, where is the body? Second, when can we have it cremated? And third, where do we go to process the estate paperwork?”
I closed my eyes. It felt like a heavy stone was crushing my chest. I had expected it, but hearing it confirmed was still unbearable.
“But here’s the best part,” Catherine continued. “I followed them secretly when they left the hospital. Guess what they were saying in the parking garage?”
I shook my head, not daring to imagine.
“Linda said, ‘Finally, we don’t have to wait on that old hag anymore.’ And your precious son replied, ‘Keep it down. Let’s find the bank books and the deed to the house first.’” Catherine’s voice was filled with rage. “I seriously wanted to go up and slap both of them.”
I managed a bitter smile. “There’s no need to be angry. This just proves our decision was the right one.”
“They’ll come to the hospital tomorrow to finish the paperwork. The memorial service is the day after, at the funeral home,” Catherine said. “As you requested, we’ve set up hidden cameras. Are you sure you want to watch?”
“I’m sure,” I replied without hesitation. “I need to witness it all to finally let go.”
“Then before that…” Catherine sighed and took out a laptop. “Let’s start with this. This is the footage from the hospital administration office this afternoon.”
The screen lit up and I saw Michael and Linda sitting in an office. Michael was looking over the death certificate, his expression serious but not sorrowful. Linda, on the other hand, kept asking about the procedures, specifically emphasizing the need for a quick cremation.
“According to regulations, the body must be kept in cold storage for at least forty-eight hours before cremation,” a staff member explained.
“Can’t you do it any faster?” Linda asked impatiently. “It’s so hot out. What if—”
“Linda,” Michael cut her off, then said to the staff member, “We understand the regulations. We’ll follow the procedure.”
As they walked out of the office, Linda grumbled under her breath, “The sooner we deal with this, the sooner we can split the assets. Your mom’s old house…”
The video ended there. I closed the laptop, feeling a deep wave of exhaustion. This was the son I had sacrificed everything for, and the wife he had so carefully chosen.
“Rest now,” Catherine said softly. “Tomorrow is the main event.”
I nodded but couldn’t fall asleep. Outside the window, a few stars twinkled in the night sky. I remembered Chloe’s question and suddenly understood the answer. People don’t become stars when they die. But the living can choose whether to keep shining in the darkness or to be swallowed by it forever.
The curtains in the VIP room were drawn tight, leaving only the glow of the laptop screen to illuminate my face. On the screen was a live feed from Hall 3 of the funeral home, the site of my memorial service.
“Can you hear it clearly?” Catherine asked, adjusting my headphones.
I nodded, my eyes glued to the screen.
The hall was decorated so simply, it was almost barren. A few bunches of white chrysanthemums and a black-and-white photo of me taken three years ago, right after Richard died. My eyes in the picture were still filled with grief. In front of the photo was an urn. It wasn’t filled with my ashes, of course, just a mixture of flour and dust.
“They’re here,” Catherine whispered.
On the screen, Michael’s family walked into the hall. He wore a black suit, Linda a black dress, and even little Chloe was dressed in a small black skirt. The three of them walked up to my portrait. Michael bowed three times. Linda gave a perfunctory nod and Chloe just kept her head down.
“Mom, you left us so suddenly,” Michael began. His voice choked with emotion. “I was a bad son. I didn’t take good care of you.”
I sneered, watching his performance. His eyes were red, but it was obvious he’d rubbed them. His voice trembled, but not a single tear fell.
Friends and relatives began to arrive—mostly old colleagues and neighbors—each expressing shock and sorrow at my sudden passing. Michael stood to the side, accepting their condolences, occasionally dabbing at the corners of his eyes with a tissue.
“Eleanor was such a wonderful person. How could she be gone just like that?” said my old colleague, Mrs. Davis, wiping her eyes.
“I know. It was so sudden,” Michael said. “Complications after the surgery. The doctors did everything they could.”
“It’s just the three of you now. You have to be strong,” Mrs. Davis said, patting his shoulder. “Have you sorted out your mom’s affairs?”
Michael’s expression tensed for a moment before he put his grieving mask back on. “We haven’t had time to think about that. The most important thing is to lay Mom to rest.”
I knew him too well. He had probably already torn my room apart, looking for the non-existent bank books and property deeds.
Halfway through the service, an unexpected guest arrived, making the atmosphere a little tense. My lawyer, Catherine, appeared right on cue.
“Aunt Catherine.” Michael’s eyes lit up as he hurried to greet her. “You came.”
Catherine was dressed in a formal black suit, her expression solemn. She walked to my portrait, bowed three times, and then turned to Michael.
“My condolences. Eleanor’s passing was very sudden, and there are some matters that need to be addressed.”
“Oh.” Michael was instantly alert. “Is it about my mom’s will?”
Catherine gave him a meaningful look. “Tomorrow morning at ten, at my law office, Eleanor’s will is to be read. All concerned parties must be present.”
“All concerned parties?” Michael frowned. “Isn’t that just our family?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow,” Catherine said, deliberately being mysterious.
She then turned to Chloe. “Chloe, you must be strong. Your grandmother loved you more than anything.”
The little girl nodded, her eyes red, tightly clutching the envelope I had given her.
After Catherine left, the mood of the service changed noticeably. Michael and Linda huddled together, whispering, their expressions shifting from grief to anxiety and suspicion.
“What does she mean, ‘all concerned parties’?” Linda’s voice was low, but the microphone picked it up clearly. “Don’t tell me the old… Your mom left her property to someone else.”
“Impossible,” Michael said flatly. “I’m her only son. The primary legal heir. Unless…”
“Unless what?” Linda pressed.
“Unless she made a will.” Michael’s face turned pale. “But Mom was always traditional. She thought making a will was bad luck. She wouldn’t have.”
“But that Catherine is a lawyer,” Linda said, growing agitated. “What if she convinced your mom to write one? We need to go home and look again right now. Maybe the will is hidden somewhere in the house.”
The two of them hastily concluded the service, even rushing through the final words of thanks. Chloe was forgotten in a corner. The little girl stood alone in front of my portrait, tears streaming silently down her face.
“Grandma,” she whispered, “I brought the letter you gave me, but I want to read it now.”
My heart ached. I watched as Chloe’s small, trembling hands tore open the envelope, taking out the letter and a bank card inside. It was an account I had opened in her name, where I had deposited all her birthday and holiday money since she was a baby—about five thousand dollars.
Chloe read the letter, and her tears fell even faster. I had kept it simple:
My dearest Chloe, if one day Grandma is gone, the money on this card is for you. The password is your birthday. Remember, no matter what happens, Grandma loves you.
In front of the screen, I couldn’t help but cry, too. In this family, this child was the only one worth holding on to.
“How was it?” Catherine asked when she returned to my room after the service.
I wiped my tears. “Just as spectacular as I imagined.”
“Tomorrow is the main event,” Catherine said, concerned. “Are you sure you want to attend in person? I’m worried Michael will have a breakdown.”
“That’s what I want,” I said coldly. “I want him to remember this day for the rest of his life.”
Catherine sighed and took a set of clothes from her bag. “Try this on. You need to look the part of someone resurrected tomorrow.”
It was a dark blue suit, dignified and authoritative. I slowly changed, looking at my pale, thin face in the mirror. But my eyes burned with a resolve I had never felt before.
“Perfect,” Catherine assessed. “Like an avenging angel returned from the underworld.”
I smiled faintly. “No. Just a heartbroken mother coming to give her ungrateful son one last lesson.”
That night I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. After tomorrow, the bond between me and Michael would be severed completely. The thought pained me, but I no longer hesitated. When kinship turns into exploitation and harm, perhaps a clean break is the only way for both sides to find release.
Outside, a shooting star streaked across the night sky. I remembered the fairy tale I used to tell Michael when he was little—that for every star that falls, someone on earth has gone to heaven. Tomorrow, I would tell him another version. Sometimes stars rise back into the sky. Just like some people you thought you had lost forever can suddenly return to change everything.
The morning sun streamed through the gaps in the curtains, drawing a golden line across the floor. I sat in the waiting room of Catherine’s law office, my hands clasped tightly, my palms sweating.
“Nervous?” Catherine asked, handing me a glass of warm water.
I shook my head, then nodded. “It would be a lie to say I’m not. But mostly I just feel… resolved. After today, my relationship with Michael as mother and son will be over.”
“They’ve arrived,” Catherine said, checking her phone. “Michael’s family and the representatives from the Senior Care Foundation. They’re all in the conference room.”
I took a deep breath and straightened the collar of my dark blue suit. I had chosen it specially for this day. Dignified, authoritative, perfect for a resurrected mother.
“Remember the plan,” Catherine reminded me one last time. “I’ll go out and read the first part of the will. When you hear me cough twice, you push open the door and go in.”
I nodded, my heart hammering against my ribs. Fifty-nine years of a mother-son bond were about to be erased by my own hand.
After Catherine left, the waiting room fell silent. I could hear the faint murmur of voices from the conference room next door, but couldn’t make out the words. The clock on the wall ticked toward ten, each second stretching into an eternity.
Finally, I heard Catherine’s clear voice from the other room. “Thank you all for coming. As per the final wishes of Mrs. Eleanor Vance, I will now read her last will and testament.”
I closed my eyes, and images of Michael from childhood to adulthood flashed through my mind. A baby crying in his crib. A boy running home with a perfect test score. A handsome groom in a tuxedo. The final image was his profile on that fateful morning, his cold voice saying, “The old lady falls all the time.”
“With the exception of the special provisions outlined below, all properties, real and personal, securities, and all other assets belonging to Mrs. Eleanor Vance…” Catherine’s voice was suddenly cut off by a commotion.
I heard Michael raise his voice. “What does that mean? What ‘special provisions’? My mother’s assets naturally come to me. I’m her only son!”
“Michael, please remain calm,” Catherine’s voice was steady. “This is a legally binding expression of Mrs. Vance’s wishes. As her attorney, I am obligated to read it in its entirety—”
Cough. Cough.
The two clear coughs were my signal.
I stood up, straightened my suit, and pushed open the door to the conference room.
The scene inside was like a frozen painting. Catherine sat at one end of a long table, a document spread before her. Across from her were Michael, Linda, and Chloe. Michael was half standing, his face red with anger. Linda had a hand on her husband’s shoulder, her expression a mix of shock and suspicion. Chloe sat quietly to the side, her eyes puffy. At the other end of the table sat two strangers, likely the foundation representatives.
Every single person was staring at the newly opened door. Staring at me.
The air solidified. Michael’s face went from red to white in an instant. His lips trembled, but no sound came out. Linda gasped and jerked backward, nearly falling out of her chair. Only Chloe, after a moment of shock, let her eyes light up.
“Grandma,” the little girl called out uncertainly.
I walked slowly into the room, each step firm and steady. The surgical wound in my right leg still ached, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart.
“Mom…” Michael finally found his voice, though it sounded squeezed from his throat. “What… What is this? You… You’re dead…”
“Disappointed, Michael?” I stopped at the head of the table, my gaze sweeping over each person before finally landing on my son’s face. “I didn’t die.”
The room erupted. Michael was babbling incoherently. Linda shrieked, “A ghost!” Chloe tried to run to me, but was yanked back by her father. One of the foundation representatives, a young woman, covered her mouth in astonishment.
“Quiet.” Catherine slammed her pen on the table. “This is not a supernatural event. Mrs. Eleanor Vance did undergo hip surgery, but she did not pass away as you were led to believe. This was a special arrangement.”
“What do you mean?” Michael’s voice was unnaturally high-pitched. “You conspired to trick us. Why? Why?”
I let out a cold laugh and took a small digital recorder from my purse. “Perhaps this will answer your question.”
I pressed play.
Michael’s voice saying, “Forget it. The old lady falls all the time,” echoed clearly in the conference room. It was followed by the couple’s conversation in the parking garage after the ambulance had left.
“Finally, we don’t have to wait on that old hag anymore.”
“Keep it down. Let’s find the bank books and the deed to the house first.”
When the recording finished, the room was dead silent. Michael’s face had turned a sickly green. Linda was staring at the floor, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.
“Do you need more of an explanation?” I asked calmly. “Or would you like to see the video from the memorial service—the one where you so movingly discussed how to divide my assets?”
Michael shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You set us up. Those words, they were taken out of context—”
“Were they?” I turned to Catherine. “Please continue reading the will.”
Catherine nodded and picked up the document again.
“As I was saying, with the exception of special provisions, all assets under Mrs. Eleanor Vance’s name will be donated to the Senior Care Foundation to be used to help elderly individuals with no family support.”
“What?” Michael and Linda screamed in unison.
“Furthermore,” Catherine continued, her voice overriding their protests, “Mrs. Vance’s property in the Maple Creek subdivision will be established as the headquarters for the Filial Piety Oversight Fund, dedicated to providing legal aid to elderly individuals who are victims of abuse by their children.”
Michael stood frozen as if struck by lightning, his face ashen. Linda began hysterically pounding the table.
“This isn’t legal. We’re her immediate family. We have inheritance rights. We can sue!”
“You certainly can,” Catherine said calmly. “However, according to inheritance law, a will made by a person of sound mind holds the highest legal authority, unless you can prove she was mentally incompetent or under duress when she made it.” She gave me a meaningful glance. “And given that Mrs. Vance is standing right here, I imagine that would be quite difficult to prove.”
I walked over to Chloe and gently stroked her hair. The little girl wrapped her arms around my waist and began to sob quietly.
“Grandma, I missed you so much.”
“It’s okay, Chloe,” I whispered, then pulled a piece of paper from my pocket and handed it to Catherine. “There is one addendum.”
Catherine took the document, scanned it quickly, and announced, “Addendum: in light of the sincere grief and affection demonstrated by her granddaughter, Chloe Vance, during the period of her grandmother’s passing, Mrs. Vance has decided to bequeath her personal collection of old photograph albums, letters, and an educational fund of five thousand dollars to Chloe Vance, to be managed by the Foundation until she comes of age.”
Linda immediately spun toward Chloe. “What educational fund? When did Grandma give you that?”
Chloe timidly pulled the bank card from her pocket. “It… It was in the envelope Grandma gave me before…”
“You were hiding money?” Linda shrieked, lunging to grab it.
I blocked her arm. “That money belongs to Chloe. No one is to touch it.” My voice was quiet, but each word landed like a steel nail. “If I find out anyone has tried to access that fund, I will immediately petition the court for a change in Chloe’s guardianship.”
The threat was like a bucket of cold water on Linda. She recoiled, her face a storm of conflicting emotions.
Michael finally found his voice again, but he directed it at Catherine.
“Aunt Catherine, you and my mother were old friends. How could you help her do this to me? I’m her only son.”
“I’m not doing this to you, Michael,” I interrupted him. “I’m giving you one last lesson in what it means to be a decent human being.”
The room fell silent. One of the foundation representatives, a middle-aged man, cleared his throat.
“Mrs. Vance, regarding the property transfer, we can begin the paperwork next week.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ve already contacted a moving company. I’ll be out of that house by tomorrow.”
“Where are you going?” Michael asked instinctively, then realized he no longer had any right to ask and shut his mouth, embarrassed.
“A retirement community,” I answered. “The one affiliated with the Senior Care Foundation. They have professional medical staff and plenty of activities. It’s much better than living in a home where my family is waiting for me to die.”
Michael’s face twitched as if he’d been slapped.
“If there are no other questions,” Catherine said, closing the file folder, “then today’s reading of the will is concluded.”
Michael stood there for a few seconds, stunned, then suddenly rushed over and knelt before me.
“Mom, I was wrong. I know I was wrong. Please give me another chance. I promise I’ll take care of you. I’ll be a good son.”
I looked down at my kneeling son, his face a mask of what looked like genuine remorse, tears and snot running down his face. Once upon a time, when this boy fell, he would cry just like this, looking for me to comfort him. But now my heart felt like it was encased in ice, unable to stir with even a ripple of sympathy.
“Get up, Michael,” I said calmly. “You’re not crying because you lost your mother. You’re crying because you lost your inheritance.”
He looked up, and the tears in his eyes instantly froze, replaced by a flicker of resentment I had never seen before.
“You planned this all along, didn’t you? You faked your own death just to humiliate us.”
“I gave you one last chance,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “At the memorial service, before you knew the contents of the will, you had countless opportunities to show the grief and remorse a son should feel. But you only cared about the money.”
Michael shot to his feet, the mask of sorrow completely shattered.
“Fine. Just fine. From this moment on, you are not my mother. When you get old and sick, don’t come looking for me. And when you die, don’t expect me to be at your funeral.”
He grabbed Linda and Chloe and stormed out of the room. Chloe struggled, looking back at me, her eyes filled with confusion and reluctance.
“Chloe,” I called out to my granddaughter. “Remember, Grandma will always love you. If you miss me, you can always find me.”
The little girl nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek before she was roughly pulled out of the conference room.
After the door slammed shut, my legs suddenly gave out. Catherine rushed to help me into a chair while the foundation representatives thoughtfully poured me a glass of water.
“Mrs. Vance, are you all right?” the young woman asked with concern.
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Better than I expected. It feels like I’ve finally taken off a heavy shackle I’ve been wearing for years.”
“You are incredibly brave,” the middle-aged man said. “Many elderly people, even when they are mistreated by their children, don’t dare to fight back, let alone take such drastic action because they’re afraid of being lonely.”
“Afraid of having no one to rely on in their old age,” I said with a bitter smile. “I was, too. But when I realized that the support I thought I had didn’t exist in the first place, there was nothing left to be afraid of.”
Catherine patted my shoulder. “So, what are your plans now?”
I looked out at the sunlight streaming through the window, feeling for the first time that the days ahead were not a landscape of gray. “First, I’ll move. And then maybe I can volunteer for the foundation. After all, I have plenty of time, and I have firsthand experience with the kinds of problems seniors can face.”
The two foundation representatives’ eyes lit up, and they immediately began to enthusiastically describe their volunteer programs. As I listened, nodding occasionally, the weight in my heart began to lift, piece by piece.
When the meeting was over, Catherine walked me out.
“No regrets?” she asked.
I looked back at the empty conference room where my only blood relative in this world had just been sitting. Now there were only a few disheveled chairs.
“My only regret is not doing this sooner,” I answered softly.
Then I straightened my back and walked toward the elevator—toward my new life.
Moving day was exceptionally bright and sunny, as if nature itself was celebrating my rebirth. The retirement community sent two staff members to help, and with two law students Catherine had recruited, my limited belongings were neatly settled into my new home in less than half a day.
“Mrs. Vance, see if there’s anything else you need,” said a young caregiver named Sarah, her voice warm and friendly. “We provide all the basic necessities, but if you need anything special, just make a list and we can get it for you.”
I looked around the small one-bedroom apartment: a sun-filled bedroom, a compact but fully functional kitchenette, a comfortable living room, and a small balcony. Though not as spacious as my old house, it was more than enough for a single person.
“It’s wonderful. I don’t need a thing,” I said with a smile. “It’s much better than I imagined.”
“Well, you get some rest. Dinner is from five to seven in the dining hall on the first floor,” Sarah said, handing me a key card. “This is for your door and for meals. This month’s meal plan has already been loaded onto it.”
After they left, I walked slowly out onto the balcony. The view was open, overlooking a distant park and the city skyline beyond. The breeze on my face was crisp with the first hint of autumn.
My phone rang. It was Catherine.
“Settled in?” she asked.
“Yes, it went more smoothly than I expected,” I said, leaning against the balcony railing. “The environment here is lovely, and the staff are very professional.”
“That’s good.” Catherine paused. “There’s something you should know. Michael came to see me yesterday.”
My grip on the phone tightened. “What did he want?”
“He said he wants to talk to you. Claims he’s done some deep soul-searching and hopes to make amends.”
I let out a cold laugh. “He’s realized he can’t win in court, so now he’s trying the emotional approach.”
“Most likely,” Catherine sighed. “I didn’t give him your specific address, as you asked. But he might find it through other means.”
“Let him try,” I said, watching a flock of pigeons fly in the distance. “He won’t see me even if he finds me.”
After hanging up, I went back inside and started to unpack my things. Most of my furniture had been left in the old house, now the office for the Filial Piety Oversight Fund. I had only brought some clothes, personal items, and my precious photo albums.
Flipping through an old album, a yellowed photograph slipped out. It was taken on Michael’s fifth birthday. He was sitting between me and my husband, a buttercream cake with five candles in front of him, smiling so wide his eyes were just slits. He was such a loving child then, so attached to his parents.
I gently stroked the photo, a wave of sadness washing over me. When did it all change? When he got his state job and became materialistic? When he married a woman who valued only money? Or was it earlier—when we spoiled him so much that he came to believe his parents’ sacrifices were simply his due?
The last few pages of the album were filled with pictures of Chloe. From her birth to her last birthday, I had carefully preserved every milestone, especially the moments she and I shared—me teaching her to bake cookies, her snuggled in my lap listening to a story, the two of us at the park watching the Fourth of July fireworks.
My phone rang again. This time it was an unknown number. I hesitated for a moment, then answered.
“Grandma.” It was Chloe’s voice, thick with tears. “I miss you so much.”
My heart clenched. “Sweetheart, whose phone is this?”
“Mrs. Henderson’s. I borrowed it in secret,” the little girl sobbed. “Mom and Dad won’t let me call you. They said you don’t want us anymore.”
“Silly girl,” I said, trying to soothe her. “How could Grandma not want you?”
“It’s just… Mom and Dad don’t understand,” she whispered. “They’ve been fighting a lot these past few days. Dad blames Mom for being greedy, and Mom blames Dad for being useless. They were throwing things yesterday.”
I closed my eyes, imagining the chaos in that home. Michael must have shifted all the blame for losing the inheritance onto Linda, and Linda would have fired back with her own accusations.
“Chloe, listen to Grandma,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “The things adults argue about are complicated. But no matter what happens, none of it is your fault. You remember that Grandma loves you. And if you ever want to talk, you can call me anytime, okay?”
“Okay,” Chloe sniffled. “Grandma, where do you live? Can I come see you?”
I hesitated. On one hand, I longed to see my granddaughter. On the other, I didn’t want to give Michael any opportunity to find me.
“How about this?” I finally decided. “This weekend, Grandma will meet you somewhere, just the two of us. How does that sound?”
Chloe let out a little cheer, then quickly lowered her voice. “Really? Where will we go?”
“How about the zoo? You’ve been wanting to see the new baby panda, right?”
We set a time and place. After a few more minutes of chatting, Chloe suddenly said in a rush, “Mom’s coming. I have to go. Goodbye, Grandma.”
The line went dead, leaving me holding the phone, my heart a swirl of emotions. In this fractured family, Chloe was the only pure connection left. I resolved that no matter how bad things got with Michael, I would not give up on this child.
At dinnertime, I took the elevator down to the first-floor dining hall. To my surprise, it was spacious and bright, more like an upscale buffet restaurant than a traditional cafeteria. Dozens of seniors were in line, chatting and laughing.
“You’re new here,” a woman with a full head of silver hair but a vibrant spirit greeted me. “I’m Barbara from room 306. Just call me Barb.”
“Eleanor Vance. I just moved in today,” I replied with a smile. “I’m in 412.”
“Oh, a south-facing room. Nice,” Barb nodded. “Come on. I’ll show you the ropes. They only serve the pot roast on Wednesdays, so you’re in luck today.”
With Barb as my guide, I quickly learned my way around. As I looked for a table with my tray, several other residents warmly waved us over.
“I hear you’re a friend of Catherine Reed’s,” a gentleman with glasses asked. “That old firecracker was here just the other day scouting the place out to set up some kind of legal clinic.”
“Yes, we’re old colleagues,” I said, surprised at how fast news traveled. “She mentioned wanting to organize lawyers to provide free consultations for the residents.”
“Tell me about it,” Barb cut in. “Some of these kids nowadays are worse than enemies. There are a few people here who were literally thrown out by their own children.”
The table erupted in conversation as the residents shared their own stories. Some had been tricked out of their homes, others had been abandoned, and some had even suffered physical abuse.
“The worst is Mr. Miller over there,” a woman with curly hair said in a low voice. “His son dropped him here, never paid the full fees, and secretly took his father’s pension card. If the foundation hadn’t stepped in, he would have been evicted.”
I listened to these stories with a heavy heart, feeling both pained and fortunate. Compared to them, at least I had the means to fight back and the resources to protect myself.
“What about you, Eleanor?” Barb asked curiously. “Why did you move here?”
All eyes turned to me. I put down my fork and said calmly, “I faked my own death and discovered my son only cared about my inheritance.”
The table fell silent for a moment, then burst into a wave of gasps and applause.
“Well done,” the gentleman with the glasses said, giving me a thumbs-up. “It’s high time those ungrateful brats learned a lesson. What happened next? What happened next?” the others asked eagerly.
Encouraged by their support, I briefly recounted the whole story. When I mentioned donating all my assets to the foundation, Barb gripped my hand excitedly.
“Good for you. Better to give it to strangers than to a thankless wolf.”
Dinner ended in a lively atmosphere. By the time I headed back to my room, I had already made seven or eight new friends and had plans to join them for morning exercises. This feeling of being surrounded by peers was warmer than any day I had spent living alone in my son’s house.
I had just gotten back to my room when the doorbell rang. Through the peephole, I saw Sarah, the caregiver, holding a package.
“Mrs. Vance, a delivery for you.” She handed me a cardboard box. The sender was the Senior Care Foundation.
I took the package, knowing immediately what it was. Inside, just as I expected, were a brand-new laptop and a smartphone. A note from the foundation was attached:
To help you participate in our work remotely. Please contact us if you have any questions.
Sarah looked at the high-tech gadgets in surprise. “Mrs. Vance, do you know how to use these? Would you like me to show you?”
“I should be all right,” I said with a smile, opening the laptop. “I worked at the courthouse before I retired. I still remember the basics.”
After Sarah left, I eagerly logged into my email. Catherine had already sent several messages, including a work plan for the foundation and an update on the progress of the Filial Piety Oversight Fund.
The last email made me freeze. The subject line was: Call from Chloe’s school.
I clicked it open immediately.
The email briefly explained that Chloe’s homeroom teacher had contacted the foundation asking if a message could be passed along to me. Chloe had been distracted in class for the past few days and was seen crying yesterday, saying she missed her grandma.
My heart twisted into a knot. I immediately replied to the email, asking for more details and decided to move up my meeting with Chloe to tomorrow after school.
Just as I was about to close the laptop, a news alert caught my eye.
Public official under investigation for alleged elder abuse.
I clicked the link and was shocked to see Michael’s name and photo. The report stated that an anonymous tip had been filed regarding his mistreatment of his mother, and it included a transcript of the recording: “The old lady falls all the time.” The article said his department had opened an internal investigation and he had been temporarily suspended.
My hand started to tremble uncontrollably. This was not part of my plan. I had only wanted to cut ties with Michael, not destroy his career.
I frantically called Catherine, but she was just as surprised.
“It wasn’t me,” she said. “I only played that recording during the will reading. Wait a minute…” She suddenly remembered something. “Those two representatives from the foundation—especially the young woman—I think I saw her recording parts of the meeting with her phone.”
I sank into my chair, feeling dizzy. The situation was spiraling out of my control. The thrill of revenge was long gone, replaced by a deep sense of unease. Michael would undoubtedly believe I had done this deliberately. There would be no chance of reconciliation between us now. And more importantly, how would all of this affect Chloe?
Outside, the night was deep. Here in this unfamiliar retirement community, my new life had just begun, yet it was already caught in an unpredictable storm.
The next morning, I called Chloe’s homeroom teacher. The young woman, Miss Lynn, had a gentle voice, but the information she shared was deeply worrying.
“Chloe has definitely been down these last few days, and her homework hasn’t been up to her usual standard,” Miss Lynn said. “Yesterday in art class, she drew a picture of an old woman lying on the floor and a little girl trying to help her, but being pulled away by adults. I was very concerned, so I asked her about it privately.”
My heart ached. “What did she say?”
“She said her grandma came back from the dead, but her mom and dad won’t let her see you.” Miss Lynn hesitated. “Mrs. Vance, forgive my asking, but is what Chloe said true? Has there been some kind of family crisis?”
I briefly explained the situation, emphasizing that the conflict between my son and me should not affect the child.
After a moment of silence, Miss Lynn said, “I understand your position, but Chloe is clearly very affected. She’s only ten. She can’t comprehend the complexities of the adult world.”
“I’m coming to pick her up from school this afternoon,” I decided. “I’ll take her out for a bit, and we’ll have a good talk.”
“Is that appropriate?” Miss Lynn sounded hesitant. “Normally, we need parental consent…”
“I am her grandmother. I have visitation rights,” I said firmly. “If you’re concerned, you can inform Michael, but I am seeing my granddaughter today.”
Finally, Miss Lynn relented, agreeing to let Chloe go with me for two hours after school on the condition that I bring her home on time.
After hanging up, I immediately got ready. I baked a batch of Chloe’s favorite walnut cookies, found the cartoon-themed water bottle she had left at my place, and even bought a small panda keychain. She was obsessed with pandas lately.
At three in the afternoon, I took a taxi to Chloe’s school. Standing at the gate, watching the streams of children pour out, I suddenly felt a wave of anxiety. Since the incident with the will, I hadn’t come face to face with any of my family. Even though I was only seeing my granddaughter, it meant stepping back into the world I had just decisively left behind.
“Grandma!” A familiar voice called out. Chloe, with her pink backpack, came running toward me and threw herself into my arms. I hugged her tight, smelling the familiar scent of strawberry shampoo in her hair, my eyes instantly welling up.
“Chloe, I’ve missed you so much.”
The little girl looked up, her eyes red. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore. Dad said you gave all your money to strangers.”
“Silly child,” I said, wiping away her tears. “How could Grandma not want you? Come on, I’ll take you for ice cream and then we’ll go see the pandas.”
We took a taxi to the zoo. Along the way, Chloe clung to my hand as if she were afraid I would vanish. She chatted about everything that had happened in the past few days—how her dad had lost his temper and smashed the television, how her mom was on the phone with lawyers all day, how they argued about whether or not to contact me.
“They said you tricked everyone into thinking you were dead just so you wouldn’t have to give us money,” Chloe repeated her parents’ words innocently, each one a needle in my heart. “But I don’t believe them. My grandma isn’t like that.”
I didn’t know how to explain the adult world to a ten-year-old. I could only hold her shoulders tightly.
“Grandma just wanted to help Mom and Dad understand some things. It was never about you, Chloe.”
At the zoo, Chloe was quickly captivated by the animals, temporarily forgetting her family troubles. She was especially thrilled to see the new giant panda, Sparkle, dancing with excitement and making me take countless photos.
“Grandma, look. Sparkle is eating bamboo. Her paws are so cute,” Chloe exclaimed, her face flushed with excitement as she leaned on the railing. “Can we come see her every week?”
“Of course we can,” I promised indulgently, then remembered the reality of the situation. “As long as your mom and dad agree.”
Chloe’s expression immediately fell. “They won’t agree. Yesterday, I said I wanted to call you and Dad smashed his phone on the floor.”
My heart sank. Had Michael’s resentment toward me grown so deep that he would willingly hurt Chloe’s feelings?
“Chloe, listen to Grandma,” I said, crouching down to look her in the eyes. “No matter what happens, remember two things. First, Grandma will always love you. Second, if you ever need anything, you can always ask Miss Lynn to contact me, okay?”
The little girl nodded, then suddenly asked, “Grandma, did you really give all your money to other people? Dad said we might have to move out of our big house.”
I took a sharp breath. Were Michael’s finances that bad? He and Linda both had stable government jobs. They shouldn’t be in crisis just from losing my inheritance.
“Chloe, money is something for adults to worry about. You don’t need to be concerned,” I reassured her. “Mom and Dad are capable of taking care of you.”
But Chloe hesitated. “I heard Mom talking about some kind of loan that they can’t pay back.”
A knot formed in my stomach. Could it be that they had borrowed money, counting on my inheritance to repay it? That would explain their urgency about my death and their fury over the will.
Just as I was about to ask for more details, my phone rang. It was an unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Mom.” It was Michael’s voice exploding from the receiver. “You took Chloe. What do you think you’re doing? Is this a kidnapping? I’m calling the police.”
I was stunned. “How did you know?”
“Miss Lynn just called me. She said you picked Chloe up from school,” Michael’s voice was seething with rage. “You took her without our permission.”
“Michael, calm down,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I just took Chloe out for a little while. I promise to have her home in two hours.”
“Bring her back now. Right now,” he roared. “Or I’ll make sure you don’t get to stay in that retirement home for long.”
Suddenly, the phone was snatched away, and Linda’s shrill voice came on the line.
“Eleanor, you fake your own death to deceive us, and now you’re abducting our child? We’ve already contacted a lawyer. You can wait for the court summons.”
I looked at Chloe, who was standing beside me, terrified. I suppressed my anger.
“We are at the zoo. I will bring her home in one hour. If you dare frighten this child again, I will apply for a protective order and have your guardianship revoked.”
I hung up before they could respond, my hand trembling with rage.
“Grandma, was that Mom and Dad?” Chloe asked timidly. “Are they angry?”
I forced a smile. “It’s nothing, sweetie. Let’s watch the pandas for a little longer and then Grandma will take you home, okay?”
Chloe nodded, but her earlier excitement was gone. We walked the rest of the way in silence and caught a cab at the zoo entrance.
On the way to Michael’s house, Chloe snuggled close to me, her small hand clutching the corner of my coat. My heart felt like it was breaking. The wars between adults always hurt the innocent children the most.
When the car stopped at the entrance to their neighborhood, I saw Michael and Linda waiting, their faces as dark as a thundercloud.
“Go on, Chloe,” I said, kissing her forehead. “Remember what Grandma told you.”
The little girl got out of the car reluctantly and walked slowly toward her parents. Linda grabbed her and roughly checked her backpack and pockets as if searching for contraband. Michael strode over to the car and tapped on my window.
“Give me the phone.”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” he said through gritted teeth. “How did that recording get leaked to the press? Who else could it have been but you? Now I’m suspended from my job, pending an investigation. Are you satisfied?”
I stared at his distorted face, suddenly realizing that the son I remembered no longer existed. This bitter, hate-filled man was just a stranger who looked like him.
“I didn’t do it,” I said calmly. “But the recording is real, isn’t it?”
Michael’s face flushed a deep red. “You’ve ruined me. Twenty years of work, my entire future, it’s all gone.”
He suddenly grabbed my wrist. “Give me the original recording. I want to know what else you have on tape.”
The taxi driver, seeing the situation escalate, got out of the car. “Sir, you need to let her go or I’m calling the police.”
Michael released me and stepped back, but the fire in his eyes didn’t diminish.
“I’ll see you in court, Mom,” he said, the final word dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll show you what real revenge looks like.”
The car drove away. Through the rear window, I saw Chloe struggling, trying to run toward me, but Linda held her fast. Michael stood motionless, his cold gaze following the car until it turned a corner and disappeared from sight.
Back at the retirement community, I went straight to Catherine’s apartment. After hearing my story, she immediately called the foundation’s legal adviser.
“Michael is threatening to sue,” Catherine said after hanging up, a cold smile on her face. “Let him. We have a complete chain of evidence proving you did nothing wrong. He, on the other hand, is on tape admitting to elder neglect. He has some nerve.”
“I’m not worried about a lawsuit,” I said wearily. “I’m worried about Chloe. Michael and Linda must hate me even more now. They’ll stop me from seeing her.”
Catherine thought for a moment. “We can petition for visitation rights. As a direct blood relative, the court will usually support a reasonable visitation schedule.”
“That will only escalate the conflict,” I shook my head. “And the legal process is long. Chloe will be under even more stress during that time.”
“Then what do you propose?”
I walked to the window, watching the residents strolling in the garden below. “For now, nothing.”
“What?” Catherine was incredulous. “You’re just going to give up on Chloe?”
“Of course not,” I said with a sad smile. “But I need time to think of a solution that protects Chloe without completely enraging Michael.”
That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Michael’s hateful glare and Chloe’s tearful face played over and over in my mind. In the early hours of the morning, my phone vibrated. It was a text from an unknown number.
Grandma, I’m using a friend’s phone. Dad took mine and said I’m not allowed to contact you anymore, but I miss you so much. I love you. —Chloe.
I clutched the phone, tears streaming down my face. This thoughtful child was the only light left in this broken family.
The next morning at breakfast, Barb leaned over conspiratorially.
“Did you hear? Some middle-aged man was causing a scene downstairs yesterday, yelling that he needed to see his mother. The security guards had to escort him out.”
My heart sank. “When did this happen?”
“Right around dinner time,” Barb whispered. “I heard it was one of the residents’ sons making a fuss about an inheritance. Kids these days, I swear.”
I lost my appetite. I quickly finished my meal and went back to my room to call Catherine. It was true. Michael had come looking for me yesterday, claiming it was a family emergency. After being turned away by the front desk, he had started shouting and was eventually removed by security.
“He’ll be back,” Catherine warned. “Should we get a restraining order?”
“Let’s wait,” I sighed. “Maybe after a few days to cool off.”
Before I could finish, my doorbell rang. Through the peephole, I was shocked to see Chloe standing outside, her eyes red and swollen, clutching a stuffed animal.
“Grandma.” The moment I opened the door, she flew into my arms. “I ran away from home.”
Chloe was trembling all over, her face pale. She had clearly run the whole way. I quickly pulled her inside, locked the door, and poured her a glass of warm water.
“Slow down. What happened? Do your mom and dad know you’re here?”
The little girl shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “They… They were fighting. Dad was throwing things and said he was going to come here and settle things with you. I got scared.”
My heart twisted into a knot. I gently hugged my granddaughter, feeling her small, thin body tremble in my arms.
“Don’t be afraid. You’re safe here with Grandma. How did you find this place?”
“I… I saw the name of the retirement community on Dad’s phone once,” Chloe sobbed. “I pretended to go to school today, but I took the bus here instead.”
I was both heartbroken and terrified—a ten-year-old girl taking a bus across half the city by herself. What if something had happened?
“You did the right thing coming to find Grandma,” I said, stroking her back. “But your mom and dad must be worried sick right now. We have to let them know you’re here.”
Chloe looked up sharply, her eyes filled with fear. “No. Dad will hit me. Yesterday… Yesterday he tore up my homework and said if I ever saw you again he… he…”
“He what, sweetie?”
“He wouldn’t let me go to school anymore.” Chloe’s tears flowed again. “And he said he would send me to live in the countryside.”
I was shaking with fury that Michael would use such threats against a child. Was this the same man who once held his infant daughter and beamed with pride?
“Listen to me, Chloe,” I said, cupping her small face in my hands. “No one is going to send you away, and no one is going to stop you from going to school. Grandma promises you.”
The little girl nodded uncertainly, clutching the stuffed bear—a gift from me last year—even tighter.
I picked up my phone, hesitated, and then dialed Michael’s number. It rang for a long time before he answered.
“Who is this?”
“It’s me,” I said calmly. “Chloe is here with me.”
There was silence on the other end, then an explosion of rage.
“You dared to abduct my child? I’m calling the police right now—”
“Shut up and listen to me,” I said, my voice rising for the first time. “Chloe ran away on her own because she was afraid. Michael, what have you been doing at home that would terrify a ten-year-old child into running away?”
Another silence. When he spoke again, his voice was much lower.
“Give me the address. I’m coming to get her.”
“No,” I refused flatly. “Chloe is not emotionally stable right now. Seeing you will only make her more scared. I need to know what happened.”
“It’s none of your business,” Michael snapped back. “She is my daughter—”
“And she is my granddaughter,” I shot back. “If you don’t tell me the truth, I will contact Child Protective Services and have them evaluate whether Chloe is safe in your home.”
The threat worked. Michael was quiet for a long time before he finally said, defeated, “Linda and I have been under a lot of stress. I’m suspended from work and her department is being audited. We borrowed money to invest in a friend’s company and now the company’s gone bankrupt. The house is partially mortgaged and the monthly payments are crushing us.”
So that was it. Not only had they been counting on my inheritance, but they were also in debt. No wonder they had reacted so violently to the will.
“So you took your anger out on Chloe,” I said coldly.
“No,” Michael denied it, but his tone lacked conviction. “I’ve just had a short temper lately, but she shouldn’t have run away.”
“What if something had happened?” I asked. “So you do know how to worry.”
“Michael, listen to me. Chloe is staying with me tonight. I will take her to school tomorrow. You and Linda need to calm down, sort out your problems, and stop terrifying your child.”
“No, she has to come home immediately,” Michael said, his voice hard again.
“Or what?” I interrupted. “You’ll call the police? Don’t forget, I have a recording of you admitting to neglect, and now I have a frightened child as a witness. Emotional abuse is still abuse, Michael,” I said coldly. “We will talk again tomorrow after school. If you dare cause a scene at this community, I will release more recordings to the media. Do you understand?”
I hung up before he could reply, my hand shaking so much I could barely hold the phone. I turned to see Chloe looking at me with wide eyes.
“Grandma, do you really have a recording of Dad hitting you?”
I knelt down to her level. “Not hitting, sweetie. Just him saying some very unkind things. Chloe, has your father ever hit you?”
The little girl shook her head. “No, but he throws things and it’s really scary. And he said he would send me away.”
I held her tight, my heart filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow. Michael had become someone I didn’t recognize at all, and perhaps the seeds of this transformation had been planted long ago in our own coddling and overindulgence.
That evening, I informed the community management about Chloe staying over and asked Sarah, the caregiver, to bring a set of children’s toiletries. Chloe was fascinated by my small apartment, especially the balcony with its view of the city lights.
“Grandma, are you happy living here?” she asked suddenly before bed.
I paused. “Why do you ask?”
“Because Mom and Dad said that retirement homes are for lonely old people who have no one. They said it’s a sad place,” Chloe said innocently. “But I think it’s nice here. You have all these other grandmas and grandpas to keep you company.”
I smiled and stroked her hair. “Grandma is very happy here. Sometimes people who aren’t related by blood can be warmer than family.”
Chloe nodded as if she partly understood and soon fell asleep beside me. I watched her peaceful face, my mind racing. After I took her home tomorrow, how could I protect her from being hurt again?
The next morning, I took Chloe to school. At the gate, we unexpectedly ran into Michael. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night, with bloodshot eyes and a wrinkled suit.
“Dad,” Chloe called out timidly, hiding behind me.
Michael’s expression was a complicated mix of anger, shame, and worry. “Chloe, come here.”
The little girl clutched my hand, not daring to move.
“Michael,” I said calmly. “Don’t scare the child here. I will contact you after school, and we can talk properly.”
“What’s there to talk about?” he hissed, his voice low but filled with rage. “You’ve turned my own daughter against me. Now she’s afraid of me. Are you happy?”
“It was your own actions that made her afraid,” I retorted. “If you truly cared about your daughter’s feelings, you would control your temper.”
Other parents started to glance over at us curiously. Michael clearly noticed and swallowed his anger.
“I’m picking Chloe up after school,” he said stiffly. “As for you, Mom, I’ll see you in court.”
With that, he turned and stalked away, his back stiff with fury. Chloe looked up at me, tears in her eyes.
“Grandma, I don’t want to go home with Dad.”
I knelt and gently wiped her tears. “Sweetie, legally you have to live with your parents, but Grandma promises you I will find a way to see you often, okay?”
“Really?”
“Really. Now go to class and listen to your teacher. After school, no matter who comes to pick you up, you be a good girl. Don’t make Grandma worry.”
After dropping off Chloe, I went straight to Catherine’s office. After hearing about last night and this morning, she immediately suggested petitioning for temporary guardianship.
“Michael and Linda are emotionally unstable and have financial problems. They are not fit to care for a child right now,” she said, flipping through a law book. “We can file for an emergency protective order on the grounds of emotional abuse. At the very least, Chloe can stay with you temporarily.”
“That will only escalate the conflict,” I worried. “And once we start legal proceedings, Michael will hate me even more and block me from seeing Chloe.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
I thought for a moment. “I want to talk to Michael one more time. Not as adversaries, but as Chloe’s grandmother and father.”
Catherine looked at me doubtfully. “Do you really think he’s capable of a rational conversation?”
“I don’t know, but for Chloe’s sake, it’s worth a try.”
That afternoon, I met Michael at a coffee shop. He was twenty minutes late, and when he arrived, he slumped into the chair with a dark expression.
“All right, what’s your threat this time?” he asked.
“I want to understand your financial situation,” I said, getting straight to the point. “How much do you owe?”
Michael was taken aback, clearly not expecting the question. “What’s it to you?”
“If it’s serious enough to affect Chloe’s life, then it’s my business,” I said calmly. “Michael, whatever has happened between us, Chloe is innocent. She’s only ten. She shouldn’t have to bear the weight of adult stress.”
Michael’s expression softened slightly, but he remained guarded. “We borrowed three hundred thousand dollars to invest in a project with my friend Bill. Now he skipped town. The house is partially mortgaged, and the monthly payments are crushing us.”
“Three hundred thousand?” I was shocked. Their combined annual income was no more than one hundred fifty thousand. That kind of debt was enough to drown them.
“So you were counting on my inheritance to pay it back,” I said.
Michael didn’t deny it. A flash of shame crossed his eyes. “We didn’t expect you to do what you did.”
“Michael,” I took a deep breath. “I can help you, but on certain conditions.”
He looked up sharply, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “What conditions?”
“First, you and Linda will both go to counseling to learn how to manage your anger. Second, you will never again stop me from seeing Chloe. Third…” I paused. “You will apologize to me for your years of neglect and for saying, ‘The old lady falls all the time.’”
Michael’s face flushed, then paled. His fingers drummed restlessly on the table. I could see the internal struggle—his need for money warring with his pride.
“If I apologize, you’ll lend us the money?” he finally asked, his voice dry.
“Not lend—give,” I corrected him. “I have an insurance policy with Chloe as the beneficiary. It’s about seventy-five thousand dollars. I can cash it out early to help you.”
“Seventy-five thousand isn’t enough,” he said, disappointed.
“With the money from my pension account, it’s about one hundred thousand in total,” I continued. “That’s all I can do.”
Michael was silent for a long time. Finally, he mumbled, “I’m sorry, Mom. For… for everything.”
I had waited so long to hear those words, but now that I had, there was no sense of relief. I knew this apology was motivated more by money than by genuine remorse.
“The money will be in your account tomorrow,” I said, standing up. “Remember our agreement. If I find out you are frightening Chloe or preventing me from seeing her, the deal is off.”
Leaving the coffee shop, I looked up at the gray sky, feeling a mix of emotions. An apology and affection bought with money were ultimately false. But for Chloe’s sake, I was willing to play this part. At least this way, my granddaughter could have a relatively stable environment to grow up in. As for Michael and me, the scars between us might never truly heal.
Back at the retirement community, I immediately contacted the insurance company to cash out the policy. I then called Catherine and asked her to draft a simple agreement outlining Michael and Linda’s obligations upon receiving the money.
“You’re too soft-hearted,” Catherine sighed. “They won’t change.”
“I know,” I replied calmly. “I’m not doing it for them. I’m doing it for Chloe.”
That evening, I received a text from Michael confirming he had picked up the money and thanking me for my generosity. The polite but distant tone was a stark reminder of how much our relationship had irrevocably changed. Attached to the text was a photo of Chloe doing homework at her desk, looking much calmer. In her hand was the panda keychain I had given her, and she was offering a small smile to the camera.
Looking at my granddaughter’s smile, I knew I had made the right decision. In some wars, there are no winners, but for the sake of those you love, sometimes compromise is its own kind of victory.
Outside, the rain finally began to fall, tapping gently against the windowpane. I opened my laptop and started to write the first progress report for the Filial Piety Oversight Fund. Drawing from my own experience, I began to outline an aid program for abused and neglected seniors. The storms of life may be unavoidable, but at the very least, we can hold up an umbrella for those who come after us.
After the hundred thousand dollars were transferred to Michael, we entered into a fragile truce. I was allowed to pick up Chloe for three hours every Saturday afternoon. In return, I would not release any more recordings or evidence that could harm him.
For the first few weeks, the arrangement worked relatively well. Michael and Linda were cold, but they didn’t interfere with my time with Chloe. Saturdays became the highlight of my week. I planned all sorts of activities, taking Chloe to museums, parks, and the library—anywhere that could broaden her horizons.
“Grandma, is this where you live? It’s so pretty,” Chloe said on her first visit to my small apartment, looking around curiously. “It’s much quieter than our house.”
“If you like it, you can visit often,” I said, smiling as I brought out a plate of freshly baked cookies. “You’re always welcome here.”
However, the peace was short-lived. On the fifth Saturday, when I went to pick Chloe up as usual, Linda blocked the doorway, her face grim.
“Not today.”
“Why not? We had an agreement,” I asked, confused. “Where’s Chloe?”
“She doesn’t want to see you,” Linda said coldly. “And don’t come back again.”
I craned my neck to see inside and could faintly hear Chloe shouting, “Grandma!” from her room, but the sound was quickly muffled.
“Linda, what’s going on?” I demanded, trying to control my anger. “We had an agreement.”
“An agreement?” Linda sneered. “You buy affection with money. Don’t you find that disgusting?”
I stared at her, stunned. “You were the ones who needed the money. I offered a deal.”
“And what good did that little bit of money do?” she suddenly shrieked. “Michael was fired anyway. Twenty years of service and now he has nothing. And you? You live in a fancy retirement home playing the victim?”
I finally understood. Michael had lost his job and they were blaming me for it.
“Linda, please let me see Chloe,” I begged. “At least let me say goodbye.”
“Get out,” Linda said and slammed the door in my face. “If you harass us again, I’ll call the police.”
I stood outside, ringing the doorbell a few more times, but there was no answer. Eventually, I had to leave, my heart heavy.
I immediately called Catherine. After hearing what happened, she advised me to formally petition for visitation rights.
“That simple agreement we drafted has no legal teeth,” she said. “We can apply to the court for official grandparent visitation rights. According to the family code, grandparents have rights when one parent is deceased or loses custody—”
“But Michael and Linda are both alive and well,” I pointed out.
“But they are clearly obstructing a healthy relationship between you and Chloe, which is detrimental to her development,” Catherine explained. “Especially since you have proof of their emotional instability and financial problems.”
I hesitated. Taking legal action meant completely severing ties with Michael. It could make him even angrier, and he might take it out on Chloe.
While I was deliberating, I received a text from an unknown number.
Grandma, it’s Chloe. Mom took my phone. I’m using a friend’s. Dad said we’re moving and he’s not going to tell you the new address. I don’t want to go.
My heart plummeted. I immediately replied: When are you moving? Where are you going?
I waited for a long time, but there was no reply. The number was already turned off. Chloe must have been caught.
The next morning, I went straight to Chloe’s school. Miss Lynn told me that Chloe had been pulled out of class early yesterday afternoon. Her parents said they were moving and transferring her to a new school.
“It was so sudden,” Miss Lynn said with concern. “Chloe was very upset, crying the whole time. I asked her where her new school was, but she just said it was far away.”
My legs felt weak and I had to lean against the wall to stay upright. Michael and Linda were trying to cut off all contact between me and Chloe.
“Mrs. Vance, are you all right?” Miss Lynn asked, helping me to a chair. “Should we call the police?”
I shook my head. Legally, parents have the right to decide where their children live and go to school. Unless I could prove their decision was harmful to the child, the police wouldn’t intervene.
I left the school and went directly to Michael’s house. No one answered the door. A neighbor told me they had moved out last night, saying they were heading south for a new job opportunity.
Standing in front of the empty doorway, I felt the world spin. Michael would rather give up his career and leave the city he had lived in for decades than allow me to see Chloe. The depth of his hatred was staggering.
Back at the community, I told Catherine everything. She immediately contacted a colleague specializing in family law and prepared to file an emergency motion with the court, demanding that Michael disclose Chloe’s whereabouts.
“This will take time,” she said after hanging up. “The court needs to serve him legal papers at his new address and then schedule a hearing. By then, Chloe could be anywhere.”
“This is hopeless,” I said in despair.
The following days were a blur. I sent texts to Chloe’s old number every day, knowing she would never receive them, but unable to stop myself. The kind residents at the community noticed my distress and tried to comfort me, but no one could truly understand the pain of losing your only grandchild.
Two weeks later, late at night, my phone suddenly rang. It was an unknown number from out of state.
“Grandma.” It was Chloe’s tearful voice. “It’s me, Chloe.”
“Chloe, sweetheart, where are you?” I was so excited I nearly fell out of bed.
“I don’t know. Some city far away. Dad got a new job.” The signal was breaking up. “I used Mom’s phone while she was sleeping. Grandma, I want to come home.”
“Tell me what you see outside. Any landmarks?” I asked desperately.
“There’s a really tall tower and a river.”
The call suddenly dropped. When I tried to call back, the phone was off.
A tall tower and a river. It could be the Willis Tower and the Chicago River. Michael had taken Chloe to Chicago.
The next morning, I gave this clue to Catherine. She immediately contacted her colleagues in Chicago, ready to enforce the visitation rights in the local court.
“But even if we confirm they’re in Chicago, finding one person in a city that big is like finding a needle in a haystack,” she said realistically.
I thought for a moment and had an idea. “Chloe said her dad found a new job. Michael’s background is in finance. He most likely works for a corporation or a financial institution. Can we check for finance professionals recently hired in Chicago who relocated from our city?”
Catherine’s eyes lit up. “It’s worth a shot. I have a former student who works in human resources.”
The wait for news was agonizing. My neighbors at the community took turns keeping me company, trying to prevent me from sinking into depression. Barb, in particular, dragged me to various activities every day.
“Stop thinking about it. Let’s go dance,” she said one evening after dinner, pulling me into the activity room. “Exercise produces endorphins. It’s an antidepressant.”
The cheerful music helped me forget my pain, if only for a little while.
Just as we were dancing, Sarah, the caregiver, rushed in.
“Mrs. Vance, it’s your lawyer on the phone,” she said. “It’s urgent.”
I took the phone, breathless. Catherine’s excited voice came through the line.
“We found him. Michael is a vice president of finance at a securities firm in downtown Chicago. I’m sending you the address now.”
My hands were shaking so much I could barely hold the phone. Finally, finally a breakthrough.
“I’m booking a flight for tomorrow morning,” I said. “I’ll go with you.”
“We’ll get the court to enforce the visitation order,” Catherine said. “We’ll do this together.”
After hanging up, tears streamed down my face. Barb and the other residents gathered around cheering when they heard the good news.
“That’s wonderful. You’ll finally get to see your granddaughter. You have to take pictures for us. Be careful on your trip. It’s hot in Chicago this time of year.”
Amidst their well-wishes, I felt a renewed sense of hope. Tomorrow, I would see Chloe.
However, fate had other plans. That night, I was awakened by a sharp pain in my chest and difficulty breathing. Sarah found me and immediately called an ambulance.
“Heart attack. We need to operate immediately,” the ER doctor said as they wheeled me into the operating room.
I gripped Catherine’s hand. “You have to find Chloe.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll handle it,” she promised. “You just focus on getting better.”
The surgery was a success, but the doctor insisted on at least a week of observation in the hospital. This meant I couldn’t go to Chicago.
“I’ll go,” Catherine reassured me. “You rest. I promise I will bring Chloe back to see you.”
Watching her leave, I lay in the hospital bed, feeling a profound sense of powerlessness. At seventy-nine, my body was finally succumbing to the ravages of time. If… if I don’t make it this time, what will happen to Chloe?
The thought terrified me. I picked up my phone and sent a message to Catherine: Whatever happens, please ensure Chloe’s future is secure.
Then I opened a notes app and began drafting a new document concerning the distribution of my remaining assets and a plan for Chloe’s guardianship. If I couldn’t be there for her, I would at least protect her interests legally.
Three days later, the hospital room door opened. I looked up to see Catherine walking in alone, her expression grave.
“We couldn’t find her,” she said.
My heart sank.
“We found them,” she continued, then hesitated. “But Michael is refusing to comply with the visitation order. He’s claiming the Illinois court has no jurisdiction. We have to go back to our local court to get an enforcement order.”
The legalese masked a cruel reality: I still wouldn’t be able to see Chloe anytime soon.
But then Catherine smiled mysteriously, turned, and opened the door again.
“Someone wants to see you.”
A small figure ran into the room and threw herself into my arms.
“Grandma!”
“Chloe.” I hugged my granddaughter tightly, unable to believe my eyes. “How…?”
“Aunt Catherine brought me,” Chloe said excitedly. “Dad doesn’t know. We took a secret plane ride.”
I looked at Catherine in shock. She winked.
“The legal process can wait. Family can’t. I picked Chloe up from school after Michael left for work. I’ll have her back tomorrow morning. He’ll never know.”
“Is this legal?” I asked, worried.
“Strictly speaking… not entirely,” Catherine admitted. “But given that he violated the visitation agreement first, a judge would be understanding. The important thing is Chloe wanted to see you.”
I looked down at the child in my arms. She was smiling so brightly, her eyes filled with love.
“Grandma, I missed you so much. Chicago is so big, but I don’t know anyone. Dad works all the time, and Mom just cries a lot.”
My heart ached. Michael and Linda were clearly struggling. But instead of putting aside their resentment for their child’s sake, they chose to isolate her.
That night, Chloe slept on the cot in my hospital room while Catherine and I discussed a long-term plan.
“The court will eventually enforce the visitation rights,” Catherine said. “But it could take months. We need a more permanent solution.”
“Chloe will be eleven next year,” I mused. “In some states, a child’s wishes are given significant weight by the court.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I want to apply for joint guardianship of Chloe,” I said, my resolve hardening. “Not just visitation—legal joint guardianship. That way, no matter where Michael moves, I will have the right to know her whereabouts and be involved in major decisions about her life.”
Catherine considered it. “It will be difficult, but not impossible, especially if we can prove that Michael and Linda’s current environment is detrimental to the child’s well-being.”
We talked late into the night, mapping out a detailed strategy. The next morning, Catherine secretly flew Chloe back to Chicago, and I began preparing for a new legal battle. This time, there would be no compromise. For Chloe’s future, I would risk everything.
Six months later, the court finally delivered its verdict. In light of Michael and Linda Vance’s repeated obstruction of grandparent-grandchild visitation, and given evidence of their emotional and financial instability, I was granted joint guardianship of my granddaughter, Chloe Vance.
This meant they could no longer move or prevent my contact with Chloe without my consent, and all major decisions regarding her welfare would require my consultation.
The day the judgment came down, Catherine organized a small celebration in the retirement community’s activity room. My neighbors came to congratulate me, and the foundation even sent a flower basket.
“You did it, Eleanor,” Barb said, clinking her glass of sparkling cider against mine. “Let’s see that ungrateful son of yours try anything now.”
I smiled and accepted their good wishes, but I knew the real challenge was just beginning. A legal victory was not an emotional reconciliation. Michael’s resentment would only deepen.
Sure enough, his call came that night.
“Are you satisfied?” His voice was cold as ice. “Now the whole world knows what an unfit father I am.”
“Michael, I never said you were unfit,” I replied calmly. “I only want to ensure Chloe’s happiness.”
“Don’t give me that,” he roared. “You planned this from the beginning, didn’t you? Faking your death, changing the will, and now trying to take my daughter. Do you hate me that much?”
I gripped the phone, a dull ache spreading through my chest. “You were the one who said, ‘The old lady falls all the time.’ You were the one who chose to ignore me when I was hurt. You were the one who valued money over basic human decency.”
There was a long silence on the other end. When he spoke again, his voice was much lower.
“I admit I said terrible things. I did the wrong things. But Mom, have you ever stopped to think about why I became like this?”
I was stunned. I never expected him to ask that.
“From the day I was born, you and Dad gave me the best of everything,” he continued, a vulnerability in his voice I hadn’t heard in years. “I got whatever I wanted without ever having to work for it. You made me think the world was supposed to revolve around me.”
I listened, a wave of sadness washing over me. He was right. Our coddling had planted the seeds of this disaster.
“Then Dad died and you moved in with us,” Michael said with a bitter laugh. “I said all the right things about being a devoted son, but inside I felt burdened because taking care of you was a responsibility, an obligation. It wasn’t an act of love. I never learned how to truly love anyone.”
Tears streamed silently down my face. His honesty was more painful than any accusation.
“Michael,” I choked out. “Your mother was wrong, too. But it’s not too late to change. For Chloe’s sake, it’s not too late.”
“For Chloe’s sake, it is too late, Mom,” he interrupted. “What we had is broken. But I promise you, I won’t stop you from seeing Chloe anymore. I’m doing this for her, not for you.”
The line went dead, leaving me standing alone by the window, gazing out at the city lights. Perhaps some wounds truly never heal and some mistakes can never be fully undone. But at least for Chloe, we had found a way forward. It was a small victory in a sea of loss.
With the joint guardianship in place, a new routine formed. Chloe would spend every other weekend with me at the retirement community, and half of her school vacations. Michael and Linda, though distant, honored the court’s decision, and Chloe, the child who had weathered a family hurricane, showed remarkable resilience. She made new friends at her school. Her grades improved, and on every visit, she brought new stories and laughter.
“Grandma, a boy in my class said retirement homes are just for old people waiting to die,” she told me one day. “I told him, ‘My grandma is a superhero. She knows how to use a computer and she helps other grandmas and grandpas with the law.’”
I smiled and stroked her head. “There are a lot of amazing people here. For example, Mrs. Davis was a university professor and Mr. Chen was a professional table tennis player.”
“And I think I like it here better than at home,” Chloe said, leaning against my shoulder. “It’s always so quiet at home. Mom and Dad don’t talk to each other. Here everyone is always laughing.”
I held my granddaughter close, my heart filled with both joy and sorrow. A child’s perception is the purest truth. She instinctively craved warmth and happiness, and this community provided what her own home could not.
My life also found a new rhythm. Besides spending time with Chloe, I became deeply involved with the Filial Piety Oversight Fund, providing legal and emotional support to other seniors. Catherine joked that I was busier now than before I retired.
“Counselor Vance, there’s a new resident who would like a consultation,” Sarah, the caregiver, told me one day. “He says his son has taken his pension.”
I put down my hand of bridge and followed Sarah to the meeting room. A frail white-haired man stood up nervously when I entered.
“You’re the one they said… you know the law?” he asked.
“A little,” I said, smiling and gesturing for him to sit. “Tell me what happened.”
Listening to his story, it was like seeing a reflection of my former self—hurt by the one person you should be able to trust and utterly lost. The difference was, now I had the power to help others find their way out of that darkness.
“First, you need to gather evidence,” I explained, walking him through the legal process, watching the hope return to his eyes.
After the consultation, the old man gripped my hand tightly.
“Thank you. You have no idea how hopeless I felt.”
“I do,” I said softly. “Because I’ve been there.”
After he left, I stood by the hallway window, watching a group of residents practicing tai chi in the courtyard. Sunlight dappled the ground through the leaves. A year ago, on that cold floor, listening to my son’s mockery, I could never have imagined my life would turn out this way.
“Grandma,” Chloe’s voice came from behind me. “Look what I drew.”
I turned to see her holding up a crayon drawing. In it, a grandmother and a little girl were holding hands, standing in the sun, surrounded by colorful flowers. At the top, in crooked letters, were the words: Me and Grandma.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Where are we in the picture?”
“At your retirement community,” Chloe pointed. “This is your apartment. This is the garden. And this is the dining hall. Grandma, when I grow up, I want to live here with you.”
I knelt and hugged this precious child, hiding the tears that sprang to my eyes. In that moment, all the pain and struggle felt worthwhile.
“Silly girl. When you grow up, Grandma might not be here anymore.”
“Yes, you will,” Chloe said stubbornly. “You’ll live to be a hundred. Aunt Catherine says you’re as tough as a two-dollar steak.”
I couldn’t help but laugh through my tears. She was right. After everything, I was still here. I could still love and be loved. And that in itself was a kind of victory.
That evening, I took Chloe to the community’s weekend concert. Barb played the piano while several other residents took turns singing. Chloe bravely sang a nursery rhyme, earning a round of applause. Watching my granddaughter, shy but proud, in the spotlight, I suddenly understood. The storms of life might destroy some things, but they also make the truly important parts stand out more clearly. I had lost the closeness with my son, but I had found myself. I had lost a traditional home, but I had built more genuine connections.
After the concert, I walked with Chloe back to my room, holding her hand. The setting sun stretched our shadows long behind us, as if reaching toward an unseen future.
“Grandma, where are we going tomorrow?” Chloe asked, looking up at me.
“Where would you like to go?”
“The zoo. To see Sparkle the panda.”
“All right. The zoo it is,” I said with a smile. “But we’ll have to ask your dad first.”
“Dad already said yes,” Chloe said excitedly. “He even said… he said that you’ve actually had it pretty tough.”
I froze. Was this a sign of Michael softening? Perhaps time really could wash away some of the bitterness. Whatever it was, it was a good sign.
Back in the room, I read Chloe a bedtime story and watched her drift off to sleep. Then I tiptoed out to the balcony and looked up at the sea of stars.
Richard, can you see this? I spoke silently to the night sky. Our granddaughter is growing up so smart and kind. And Michael… maybe one day he’ll understand.
As for me, I finally learned how to find my own perfect moments in an imperfect life. The night breeze was cool, carrying the scent of autumn and distant osmanthus flowers. I took a deep breath, feeling grateful for life’s gifts. It had dealt me bone-chilling cold, but it had also rewarded me with the warmth of the sun.
Tomorrow was a new day.
