Their smiles froze.
“My house only has two bedrooms,” I continued. “One for me and one for occasional guests. There’s no room for permanent residents.”
“Apartments?” Ashley whispered, as if the word had come from a foreign language. “Separate? Why separate?”
“Because,” I said, my voice sweet now with an iron edge, “I believe you need time to find yourself. You’re 35 years old and you’re not living on your own. You’re 30 years old and you’ve moved into your parents’ house. It’s time for you to figure out who you are when you have no one else to support you.”
Brandon’s face turned red. “Mommy, that’s ridiculous! Let’s get married!”
“If you really love each other,” I replied calmly, “then you can get through a few months of living apart while you all learn to support yourselves financially.”
I walked over to a side table and picked up a thick envelope. “It’s nice to mention your respect and love,” I said, holding it up. “Because I prepared a gift for you that reflects the exact level of respect and love you’ve shown me.”
I opened the envelope and pulled out two identical lease agreements. “These are for two small but decent apartments on the other side of town. The first three months are paid for, courtesy of me. After that, you’re on your own.”
“Mommy, these apartments are in the cheapest neighborhood in town!” Brandon exclaimed. “We can’t live there!”
“They’re perfect places for people starting out on their independent lives,” I replied. “Safe, clean, and perfectly adequate for someone who will work to pay their own rent.”
“Work?” Ashley shouted, as if I’d uttered a profanity. “Eleanor, you have 3 million! You can support us for the rest of our lives! Why do you want us to suffer by working?”
“Why would I want you to work?” I asked, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Maybe because for two years, I watched you do nothing while I worked 14-hour days. Maybe because work will give you dignity.”
“There’s enough money for everyone!” Brandon insisted, his voice now desperate. “$3 million! We can live comfortably! Why do you have to be selfish?”
There it was. The word I’d been waiting for. “Selfish?” I repeated slowly. “Brandon, for two years, I spent every penny I earned on this house and on feeding you. I worked until my hands were cracked and my feet were swollen. And now that I finally have a chance to enjoy myself, am I being selfish because I don’t want to continue supporting you?”
Ashley finally finished her act. “You know what, Eleanor?” she said, laughing. “You’re right. We can work. But if you’re an old hag and need someone to take care of you, don’t cry on us.”
“Ashley,” I said with a gentle smile, “that threat might have worked a week ago. Now, I have the resources to take care of myself. I can hire professional nurses who will treat me with respect, not like a burden.”
They closed the door as they left, the windows rattling. For the first time in two years, my home was completely quiet.
The next morning, my alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. I put on my work uniform—a white blouse that had been washed so many times that it was now gray and a black skirt with a repaired tear. Right now, there was a spark in my eyes that had been missing for years.
Instead of going to my second job after my shift at the diner, I went to the public library. For two hours, I researched wills, wills, and heirs of heirs. It seemed possible, not just a cruel coincidence. As I cleaned the office building that night, my mind buzzed with plans. If this was true, what would I do?
I got home late to find my living room filled with Brandon and Ashley’s lazy friends, drinking beer and eating food.
“Look who’s here,” Ashley shouted, her voice shaking. “The queen of cleaning!”
“Guys,” Brandon said with a smile, “I want you to meet my mother. The woman who supports Ashley and me because we’re too smart to work for slaves like her. Isn’t she adorable?”
The room filled with cruel laughter.
“Come on, Mom,” Brandon insisted. “Tell them how much money you bring into this house. Tell them how you live tip to tip.”
I stood there, my work bag in hand, as they laughed at my life, my sacrifice for their nightly entertainment. But this time, I wasn’t going to let their words destroy me. I had a secret, an ace up my sleeve. As I climbed the stairs to my room, listening to their derisive laughter, a genuine smile crossed my lips. Before long, that laughter turned to tears.
The doorbell rang at exactly 2:00 PM the next day. I opened it to see a handsome man dressed in dark clothes. “Mrs. Eleanor Jensen?” he asked in a clear, respectful voice. “My name is Peter Wallace. I am a real estate attorney. This is my partner, Theodore Vance. We have some very important news for you.”
The same names from the bus. This was true.
“Come in,” I whispered.
They entered, their eyes taking in the disastrous state of the living room and its occupants.
“Who are you?” Brandon asked rudely.
“Mrs. Jensen,” Peter said, ignoring her, “it would be better if we spoke in private.”
“No,” Brandon interrupted. “If it has to do with my mother, it has to do with me.”
Peter looked at me, a question in his eyes. A new strength welled up inside me. “Yes,” I said, my voice firm. “I want them to stay. I want them to hear everything.”
Pedro opened his suitcase. “Mrs. Eleanor Jensen,” he began in a solemn voice, “we’ve been looking for you for the past six months. You’re the sole heir to the estate of your paternal uncle, Mr. Robert Wilson, who passed away last year in Los Angeles.
“Real estate empire?” Ashley asked in a seductive voice.
Pedro looked me in the eye. “Mrs. Jensen, the total estate you inherited is estimated to be worth $3.4 million.”
The silence was deafening. Brandon’s mouth dropped open. Ashley collapsed onto the sofa as if her bones had melted. Their faces of utter shock were worth more than all the millions I had just inherited.
“Three… three million?” Brandon sighed.
“That’s absolutely true, young man,” Peter said with a professional smile. “Your mother is rich now.”
Ashley stood up from the sofa, her face changing. “Eleanor, my dear,” she began in a seductive voice I had never heard before, “that’s wonderful news! “We’re happy for you, aren’t we, Brandon?”
My daughter nodded like a windup doll. “Yes, Mom. Of course. We always believed in you.”
I just smiled. This was just the beginning.
The next few days were a sad comedy. Ashley tried to cook, burned everything. Brandon tried to clean, and knocked over the light. They were the most loyal and caring children a mother could ask for.
“Eleanor,” Ashley said during one of their disastrous meals, “you’re such a strong woman. Brandon and I have always admired you.”
“Exactly, Mom,” Brandon added. “We always respect you. The jokes… that’s because we’re nervous. We know you’re special.”
There it was. The real reason they were acting. They wanted to control my money. They had a detailed plan for how we would live. A bigger house, a new car, family vacations, businesses they would run in my name. In their minds, they had already spent my millions three times over.
That night, while they slept, dreaming of my money, I lay awake, a deep joy warming me. I hadn’t seen them in decades. Now, I had the strength. A week later, everything was ready.
That night at dinner, I smiled at them with genuine happiness. “Son,” I said sweetly, “tomorrow, we’re having a little family meeting. There are important things I want to talk about about our future.”
Their faces lit up like Christmas trees. Little did they know that the show was about to end.
On the morning of our family meeting, I took special care to dress in my best emerald green dress. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a woman I hadn’t seen in a long time: a woman of dignity and power.
After breakfast, we sat in the living room. “Well, you know my life has changed. This is a blessing and something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.”
Brandon leaned forward, his eyes shining. “Of course, Mom. You deserve to enjoy this money. We’re here to support you in whatever decision you make.”
“Exactly,” Ashley added. “We’re a family. What you own is ours.”
“You’re right about relatives,” I said, coming to a heavy halt. “Real families support each other. They respect each other. That’s why I made some important decisions. First, I decided to sell this house. It held so many painful memories. Second, I bought a new house, a beautiful place where I can start a new chapter. Third, I decided to make some important donations to organizations that help working women and seniors who live alone.”
“You’re so noble, Mom,” Brandon said, a slight nervousness in his voice. “You need to think about your family too.”
“Don’t worry, Brandon,” I said with a smile. “I really thought about you two.” I stood up and walked to the window. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about you so much that I’ve made a very special decision about your future. It’s time for you to learn to be independent.”
Their smiles froze.
“My house only has two bedrooms,” I continued. “One for me and one for occasional guests. There’s no space for permanent residents.”
“Apartments?” Ashley whispered, as if the word had come from a foreign language. “Separate? Why separate?”
“Because,” I said, my voice sweet now with an iron edge, “I believe you need time to find yourself. You’re 35 years old and you’re not living on your own yet. You’re 30 years old and you’ve moved into your parents’ house. It’s time for you to figure out who you are when you have no one else to support you.”
Brandon’s face turned red. “Mommy, that’s ridiculous! Let’s get married!”
“If you really love each other,” I replied calmly, “then you can get through a few months of living apart while you all learn to support yourselves financially.”
I walked over to a side table and picked up a thick envelope. “It’s nice to mention your respect and love,” I said, holding it up. “Because I prepared a gift for you that reflects the exact level of respect and love you’ve shown me.”
I opened the envelope and pulled out two identical lease agreements. “These are for two small but decent apartments on the other side of town. The first three months are paid for, courtesy of me. After that, you’re on your own.”
“Mommy, these apartments are in the cheapest neighborhood in town!” Brandon exclaimed. “We can’t live there!”
“They’re perfect places for people starting out on their independent lives,” I replied. “Safe, clean, and perfectly adequate for someone who will work to pay their own rent.”
“Work?” Ashley shouted, as if I’d uttered a profanity. “Eleanor, you have 3 million! You can support us for the rest of our lives! Why do you want us to suffer by working?”
“Why do I want you to work?” I asked, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Maybe because for two years, I watched you do nothing while I worked 14-hour days. Maybe because work would give you dignity.”
“There’s enough money for everyone!” Brandon insisted, his voice now desperate. “$3 million! We can live comfortably! Why do you have to be selfish?”
There it was. The word I’d been waiting for. “Selfish?” I repeated slowly. “Brandon, for two years, I spent every penny I earned on this house and on feeding you. I worked until my hands were cracked and my feet were swollen. And now that I finally have a chance to enjoy myself, am I being selfish because I don’t want to continue supporting you?”
Ashley finally finished her act. “You know what, Eleanor?” he said with a laugh. “You’re right. We can work. But if you’re an old hag and need someone to take care of you, don’t cry on us.”
“Ashley,” I said with a gentle smile, “that threat might have worked a week ago. Now, I have the resources to take care of myself. I can hire professional nurses who will treat me with respect, not like a burden.”
They closed the door when they left, causing the windows to rattle. For the first time in two years, my home was completely quiet.
Three months later, I was sitting in the garden of my new house when the doorbell rang. It was Brandon. The past few months had not been kind to him. He had lost weight, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his hands were calloused and dirty.
“Hi, Mommy,” he said, his voice humble and tired. “Can I talk to you?”
He told me he worked in a factory, 12-hour shifts, six days a week. “And now I understand,” he said, tears in his eyes, “what you went through for so many years to support us.”
Ashley left him. When the money ran out, so did his love. “For the first time in my life,” he confessed, “I discovered who I really was. And I didn’t like what I saw, but at least it was real.”
He apologized, a genuine, heartbreaking apology for the years of cruelty and disrespect. “I was a terrible son,” he cried. “I let Ashley disrespect you in your own home. We had a good time.”
I looked at him, and for the first time in years, I saw my real son, the boy he had once been and whose laziness had ruined him.
“Brandon,” I said softly, “I forgave you months ago. Forgiveness is something I do for my own peace of mind.”
His eyes widened in hope. “Then… Can we try to start over?”
“We can build something new,” I said carefully. “Based on mutual respect, on honesty, and on the understanding that we are both independent adults.”
He nodded loudly. “I didn’t expect you to support me again. I just… I just hoped that maybe in time, you would be proud of me again.”
“Brandon,” I said, with warmth spreading through my chest, “I am proud of you.”
My revenge wasn’t cruel. It was educational. I gave them a chance to grow up. Ashley chose the easy path, and found another man to take care of her. But Brandon chose the hard path of personal growth and responsibility.
My inheritance didn’t just give me financial security. It gave me the strength to value myself, to demand the respect I deserved, and to build a new relationship with my son, one based on true love, not financial comfort. As the sun set over my perfect garden, I smiled, knowing I had used my second chance at life not for cruel revenge, but to teach, with love, the most important lesson of all.