I stood in the kitchen, the chef’s knife in my hand falling onto the cutting board in a steady rhythm, slicing the crisp green cucumber into uniform, thin pieces. The evening sun streamed in through the window, casting a warm golden glow across the countertop.

Thump, thump, thump.

The sound of the knife hitting the board was especially clear in the quiet kitchen.

Three years ago, after Arthur passed away, I moved in with my son, Julian. Leo had just been born, and Clara’s maternity leave was ending. She had to go back to work, and they really needed someone to help around the house.

I still remember what Julian said when he came to pick me up.

“Mom, we don’t feel right with you living all alone. Come live with us. You can help look after Leo, too.”

That phrase help look after Leo, too had sounded a bit sharp at the time, like there was a condition attached, but I didn’t let it bother me. My grandson needed me. That was enough.

I put the sliced cucumbers onto a plate and took two tomatoes out of the refrigerator. Julian had always loved the meatloaf I used to make. As a child, he could eat two huge helpings in a single sitting. Thinking of my son, the corners of my mouth turned up in a smile. Even though he was now a successful department manager, in my eyes he would always be that chubby little boy with two dimples when he smiled.

“Grandma, Grandma!”

A tender, childish voice called from the living room, accompanied by the pitter-patter of tiny feet. My little Leo ran into the kitchen and threw his arms around my leg.

“Whoa there, my little treasure. Slow down,” I said, quickly putting down the knife, wiping my hands, and bending down to pick him up.

Three-year-old Leo was heavy in my arms. His round eyes were just like his father’s when he was a boy.

“Grandma, look.”

Leo held up a colorful drawing covered in crooked lines and shapes.

“What is this? Let Grandma guess,” I said, pretending to think. “Is it a car?”

“No!” Leo giggled. “It’s a big dinosaur.”

“Wow, so it’s a big dinosaur. You drew it so well,” I said, kissing his little cheek. “How about we show it to Daddy when he gets home?”

“When is Daddy coming home?” he asked.

I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was already 6:20.

“Soon, soon. Daddy’s on his way home from work.”

Just as I said that, we heard the sound of the front door unlocking. Leo slipped out of my arms and shot toward the door like a little cannonball.

“Daddy!”

I followed him to the entryway and saw Julian bending down to pick Leo up, his face tired but wearing a happy smile. My son was dressed in a sharp suit, his tie slightly loosened, and fine lines had started to appear at the corners of his eyes.

Time really does fly.

“Mom.” Julian nodded at me as he hoisted Leo up onto his shoulders. “There was some great news at the office today.”

“What good news?” I asked, taking his briefcase. I could smell a faint scent of sweat. He’d gotten that from his father always sweating easily.

Julian’s eyes lit up, his voice rising an octave higher.

“I got promoted to department manager.”

“Really?” I clapped my hands in delight. “That’s wonderful. I knew my son was capable. Hold on. Mom will add a couple more dishes. We have to celebrate properly.”

I turned to go back to the kitchen, but Julian stopped me.

“No need, Mom. I’ve already booked a private room at the Oak Room. I’m treating my department colleagues to dinner. Clara is coming straight from the mall over there. I just came back to change my clothes and then I’m leaving.”

My hand froze in midair. I slowly turned around.

“Oh, that’s very nice. You young people go celebrate. I’ll just stay home and watch Leo.”

Julian didn’t seem to notice my disappointment. Loosening his tie, he said, “We’re taking Leo, too. My in-laws are already waiting there.”

My heart suddenly sank.

“Your in-laws?” The words left my mouth before I realized he meant Clara’s parents.

“Yeah,” Julian said, draping his suit jacket over the back of the sofa. “The whole family has to be there for such a happy occasion. Mom, don’t trouble yourself. There are leftovers in the fridge. You can just heat them up and eat.”

I nodded, forcing a smile.

“Okay. You all go have a good time.”

Julian quickly took a shower, changed his clothes, and left with Leo in his arms. After the sound of the door closing, the only thing left in the kitchen was the gurgling of the soup simmering on the stove.

I slowly walked back into the kitchen, turned off the heat, and looked at the ingredients I had prepared. Suddenly, I had no appetite to cook.

The Oak Room was a high-end restaurant Clara’s parents went to often. Arthur and I had only been to places like that a few times in our entire lives.

“Forget it,” I muttered to myself. “I’m too old to get used to that fancy food anyway.”

I wrapped the cucumber and tomatoes in plastic wrap and put them back in the refrigerator. In the freezer, there was still half a dish of leftover meatloaf from yesterday and a bowl of rice. That was enough dinner for one person.

Just as the microwave beeped, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Clara.

Mom, remember to eat the leftovers in the kitchen fridge. Don’t let them go to waste.

I was about to reply when another message came in.

It was a photo of a luxurious private room. Julian stood in the middle holding a glass of wine. Clara and her parents sat on either side of him. Leo was on his maternal grandfather’s lap, and everyone at the table was beaming. In the corner of the photo, I could even see Julian’s sister and her husband.

The entire family was there.

I was the only one missing.

My finger hovered over the screen for a moment before I finally replied with a single word.

Okay.

I placed my phone face down on the dining table, the plastic case making a crisp clicking sound against the glass. The leftover meatloaf in the microwave gave off a rich, savory aroma, but I had suddenly lost my appetite.

The clock in the living room pointed to 7:30, and it was completely dark outside. I mechanically carried my food to the coffee table and turned on the television. The local evening news was on, the anchorwoman’s bright red lips opening and closing. I didn’t hear a single word.

My fingers, as if with a mind of their own, unlocked my phone and opened the photo album, scrolling back to pictures from three years ago.

It was the first New Year’s after Arthur passed away. Our whole family had taken a group photo at the portrait studio near our building. Julian stood in the middle with me on his left and Clara on his right. Leo, still a baby, sat on a small stool in the front row, surrounded by the three of us.

Back then, I was still part of the family portrait.

A burst of canned laughter from the television pulled me back to reality. A family sitcom was playing. The actors were gathered around a dining table talking and laughing.

I turned off the TV. The room instantly fell silent, save for the occasional hum of the refrigerator’s compressor.

Getting up, I walked toward Julian’s bedroom or I should say, their master bedroom now. The door was unlocked. I pushed it open gently and my eyes were met with a huge wedding photo hanging on the wall above the bed. Clara was in a pure white wedding gown and Julian in a black suit. They were smiling radiantly in the picture. I remembered that wedding dress was custom-made. It had cost nearly three thousand dollars, which was half of Arthur’s and my annual pension back then.

The vanity was covered with bottles and jars. I recognized a few as the expensive skincare products Julian had given Clara for her last birthday. Next to it was an exquisite jewelry box filled with gold pieces, most of which Arthur and I had given them over the years. In the most prominent spot was a diamond necklace Julian had bought for their fifth wedding anniversary last year.

I gently closed the door and turned to Leo’s room. The children’s room was a riot of color, with cartoon stickers on the walls and toys piled in the corner. I picked up the teddy bear from his bedside table. I had sewn it myself when Leo was born. It was a little worn now, but Leo always had to hug it to sleep.

“At least Leo still needs me,” I murmured, putting the bear back in its place.

Back in the living room, my gaze fell on the family photo albums on the bookshelf. I took down the most recent one. A thin layer of dust had settled on the cover. I opened the first page.

It was a black-and-white photo of Julian at one month old, a tiny thing wrapped in a swaddle. My own young face was beaming with the joy of new motherhood. Flipping through, I saw Julian’s first day of kindergarten, clinging to my shirt and refusing to let go; his elementary school graduation, wearing a big red corsage as he recited a poem on stage; his middle school math competition, where he smiled shyly on the awards podium; the day his college acceptance letter arrived and the family had set off firecrackers in the yard to celebrate.

Every single photo documented the little things and the big sacrifices Arthur and I had made for our son. To get him into a good school district, we’d scrimped and saved to buy that house. To pay for his tutoring, I hadn’t bought any new clothes for three years straight. The year he took the SATs, I woke up at 4:00 every morning to make him soup to keep his strength up.

My phone suddenly rang, jolting me out of my memories. The screen showed Carol, an old neighbor and one of the few friends I still kept in touch with.

“Hello, Eleanor. Have you eaten?” Carol’s loud voice came through the receiver.

“Yes, yes, I’ve eaten. How about you?” I tried to make my voice sound normal.

“I just finished. I was bored, so I thought I’d give you a call,” Carol said, then paused. “Oh, by the way, I heard your Julian got a promotion. Clara ran into me in the neighborhood today. She was so happy. Said they’ll finally be able to get a bigger house now.”

My fingers unconsciously tightened on the edge of the photo album.

“A bigger house?”

“Yeah. Clara said they’ve got their eye on that new development on the east side, those townhouses called Willow Creek Estates. Your Julian is so successful.”

A sharp pain shot through my stomach. Julian had never mentioned anything to me about moving.

“Eleanor, are you there?”

“Ah, yes, I’m listening,” I managed to reply.

“It’s not set in stone yet. You know how Clara likes to talk ahead of things.”

“True, true,” Carol said, then changed the subject. “By the way, when are you coming back to the old house for a visit? The community is registering demolition notices and it looks like your building is within the scope.”

“Demolition?” I was completely stunned. “Since when?”

“Just in the last couple of weeks. The notices are all posted. The compensation plan looks pretty good, too.”

Her tone became puzzled.

“What? Julian didn’t tell you?”

I took a deep breath.

“He might have. My memory isn’t so good lately.”

After a few more pleasantries, I hung up, my hands trembling uncontrollably.

Demolition. A new house. These were huge things.

And I, his mother, was hearing about them from someone else.

I walked out onto the balcony. The early summer night breeze was slightly cool. In the distance, the city’s neon lights flickered. The silhouettes of skyscrapers were faint in the darkness. Julian and the others were probably at the Oak Room right now, glasses clinking, celebrating. Were Clara’s parents bragging about their businessman son-in-law again? Was Julian’s sister introducing Clara to her circle of wealthy friends?

And me? I was only fit to eat leftovers at home, not even told about something as major as the demolition of my own home.

Back inside, I opened the album again, stopping on the night of Julian’s college graduation. In the photo, he wore a cap and gown, his arms around Arthur’s and my shoulders. The three of us were smiling so brightly under the sun.

Back then, I was still an important person in his life.

My finger traced Julian’s young face in the picture, and a tear fell uncontrollably onto the album. I hastily wiped it away, but more followed.

“Oh, Arthur,” I whispered to my husband’s gentle, smiling face in the photo. “Our son is all grown up. He doesn’t need me anymore.”

I closed the album and went to the bathroom to wash my face. The woman in the mirror had red, swollen eyes, and the wrinkles seemed deeper than last year. Sixty-eight years old. At an age when others were enjoying their grandchildren, I felt more and more out of place.

Back in my bedroom, I opened the closet. My eyes fell on a small suitcase in the corner. It was the one Arthur used during his last hospital stay, once filled with his clothes and daily necessities. When he was discharged, the suitcase was empty. Most of his things had been left at the hospital or thrown away.

I pulled out the suitcase and dusted it off. The wheels were a bit stuck, but it still worked. I unzipped it. A faint smell of disinfectant still lingered inside.

“Just for a few days,” I told myself, and began packing a few changes of clothes and some toiletries. “I’ll go stay with Helen for a few days, just to clear my head.”

Helen was a former colleague of mine. Her husband had passed away early, and she lived alone in an old apartment complex on the north side of the city. We talked on the phone occasionally, and she always told me to come and stay with her when I had the time.

After packing, I sat on the edge of the bed and wrote a note.

I’m going to stay at Helen’s for a few days. Don’t worry about me.

I thought for a moment and added, There’s some mac and cheese in the fridge. Leo likes it.

I stuck the note on the refrigerator and took one last look around the house I had lived in for three years. The living room I cleaned every day. The kitchen where I carefully prepared every meal. The small table and chairs where Leo scribbled his drawings.

I had given so much, yet I felt like an invisible person.

The moment I closed the door behind me, I heard something inside me break.

As the elevator descended, I gripped the handle of the suitcase tightly as if it were the only thing I could hold onto. When I walked out of the building’s main entrance, the security guard, Mike, looked at my suitcase curiously.

“Mrs. Eleanor, heading out so late?”

“Yes, going to stay with an old friend for a few days,” I managed to smile.

“Take care now. Be safe,” Mike said, waving warmly.

I nodded and dragged my suitcase toward the bus stop. The last bus had already left, so I had to hail a taxi.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

I gave him Helen’s address and then leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes. The car drove into the night, the distance from “home” growing farther and farther.

My phone vibrated. It was a message from Clara.

Mom, where did you put Leo’s formula? We’re almost home.

I looked at the screen and didn’t reply.

Let Julian find it himself. He should remember a little of how I took care of him when he was a child.

The taxi stopped at a red light. Outside the window, a family of three was crossing the street, the young parents holding their little girl’s hands between them. They said something, and all three of them laughed. My vision blurred again.

Once upon a time, Arthur and I had held Julian’s hand just like that, thinking that such happiness would last forever.

“We’re here,” the driver’s voice pulled me back to the present.

After paying the fare, I stood downstairs from Helen’s apartment building, suddenly hesitant. Was it appropriate to disturb her so late? Would she think I was strange?

While I was hesitating, my phone rang again. This time, it was Julian.

“Mom, where did you go? Leo has been crying for his grandma.”

I took a deep breath and replied by text instead, my fingers shaking.

I’m at Helen’s for a few days. You two take good care of Leo.

After sending the message, I turned off my phone.

Tonight, just for once, I would be selfish.

Dragging my suitcase upstairs, I stood in front of Helen’s door and rang the doorbell. In the few seconds I waited for the door to open, I realized this was the first decision I had made purely for myself in three years.

When Helen opened the door, her eyes widened like saucers.

“Eleanor, my goodness, what is all this?”

“Can I stay for a few days?” My voice was hoarser than I expected.

Helen immediately pulled me inside and took my suitcase.

“What happened? Is it Julian and his family?”

“It’s nothing. I just wanted to get some fresh air,” I forced a smile, but the muscles on my face felt stiff and disobedient.

Helen’s apartment was small a one-bedroom but neat and tidy. A photo of her and her late husband hung on the wall. A few green plants sat by the television. The air had a faint scent of sandalwood, and an open book with a pair of reading glasses lay on the coffee table.

“Have you eaten? I can heat up some soup for you,” Helen asked with concern.

“No, thank you. I’ve already eaten,” I lied. I put down my bag and was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. My legs felt as heavy as lead.

Helen, sensing my condition, didn’t press further.

“Then go take a hot shower first. I’ll make up the bed for you. The sofa pulls out into a bed. It’s very comfortable.”

As the hot water washed over my body, I realized I had been trembling the whole time. The steam fogged up the bathroom mirror, blurring my vision along with it. For three years, this was the first time I had showered in a bathroom without Leo’s noisy interruptions, without rushing out to see if he had fallen or bumped into something.

Wearing the clean pajamas Helen had prepared for me, I walked out of the bathroom to find she had already made the sofa bed. A glass of warm milk sat on the bedside table.

“Drink some milk. It’ll help you sleep,” Helen said, patting my shoulder. “Whatever it is, we can talk about it tomorrow. For tonight, just get a good rest.”

I nodded gratefully, drank the milk, and snuggled into the soft blankets. Helen turned off the living room light, leaving only a small nightlight on.

My body was extremely tired, but my mind was wide awake. I stared at the ceiling, listening to the sound of cars occasionally passing outside, my thoughts racing.

Had Julian and his family gotten home? What would they think when they saw my note? Was Leo crying? Did they find the mac and cheese in the fridge?

My phone was still off. I didn’t dare turn it on. I was afraid of seeing Julian’s questioning texts. I was afraid I would soften.

After Arthur passed, Julian had become my entire emotional support. Now even he

Tears welled up again. I quietly wiped them away, not wanting Helen in the next room to hear. The pillow smelled of sunshine. Helen must have aired it out earlier. That small, considerate gesture made the feeling of being neglected at home even more acute.

I don’t know when I finally fell asleep, but I dreamed of Arthur standing in the distance, waving at me. I wanted to run to him, but a small hand held me back. It was Leo. He was crying.

“Grandma, don’t go.”

I was torn in two directions.

The morning sun shone through the curtains onto my face. I opened my eyes, momentarily disoriented, until I saw the familiar furnishings of Helen’s home and remembered the events of last night. Helen was already up. The smell of frying eggs wafted from the kitchen. I sat up and noticed an extra blanket covering me. Helen must have added it during the night.

“You’re awake,” Helen said, carrying breakfast out from the kitchen. “Fried eggs, oatmeal, and some pickles I made. Just something simple.”

I thanked her and sat down at the small dining table. The breakfast was simple, but it reminded me of the days before I retired, eating with Helen in the company cafeteria. Life had been busy, but at least I’d had my own life.

“Now,” Helen said gently, sitting across from me, “can you tell me what happened?”

I stirred the oatmeal in my bowl and told her everything that had happened yesterday Julian’s promotion celebration that I wasn’t invited to, Clara’s text telling me to eat the leftovers, and hearing about the demolition and moving plans from Carol.

Helen’s brow furrowed deeper and deeper.

“That’s just too much. Not telling you about something as big as the demolition.” She paused. “What do you want to do now?”

“What I want to know most right now is what’s really going on with the old house,” I said, putting down my spoon. “Julian probably thought I didn’t care about these things, so he didn’t mention it.”

“Well, that’s easy enough to find out,” Helen said, standing up decisively. “I’ll go with you to the old building to take a look. The notice must be posted on the community bulletin board.”

After breakfast, we took a bus to the old neighborhood where I used to live. Along the way, the scenery outside the window grew more and more familiar the grocery store Arthur and I used to frequent, the kindergarten Julian attended, the park where our family used to walk on weekends. I hadn’t been back in three years. Not much had changed. It was just a bit older.

Walking through the community gate, my heart began to beat faster. There was the sycamore tree Julian had crashed into while learning to ride his bike. There was the stone bench where Arthur loved to sit and cool off in the summer.

A few old neighbors were gathered in front of the bulletin board. When they saw me, they greeted me with surprise.

“Eleanor, long time no see!”

After some small talk, I looked at the bulletin board. Sure enough, a conspicuous notice of intent for demolition was posted right in the middle. It clearly stated that our building was within the demolition scope and required homeowners to register with the community office within two weeks.

“Your Julian came by last week,” said Mr. Robert, who lived across the hall from me. “He brought a stack of documents and talked to the community office people for a long time.”

A tightness grew in my chest.

“What did he say?”

“I’m not sure about the details,” Mr. Robert said. “Seemed like he was asking about the compensation money. Your place is large. The compensation should be quite a lot.”

Helen gently squeezed my hand.

“Do you want to go ask at the community office?”

The community office was in the center of the complex. The staff member, Sarah, was an enthusiastic young woman who had often helped Arthur with his pension matters.

“Mrs. Eleanor,” Sarah said, standing up in surprise. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

I managed a smile and got straight to the point.

“Sarah, I’d like to ask about the demolition of our building.”

Sarah flipped through a registration book.

“Building 3, Unit 2502. The homeowner is Arthur Chen. Your son was here last week. He submitted copies of the property deed and IDs. The preliminary compensation estimate is around three hundred thousand dollars.”

Three hundred thousand dollars.

The number made my vision go dark for a moment.

After Arthur passed, the house had naturally been inherited by both Julian and me. Although I had been living there, his name was indeed on the deed.

“So, what’s the status now?” I tried to remain calm.

“It’s already in the assessment stage,” Sarah explained. “Once the assessment results are out and the agreement is signed, the compensation can be dispersed within three months.”

She hesitated before adding, “Your son said you weren’t in good health and that he was fully authorized to handle everything. Is there a problem?”

A huge problem.

I fought back my anger.

“No, I just came to find out.”

Walking out of the community office, my legs felt weak. I had to lean against the wall to stand upright. Helen looked at me with deep concern.

“Eleanor, are you okay?”

“They’re handling the demolition behind my back,” my voice trembled. “Three hundred thousand dollars in compensation. What does Julian plan to do with it? Buy a townhouse for Clara?”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Helen advised gently. “Maybe Julian wanted to give you a surprise.”

I gave a bitter laugh.

“What kind of surprise needs to be kept from me?”

Standing in front of the old house I had lived in for over twenty years, I took out my key. I had never removed it from my key ring. I inserted it into the lock, turned it, and the door opened.

A musty smell hit me. The furniture was all covered in white cloths, and a thin layer of dust had accumulated on the floor. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, illuminating the floating dust particles in the air. My footsteps left clear prints on the wooden floor.

Everything here was so familiar. The rocking chair Arthur loved. The porcelain vase I used for flower arrangements. The basketball scuff mark Julian left on the wall in middle school. Our wedding photo still hung above the bed in the master bedroom a young Arthur, handsome and tall, with me leaning shyly on his shoulder. The photo had yellowed, but the happiness still felt close enough to touch.

In the study, Julian’s awards and trophies from childhood were neatly arranged on the bookshelf. Arthur always said he wanted to keep these for his grandson, to let him know how outstanding his father had been. Julian’s college class schedule was still stuck to the kitchen refrigerator with a magnet I had bought on a trip to Washington, D.C. There was a crack on the windowsill by the sink from a cup Julian had thrown in a fit of teenage anger.

Every corner held a memory.

And now all of it was about to be leveled by bulldozers.

What hurt even more was that my own son planned to handle all of this behind my back.

“Eleanor, look at this,” Helen called, holding a stack of documents she had found in a drawer in the study.

I took the documents from her. It was the demolition office’s assessment report and compensation plan. Julian’s signature was already on it. There was also a power of attorney form with a signature that sloppily imitated mine.

I knew my own handwriting too well.

This was definitely not my signature.

“He forged my signature,” I whispered. My voice was barely audible.

Helen gasped.

“This… this is illegal.”

I mechanically flipped through the documents when I suddenly found a note tucked into the last page. It was written by Julian to Clara.

Honey, once the demolition money comes through, don’t tell Mom at first. We’ll bring her over to live with us after we buy the townhouse so she doesn’t worry about the money. I’ve already designed the basement as her room. It’s close to the kitchen, convenient for her to cook.

The basement.

My room was in the basement.

The world started to spin. I collapsed into Arthur’s rocking chair. It let out a familiar creak. Once upon a time, Arthur had sat here holding a young Julian and telling him stories. Later, Julian had sat here studying for his exams.

“Eleanor, what are you going to do?” Helen asked worriedly.

I took a deep breath and suddenly made a decision.

“I’m going to stay here for a few days,” I said quietly. “I need time to think. And I need evidence.”

Helen looked around.

“But the utilities…?”

“They should still be on,” I said. “I’ll manage.”

She tried to dissuade me, but seeing the determination on my face, she gave up.

“Then at least let me help you clean up a bit.”

We worked together quickly, stripping the white cloths from the furniture and wiping the dust from the living room and bedroom. Helen went down to the corner store to buy some daily necessities and food. Meanwhile, I plugged in my phone to charge it and turned it back on.

Dozens of unread messages and missed calls popped up, mostly from Julian with a few from Clara. The most recent one was from Julian, sent ten minutes ago.

Mom, where on earth are you? Leo cried all night. We’re all so worried about you.

I hesitated for a moment, then replied.

I’m at the old house. I want to be alone for a few days. Don’t worry.

The message had just been sent when the phone rang. It was Julian.

“Mom, why did you go to the old house? No one’s lived there for so long. It’s not safe. I’m coming to get you right now.”

“No need,” I said calmly. “I want to stay here for a few days to remember my time with your father.”

“But Leo keeps crying for his grandma,” Julian said, playing his trump card.

My heart softened for a second. Then I remembered the documents and the note, and it hardened again.

“You two are his parents,” I said quietly. “It’s time you learned to take care of your child on your own. I’ll be back on the weekend.”

I hung up and looked at Helen.

“Can you do me a favor? I want to consult a lawyer.”

Helen nodded immediately.

“My nephew is a lawyer. He specializes in real estate disputes. I’ll call him right now.”

That afternoon, Helen’s nephew, David, came to the old house. He was a young man in his early thirties, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and he spoke clearly and methodically. After listening to my story and reviewing the documents, David pushed up his glasses and said,

“Mrs. Chen, first of all, forging a signature is illegal. This power of attorney is invalid. Secondly, this house was the joint property of you and your husband. After he passed away, both you and your son became legal heirs, each holding a certain percentage. Any disposal of the property requires the consent of both parties.”

“So, what should I do now?” I asked.

“First, you should go to the community office and revoke that power of attorney, stating that you do not agree with the current arrangement,” David said. “Secondly, I suggest you have a serious talk with your son to understand his true intentions.”

After seeing David out, I sat on the newly made bed, watching the sunset through the window. The old house was quiet. Every evening, the sunlight would stream in just like this. Arthur always called it “the golden hour.”

My phone rang again. This time, it was Clara.

“Mom, please don’t be angry,” she said, her voice overly sweet. “We didn’t mean to not invite you to dinner. We just thought you wouldn’t like that kind of occasion. Leo really misses you.”

I didn’t reply.

It wasn’t that I disliked the occasion. It was that I disliked being excluded.

It wasn’t anger. It was heartbreak.

As night fell, the familiar sounds of the old house began to emerge one by one the occasional gurgle of the water pipes, the soft whistle of the wind through the windows, the faint sound of the neighbor’s television downstairs. These sounds, which had once formed the background of my daily life, now sounded so dear.

I decided to stay here for a few days to think carefully about the road ahead.

Sixty-eight years old might not be too old.

It might still be possible to start over.

When the morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, I momentarily thought Arthur was still beside me. I reached out to the other side of the bed only to touch a cold sheet. Only then did I fully wake up.

Mornings in the old house were exceptionally quiet. There were no cries from Leo, no hurried footsteps from Julian, no sound of Clara blow-drying her hair. There was only the occasional birdsong from outside the window and the rasping cough of the old man downstairs clearing his throat.

I got out of bed and opened the curtains. The May sunshine streamed in gently. On the balcony of the building opposite, a few neighbors were hanging out their laundry. Old Mr. Jiao from the third floor saw me and waved in surprise.

I nodded back in acknowledgment.

In the kitchen, I boiled a pot of water and made a cup of jasmine tea. It was left over from three years ago, and the flavor had faded, but it would do. Holding the teacup, I stood on the balcony overlooking the neighborhood. In the central garden, a few elderly people were practicing tai chi while children chased each other a picture of peace.

My phone vibrated. It was a message from Helen.

Are you awake? Do you need me to bring you breakfast?

I replied that it wasn’t necessary, that I could manage on my own. After putting down my phone, I suddenly realized this was the first morning in three years where no one needed me to take care of them.

The breakfast stall at the neighborhood entrance was still there. The lady selling pancakes actually recognized me.

“Oh, Mrs. Chen, long time no see. You look the same as ever.”

I nodded, a warmth spreading through my chest. The smell of the pancakes reminded me of the days I used to buy breakfast for Julian. He would always grab the pancake in a hurry and run off to school, with me shouting after him,

“Slow down! Don’t choke!”

Back in the old house, I ate my pancake while reviewing yesterday’s documents. David was right. I should first revoke that forged power of attorney. But deep down, I still hoped to have a good talk with Julian. I didn’t want things to get ugly.

Just as I was thinking, the phone rang. The screen showed Julian.

I took a deep breath before answering.

“Mom, are you okay at the old house?” Julian’s voice sounded exhausted. I could faintly hear Leo crying in the background.

“I’m fine,” I answered calmly. “What’s wrong with Leo?”

“He’s been crying since last night. He won’t eat his breakfast. He just wants his grandma,” Julian sighed. “Clara’s going to be late for work, and I Mom, when are you coming back?”

I gripped the phone tightly, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

“I told you I’ll be back on the weekend. You two are his parents. You need to learn to handle these things.”

“But ”

“No buts,” I interrupted. “I’ve taken care of Leo for three years, since he was a baby. You can’t even manage for three days?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end. Then Julian’s voice suddenly turned cold.

“Fine. Have it your way. But Mom, the old building is going to be demolished soon. You shouldn’t stay there too long.”

My heart sank.

“How do you know about the demolition?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

“I heard it from the neighbors,” Julian said, clearly flustered. “Uh, I have a meeting to get to. I’ll hang up now.”

The call ended. I stared at my phone, a tightness in my chest.

He was still lying.

I decided not to wait any longer. I would go to the community office today and revoke that power of attorney.

The community office had just opened. Sarah was organizing files. She was a little surprised to see me.

“Mrs. Chen, you’re here again?”

“Sarah, I want to revoke the previous power of attorney,” I said directly.

“What?” Sarah was stunned. “But your son said you weren’t well ”

“I’m perfectly fine.” I took out my ID from my bag. “The signature on that power of attorney was forged. I knew nothing about it.”

Sarah’s face changed.

“This is a very serious matter.”

“I know,” I nodded. “That’s why I’m here to clarify the facts. My son and I are co-owners of the property. Any demolition agreement requires both our signatures, correct?”

Sarah quickly pulled out the documents.

“Yes, according to the regulations, that’s correct. Mrs. Chen, would you like to discuss this with your son first?”

“No need.” My voice was calm but exceptionally firm. “Please help me with the revocation procedure. Also, please notify me directly of any progress regarding the demolition.”

After completing the paperwork, I walked out of the community office. The sun on my face felt like a weight had been lifted. For the first time in three years, I had made a decision for myself.

For the first time, I had clearly said no.

Back at the old house, I started to sort through some personal belongings. There were still a few of Arthur’s shirts in the closet. I took them out and stroked the fabric gently. They no longer carried his scent, but the warmth of his memory was still vivid. In the bedside table, there was a small photo album filled with pictures of Julian from childhood to adulthood. I flipped through them one by one, tears blurring my vision.

In the afternoon, Helen came to see me, bringing hot muffins and some homemade pickles.

“Did it go smoothly at the community office?” she asked while helping me fold the bedsheets.

“I took care of it,” I nodded. “Sarah said they’ll issue a new notice requiring both parties to be present to sign.”

“So what are you going to do next?” Helen asked softly.

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “Legally, I’m entitled to a portion of the demolition money. I could buy a small condo for myself. But…”

“But what?” Helen prompted.

“But I don’t want to lose Julian and Leo,” I said, tears finally breaking through. “They’re my only family.”

Helen hugged me and gently patted my back.

“Silly woman. You’re Julian’s mother. That will never change. He might be influenced by Clara right now, but blood is thicker than water. One day, he’ll understand.”

As we were talking, the doorbell suddenly rang. Helen went to open the door, then let out a surprised cry.

“Eleanor, come and see this.”

I wiped my tears and walked to the door. The hallway was filled with large and small bags baby formula, diapers, Leo’s favorite snacks, and a few boxes of health supplements. On top of it all was a note.

Mom, we don’t know where Leo’s things are. Please use these for now. Love, Julian.

I crouched down and looked through the items, a mixture of feelings in my heart. What was this? A carrot after the stick? Or did he genuinely care?

“Should you call him?” Helen asked.

I shook my head.

“Let’s wait a little longer.”

That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Every corner of the old house reminded me of the past. At 2:00 in the morning, my phone screen suddenly lit up. It was a photo from Clara. Leo’s eyes were red and swollen from crying, and he was clutching the little teddy bear I had made for him. The caption read, Leo misses his grandma.

My heart felt like it was being pricked by a hundred needles.

For three years, Leo had slept by my side almost every night. How scared he must be now. I almost grabbed the phone to call Julian, but in the end, I put it down.

If they truly cared about my feelings, they wouldn’t have forged my signature.

They wouldn’t have planned to put me in the basement.

They wouldn’t have forgotten only me during a family celebration.

On the third morning, I decided to go for a walk. The park near the neighborhood was a place Arthur and I often visited. We would always sit on a bench and have breakfast after our morning exercises. The park hadn’t changed much, only the trees were taller. I sat on our familiar bench, watching the morning light shimmer on the lake, lost in thought.

“Mrs. Chen, is that you?”

A gentle male voice came from behind. I turned around to see a spirited elderly man with white hair and gold-rimmed glasses. He looked familiar.

“I’m James Peterson. I used to be an English teacher at the high school. I was a colleague of your husband’s,” he introduced himself with a smile.

It was then that I remembered.

“Mr. Peterson, it’s been a long time.”

Mr. Peterson sat down next to me.

“I heard you moved in with your son. What brings you back?” he asked.

I briefly explained the situation, omitting the most unpleasant parts. Mr. Peterson nodded without prying further.

“I live alone now,” he said. “After retiring, I joined the senior program at the community center. I teach a calligraphy class. Life is quite fulfilling.”

He took out his phone and showed me some photos of their activities calligraphy exhibitions, poetry readings, a senior choir. The elderly people in the photos were all smiling, full of life.

“We have a calligraphy and painting exhibition next week at the cultural center,” Mr. Peterson said warmly. “Would you be interested in coming?”

Just as I was about to answer, my phone rang. It was Julian.

“Mom,” his voice was unusually anxious. “Leo has a high fever. He keeps calling for Grandma. Can you come back and see him?”

My heart clenched.

“What’s his temperature?”

“One hundred and three point one. We just gave him some fever reducer, but it’s not going down. We don’t know what to do.”

I gripped the phone, my heart torn in two.

Leo was sick. I should go back and take care of him.

But if I went back just like that, what was the point of all my resolve?

“Mom, I’m begging you,” Julian’s voice broke. “Leo really needs you.”

In the end, my love for my grandson won.

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

After hanging up, I apologized to Mr. Peterson, explaining I had a family emergency. Mr. Peterson nodded in understanding and handed me a business card.

“Get in touch when you have time. The community center is always open to you.”

I hurried back to the old house, packed a few essentials, and called Helen to explain the situation.

“You’re going back?” Helen sounded worried.

“Leo is sick. I have to see him,” I sighed. “But this time, I won’t suffer in silence anymore.”

Helen called a taxi for me. Before I left, she hugged me tightly.

“Remember, you deserve to be respected. Call me anytime you need anything.”

Before getting in the car, I took one last look at the old house. This short escape had made me understand many things. I was no longer just a caregiver, a neglected mother and grandmother. I was a person with rights and dignity, deserving to be heard and respected.

The taxi headed toward Julian’s building. My heart was no longer as lost as when I left. No matter what I had to face next, I had found a part of myself again the Eleanor who, besides being a mother and grandmother, still had her own life.

When the taxi stopped downstairs, a light rain began to fall. I didn’t have an umbrella, so I covered my head with my bag and hurried into the building. As the elevator ascended, my heart beat faster and faster, worried about Leo’s condition and anxious about the confrontation to come.

I inserted the key into the lock. The moment the door opened, I heard Leo’s heart-wrenching cries. Without changing my shoes, I rushed straight to the children’s room.

Leo was lying on the bed, his little face flushed red from the fever, tears and snot covering his cheeks. Clara was clumsily trying to take his temperature while Julian stood nearby holding a half-spilled cup of medicine. Seeing me, they both looked immensely relieved.

“Mom,” Julian practically ran to me. “You’re finally back.”

I ignored him and went straight to the bed, feeling Leo’s scorching forehead. Leo opened his teary eyes, saw it was me, and immediately reached out his little hands.

“Grandma, it hurts,” he sobbed.

“Where does it hurt, sweetie?” I asked softly, expertly checking his throat and ears.

“My head hurts,” Leo cried.

I took the thermometer and measured again. One hundred and two point seven. It was indeed very high.

I opened the medicine cabinet, found the cooling patches I always used, and stuck one on Leo’s forehead. Then I soaked a towel in warm water and gently wiped his hands and feet.

“Have you been to the hospital?” I asked, my eyes not on Julian or Clara.

“Not yet,” Clara stammered. “We wanted to see if the fever reducer would work first.”

I took a deep breath, suppressing my frustration.

“With such a high fever for so long, it could be tonsillitis or an ear infection. He needs to go to the hospital.”

“So… we go now?” Julian asked, his tone uncertain.

“Of course now.”

I picked up Leo. He quieted down a little in my arms, his small hands clutching my collar tightly. Julian hurriedly grabbed the car keys, and Clara ran into the bedroom to change.

Watching their frantic state, I suddenly realized that in the three years I had been taking care of Leo, they had barely participated in his daily care. They didn’t even know the most basic responses.

The emergency room at the children’s hospital was crowded, as always. We waited nearly an hour before seeing a doctor. The diagnosis was acute tonsillitis, requiring an IV drip of antibiotics.

Leo burst into tears at the sight of the needle. I had to hold him, softly humming his favorite nursery rhyme to calm him down. As the nurse inserted the IV, Julian and Clara stood by, looking helpless. The nurse gave them a strange look.

“The parents can help hold the child still,” she said.

Only then did Julian step forward and awkwardly hold Leo’s legs.

When the needle went in, Leo cried even louder. My heart ached so much I almost cried, too.

It was late at night by the time the IV drip finished. Leo’s fever had subsided a little, and he had fallen asleep in my arms. On the way home, the car was silent except for the sound of rain hitting the windows and Leo’s steady breathing.

Once we got home, I settled Leo in his bed and stayed by his side. Julian and Clara hovered in the doorway, seeming to want to say something but not daring to.

“You two go get some rest,” I said without turning my head. “I’ll stay with Leo tonight.”

They left as if granted amnesty.

At three in the morning, Leo’s fever finally broke and his breathing became steady. I leaned back in the chair by his bed, exhausted but unable to sleep. My phone screen lit up. It was a message from Helen.

How’s Leo? Do you need my help?

I replied, We’ve seen a doctor. He’s stable now.

Helen quickly responded.

That’s good. By the way, my nephew said if you need legal advice, you can contact him anytime.

I had just put my phone down when I heard a soft knock on the door. Julian was standing there holding a glass of warm milk.

“Mom, thank you for your hard work,” he said, handing me the milk. “Is Leo better?”

I took the milk and nodded.

“The fever’s gone. He should be fine.”

Julian sat down by the bed, looking at the sleeping Leo, hesitating to speak. After a moment of silence, he finally said,

“Mom, where were you these past few days? We were really worried.”

“I was at the old house,” I said calmly. “I saw the demolition notice. And I saw the power of attorney you forged with my signature.”

Julian’s face turned pale instantly.

“Mom, let me explain ”

“Explain what?” My voice was still calm, but each word was as cold as ice. “Explain how you handled the old house behind my back? How you and Clara plan to use the demolition money to buy a townhouse? Or how you plan to have me live in the basement?”

Julian’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting me to know so much.

“Mom, it’s not what you think. We wanted to give you a surprise.”

“Enough,” I hissed, keeping my voice low so as not to wake Leo. “You’re still lying.”

Julian hung his head, his hands wringing nervously.

“I’m sorry, Mom. It was Clara. She said you were getting old, that we should just handle these things.”

“So in your eyes, I’m already senile,” I said quietly. “Not worthy of knowing my own house is being torn down. That house was your father’s and my life’s work, Julian. And you so easily ”

“Mom.” Julian suddenly grabbed my hand. “After the demolition money comes, we’ll definitely give you a share. It’s just that Clara has always wanted a bigger house, and you know how real estate prices are now.”

I pulled my hand back, feeling a chill in my heart.

“So how much were you planning to give me?” I asked. “A room in the basement?”

Julian was speechless, his eyes darting away.

Just then, Leo turned over in his sleep and murmured, “Grandma.” We both looked at him silently.

“Go to bed,” I finally said. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Julian, as if relieved, quickly left the room.

I leaned back in the chair, looking at Leo’s sleeping face, tears streaming down silently.

This was the son I had raised. To please his wife, he could deceive his own mother like this.

The next morning, Leo’s fever was completely gone, and he was in much better spirits. I made him his favorite steamed egg custard, feeding it to him one small spoonful at a time. Clara came out of her room and saw us, her expression complicated.

“Mom, thank you for last night,” she said.

I didn’t respond. I focused on feeding Leo.

Clara stood there awkwardly for a moment, then went to the kitchen to make coffee. Julian came out with dark circles under his eyes, obviously having not slept well.

He sat across the table, wanting to speak but hesitating.

“Daddy!” Leo called, waving his arms. “Grandma’s back!”

Julian forced a smile.

“Yes, Grandma’s back. Is Leo happy?”

“Happy!” Leo answered loudly. Then he turned to me. “Grandma’s not leaving.”

I kissed his cheek.

“Grandma will always be with Leo,” I said.

This sentence seemed to relieve Julian. The tense expression on his face softened, but I knew the problems between us were far from resolved.

After breakfast, Clara went to work. Julian said he had taken a half day off to “help at home.” While Leo was watching cartoons, Julian finally gathered the courage to speak.

“Mom, about the old house. Can we talk properly?”

I put down the cleaning cloth and sat on the sofa.

“Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“First, I apologize for handling the demolition behind your back,” Julian said, his head bowed like a child who’d done something wrong. “But you have to believe we never intended to mistreat you.”

“Then why forge my signature?” I asked, looking him straight in the eye.

Julian avoided my gaze.

“Because… because Clara said you might not agree to demolishing the old house. After all, there are so many memories. So we just… made the decision for you.”

I shook my head.

“Julian, I am your mother, not an elderly person whose life you can just arrange as you please. I have the right to know. The right to decide.”

“I was wrong, Mom,” Julian said, his voice tinged with tears. “You can punish me however you want. Just please don’t be angry with me anymore.”

Seeing his red-rimmed eyes, my heart softened a bit. But then I remembered the documents and the plan, and it hardened again.

“I’ve already revoked that power of attorney,” I said. “I will be personally involved in the demolition process. As for how the compensation money is divided, we need to have a serious talk.”

Julian nodded repeatedly.

“Whatever you say, Mom. As long as you don’t leave this family, anything is fine.”

“Julian,” I interrupted gently. “I came back because Leo was sick, not because I’ve forgiven what you’ve done. We need time to talk properly and rebuild trust.”

Julian fell silent. After a long while, he said,

“Mom, you’ve changed.”

“Yes, I have,” I admitted. “I’ve realized that besides being your mother and Leo’s grandmother, I am also myself Eleanor. I have my own rights, my own feelings, my own needs.”

Julian seemed stunned by this. He stared at me blankly.

Just then, the phone rang. It was Clara. Julian answered and walked out to the balcony to talk. Through the glass door, I saw his expression change from surprise to anger and finally to resignation. After hanging up, he came back with a grim face.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Clara… she’s not happy that you want to be involved in the compensation distribution,” Julian said with difficulty. “She says that money is very important for us to buy a house.”

I took a deep breath.

“So in her eyes, my rights are less important than your plan to buy a house.”

Julian didn’t answer, but his silence said everything.

My heart turned completely cold.

“Mom,” Julian finally said, his voice cold and stiff. “Have you had enough? Leo has been crying non-stop. Clara’s work has been affected. And now you want to interfere with the demolition money. Can’t you be a little more considerate of us?”

I looked at him in shock, unable to believe these words came from the son I had worked so hard to raise. All the grievances, anger, and sadness churned in my chest, but I kept a calm face.

“Julian,” I said slowly, “legally, I am entitled to a portion of the demolition money from the old house. As for taking care of Leo, I do it out of love, not obligation.”

Julian’s expression stiffened.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean,” I said, looking him straight in the eye, “if you and Clara think I’m just a free nanny and a cash machine you can dispose of at will, you are mistaken.”

Julian’s phone rang again. He glanced at it and irritably rejected the call.

“Mom, can we please not fight?” he said. “How much money do you want? Just say it.”

The words stabbed me like a knife.

I stood up, my voice trembling.

“You think all I want is money? Julian, what I want is respect. To be treated as a person with thoughts and feelings, not an accessory in your lives.”

Leo was frightened by our raised voices and started to sob. I quickly went to him and held him, soothing him softly. Julian stood by, his expression complex.

Once Leo calmed down, I decided to bring up the key issue.

“The demolition appraisal is about three hundred thousand, right?”

Julian was clearly flustered.

“How… how did you know?”

“I asked at the community office,” I said calmly. “They also told me you had already submitted the documents, intending to handle everything yourself.”

Julian’s face turned red, then pale.

“Mom, we can discuss this properly.”

“Discuss?” I gave a bitter laugh. “If I hadn’t found out, would you have discussed it with me?”

Julian was speechless. He turned and walked to the balcony to call Clara again. This time, he kept his voice very low, but I still caught fragments like, ‘My mom knows everything. She’s going to revoke the power of attorney. What do we do?’

After the call, Julian’s attitude suddenly changed.

“Mom,” he said. “Clara wants to treat you to dinner tonight. To have a good talk.”

I sensed there must be a reason behind this sudden shift.

“No need,” I said. “We can talk at home if there’s anything to say. Julian,” I added, “since when did we, mother and son, need to be so formal?”

He fell silent again.

The atmosphere was awkward. Leo seemed to sense it and clung to me tightly.

In the afternoon, Clara came home early, carrying a box of exquisite pastries. She put on a smile as soon as she walked in.

“Mom, I heard you like the walnut crisps from this place. I bought some especially for you.”

I thanked her but didn’t engage further. Clara awkwardly placed the pastries on the table, then pulled Julian into the bedroom. Before the door closed, I heard her whisper,

“We have to appease her, otherwise ”

The door shut, and I couldn’t hear the rest, but it was enough to make my heart sink.

As expected, their kindness had an ulterior motive.

Clara took the initiative to cook dinner, which was extremely rare. At the dinner table, she kept putting food on my plate, asking about my well-being, but I could see the calculation behind her smile.

“Mom,” Clara finally got to the point, “I heard you know about the demolition.”

I nodded and continued eating.

“Actually, we wanted to give you a surprise,” Clara said sweetly. “We plan to use the demolition money to buy a big house and prepare a large south-facing room for you.”

I put down my chopsticks and looked her straight in the eye.

“Really? Then why did the note I found in Julian’s study say, ‘The basement is close to the kitchen. Convenient for Mom to cook.’?”

Clara’s smile froze on her face. Julian was so shocked he dropped his chopsticks.

“Mom, you… you went through my study?” Julian stammered.

“I was looking for Leo’s vaccination records the other day,” I explained calmly. “And I saw it by accident.”

After an awkward silence, Clara’s expression suddenly changed. The sweetness vanished.

“Since you know everything, let’s just be direct,” she said. “We do have an urgent need for the demolition money. Aren’t you living here just fine? Why do you have to fight over that bit of money?”

“Clara,” Julian tried to stop her, “don’t ”

“Don’t stop me,” Clara snapped. “Do you know how expensive it is to raise a child now? How high real estate prices are? We finally have a chance to get a bigger house. As an elder, shouldn’t you be supportive?”

I looked at this once gentle and lovely daughter-in-law and suddenly felt she was a complete stranger.

“Clara,” I said slowly, standing up, “first, that’s not just your money. Second, respect is mutual. You plan celebrations without inviting me, tell me to eat leftovers, handle my house behind my back, and now you accuse me of fighting for money. Is this how you treat your elders?”

Clara opened her mouth to say more, but Leo suddenly started crying. I picked up my grandson and left the dining table. Behind me, I heard Julian and Clara begin to argue in low voices.

That night, I slept with Leo in the children’s room. In the dead of night, I gently stroked his soft hair, thinking about the future. It was clear that in this family, I had gone from being a family member to a burden and an obstacle.

But at sixty-eight, did I not have the right to choose?

Looking at Leo’s sleeping face, I secretly made a decision.

It was time to live for myself.

Not just for me, but also to show Leo that even at nearly seventy, a person could live with dignity.

The morning sun filtered through the gap in the curtains. I rose gently, trying not to wake Leo beside me. After last night’s argument, the atmosphere in the house was still tense. But at least Leo’s fever was gone, which was a relief.

In the kitchen, I put water on to boil for oatmeal, moving as quietly as possible. There weren’t many ingredients in the fridge. I found a few mushrooms and some greens, planning to make a light mushroom and vegetable oatmeal.

As I chopped the vegetables, my thoughts drifted back to the community center Mr. Peterson had mentioned. Calligraphy. I had been obsessed with it for a while when I was young, but then work and family got in the way. Picking it up again now might be a good choice.

By the time the oatmeal was ready, Julian walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

“Mom, you’re up so early.”

“I’m used to it,” I answered, placing a bowl of oatmeal on the table. “I made Leo’s separately. We can heat it up when he wakes.”

Julian sat down, staring blankly at his bowl. The dark circles under his eyes were even more obvious.

“Mom,” he began hesitantly, “about last night. Clara, she ”

“No need to explain,” I interrupted. “I understand your desire for a bigger house, but your methods were wrong.”

Julian lowered his head.

“I know I was wrong,” he said softly. “Actually, Clara and I had a fight last night.”

I was a bit surprised, but I didn’t show it. I continued stirring the pot of oatmeal.

“I told her she shouldn’t have treated you like that,” he said in a low voice. “That she shouldn’t have handled the demolition behind your back.”

His voice grew softer.

“But she thinks I’m siding with you too much.”

“And what do you think?” I asked, putting down the spoon and looking him in the eye.

Julian looked up, his eyes red.

“Mom, I… I don’t know what to do. It’s you on one side and Clara and Leo on the other. I don’t want to lose any of you.”

Seeing his pained expression, my heart softened. It was true my son caught in the middle had his own difficulties. But understanding didn’t mean compromising.

“Julian,” I said, sitting down across from him, “I’m not asking you to choose between me and Clara. I just want to be treated as a person with thoughts and dignity, not an accessory to be arranged by you.”

Julian was silent for a moment, then suddenly said,

“Mom, you’ve really changed a lot.”

“Have I?” I asked quietly.

“You never used to express your dissatisfaction so directly. You always endured in silence.”

I gave a bitter smile.

“Because I used to think forbearance was love. Now I understand that true love requires mutual respect.”

Julian nodded thoughtfully. Then, as if making a great resolution, he said,

“Mom, you’re right about the demolition money. It should be divided fairly. I’ll talk to Clara again.”

I patted his hand.

“Let’s eat breakfast first. The oatmeal is getting cold.”

After breakfast, Julian went to work. Clara took the day off. Whether it was to genuinely spend time with Leo or to keep an eye on me, I didn’t know. She stayed in her bedroom until after I put Leo down for his nap.

“Mom.” She stood at the kitchen doorway, her tone much softer than last night. “Can we talk?”

I dried my hands and gestured for her to sit.

“Go ahead.”

Clara wrung her hands.

“About yesterday… my attitude was bad. I apologize.”

I didn’t respond immediately, waiting for her to continue.

“Julian and I discussed it,” Clara said, her eyes avoiding mine. “The demolition money. We agree you should have a part of it.”

“How much?” I asked directly.

Clara was clearly not expecting such a direct question. She was stunned for a moment.

“Well, we were thinking… twenty percent. How does that sound?”

Eighty thousand.

I quickly calculated in my head. The market value of the old house was at least three hundred thousand. Legally, I was entitled to at least half.

“Clara,” I said calmly, “do you know how much I’m entitled to by law?”

Her expression froze.

“Mom, we’re family,” she protested. “Why do we have to be so calculative?”

“If we were really family,” I interrupted, “you wouldn’t have forged my signature. You wouldn’t have planned for me to live in the basement. And you wouldn’t have forgotten only me during a family celebration.”

Clara’s face turned ugly.

“Mom, are you trying to settle scores with us?”

“Not settling scores,” I said, standing up. “Being reasonable. I will consult a lawyer about the demolition money. I won’t give up what’s mine. And I won’t take a penny that isn’t.”

Clara shot up from her chair. The legs scraped harshly against the floor.

“Fine. Since you want to tear things apart, don’t blame us for being merciless.”

With that, she stormed back to her bedroom and slammed the door.

I sighed, knowing the temporary peace was broken again. But strangely, I didn’t feel the panic or self-blame I used to. Instead, I felt a sense of relief.

At least we didn’t have to pretend to be a happy family anymore.

In the afternoon, while Clara took Leo downstairs to play, I called Mr. Peterson to ask about the calligraphy class at the community center.

“Mrs. Chen,” Mr. Peterson said, his voice full of surprise. “I was just about to contact you. The calligraphy class starts tomorrow at two in the afternoon. Are you interested in trying it out?”

“I’d like to try,” I said. “But I might not be able to make it on time every week.”

“No problem,” he said warmly. “We’re very flexible here. You’re welcome anytime.”

After hanging up, I felt a long-lost sense of anticipation.

Calligraphy. I wondered if my hands, which hadn’t practiced in over thirty years, could still write well.

In the evening, Julian worked late and didn’t come home for dinner. The dinner table was just me, Clara, and Leo. The atmosphere was so heavy that even Leo noticed, eating his food quietly without a word.

After dinner, Clara took Leo straight to his room, leaving me alone in the living room. I turned on the TV but couldn’t focus. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Helen.

How are things? Is the situation at home any better?

I replied, Calm for now, but the problem isn’t solved. I’m thinking of going to the community center tomorrow.

Helen quickly responded.

Good idea. Getting out will do you good. By the way, my nephew said if you need legal help, you can call him anytime.

I thanked her and put down my phone. Legal action was the last resort. I still hoped to resolve things peacefully with Julian and his family.

The next morning, Julian was home for breakfast for a change. Clara was still asleep. I made his favorite biscuits.

“Mom,” Julian said, taking a bite. “Do you have any plans today?”

“I’m thinking of going to the community center this afternoon,” I told him truthfully. “Mr. Peterson invited me to join the calligraphy class.”

Julian was clearly surprised.

“A calligraphy class? Since when were you interested in calligraphy?”

“I loved it when I was young,” I said, pouring him a glass of orange juice. “But then I got busy with work and family, and had to put it aside. Now that I have time, I want to pick it up again.”

Julian nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s great. You should have some hobbies of your own.”

I sensed a change in his attitude.

“Did Clara say something to you?” I asked.

Julian put down his fork and sighed.

“She said you threatened to get a lawyer to divide the demolition money.”

“I didn’t threaten,” I corrected him. “I just said I would consult a lawyer to understand my rights.”

“Mom,” Julian suddenly grabbed my hand. “Let’s not take it that far, okay? A family suing each other it would be so ugly.”

Looking at his pleading eyes, my heart softened.

“Julian, I don’t want that either. But you both must respect my rights and my feelings.”

He nodded.

“I understand. I’ll try to talk to Clara again.”

After breakfast, Julian went to work. Clara woke up late, and after I put Leo down for his nap, she took him to her parents’ house without even saying goodbye.

I was alone at home and felt a sense of relief.

At one thirty in the afternoon, I packed a small bag and took a bus to the community center. On the bus, I watched the street scenes flash by, remembering the days when I used to carry my art supplies to class. Back then, I too had artistic dreams.

The community center was on the third floor of the cultural building, spacious and bright. The hallway was decorated with artworks by the members. Although the skill levels varied, you could see the heart poured into each piece.

“Mrs. Chen!” Mr. Peterson greeted me from a classroom. He shook my hand warmly. “I’m so glad you came.”

He showed me around the facility, introducing me to a few active groups: the choir, the painting class, the tai chi group. Finally, we arrived at the calligraphy classroom. A dozen or so silver-haired students were practicing. They nodded and smiled kindly when I entered.

“Today, we’re learning the basic strokes of standard script,” Mr. Peterson announced. Then he introduced me. “This is Mrs. Chen. She was a middle school art teacher before she retired and has a good foundation in calligraphy.”

I quickly waved my hands.

“I haven’t practiced in years. I’m starting from scratch now.”

Mr. Peterson sat me next to a kind-looking old lady.

“This is Pat,” he said. “She’s the life of our class.”

Pat smiled and handed me a brush.

“Mrs. Chen, welcome to our Sunset Glow team.”

The classroom was filled with a relaxed and cheerful atmosphere. When I dipped the brush in ink and made the first stroke on the paper, a long-lost sense of tranquility washed over me.

Horizontal. Vertical. Left-falling stroke.

The basic strokes were rusty, but the feeling was slowly coming back.

“Relax your wrist,” Mr. Peterson guided softly. “Yes, just like that. You have a very good foundation.”

When the two-hour class ended, I was left wanting more. Pat enthusiastically invited me to join their after-class tea party, and I gladly accepted.

At the tea party, the elderly members spoke freely, talking about calligraphy, life, and their families. When I mentioned the conflict with my son and daughter-in-law, Pat patted my hand.

“My two sons are even worse,” she said frankly. “They almost came to blows over demolition money. They don’t even speak to each other now.”

Another old gentleman added,

“When children grow up, they have their own lives. We old folks have to learn to find our own fun and not revolve around them.”

Listening to everyone’s stories, I suddenly realized that so many elderly people faced similar difficulties. The difference was that some chose to suffer in silence while others bravely fought for their dignity.

On the way home, my mood was much lighter. I passed a stationery store and went in to buy some paper and an inkstone, planning to practice at home.

I opened the door to my son’s apartment and was surprised to find the living room dark. Only a sliver of light came from the study. I fumbled for the light switch and saw takeout boxes on the dining table and Leo’s toys scattered on the floor.

“Julian?” I called out.

No answer.

The study door was slightly ajar. I walked over, about to knock, when I heard Clara’s voice from inside.

“We have to find a way to make your mom give up that share of the money,” she said. “If we have to, we’ll threaten to not let her see Leo.”

My hand froze in midair. My heart suddenly raced.

“Clara, don’t be like that,” Julian’s voice was low and tired. “Mom has already compromised.”

“Compromised?” Clara’s voice became shrill. “One-third is still over a hundred thousand dollars. The down payment for that townhouse we like won’t be enough.”

“We can choose a smaller one,” Julian said weakly.

“Julian,” Clara practically screamed, “whose side are you on? Your mom’s or your wife and son’s?”

After a moment of silence, Julian said in a low voice,

“Of course I’m on your side. But Mom hasn’t had it easy ”

“She hasn’t had it easy?” Clara sneered. “What’s she going to do with all that money by herself? Isn’t it enough that we’re taking care of her in her old age?”

My hand started to shake. I had to lean against the wall to stay upright.

This was the son I had worked so hard to raise.

This was the daughter-in-law I had treated like my own daughter.

“All right, all right,” Julian said at last, his voice full of compromise. “I’ll talk to Mom again. By the way, did you put away the floor plans for the new house? Don’t let Mom see them.”

“Of course,” Clara said smugly. “I locked them in my office drawer. The basement has been changed to a storage room. If she asks, we’ll just say the designer recommended that elderly people live on the first floor.”

I couldn’t listen anymore. I turned to leave, but accidentally bumped into the umbrella stand by the door. With a loud clatter, it fell over.

The conversation in the study stopped abruptly.

“Who’s there?” Julian asked wearily.

The door was yanked open. Julian and Clara stood there, staring at me, their faces full of shock.

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze.

“Mom… when… when did you get back?” Julian stammered.

“Just now,” I said. My voice was surprisingly calm. “I heard you discussing me.”

Clara’s face instantly turned pale.

“Mom, let us explain ”

“No need to explain,” I said. “I’ve heard enough.”

I turned and walked toward my room. Julian chased after me, grabbing my hand.

“Mom, you misunderstood. That’s not what we meant ”

I shook his hand off.

“Julian, I’m sixty-eight, not six. I know what I heard.”

Clara suddenly rushed over, blocking my way.

“Since you heard it,” she snapped, “let’s just be direct. That money is very important to us. Leo’s future education, buying a house, getting married it all costs money. What does an old lady like you need so much money for?”

I looked at this woman I had once thought gentle and lovely and suddenly felt she was a complete stranger. Her eyes glinted with greed and calculation, her mouth twisted in anger.

“Clara,” I said, enunciating each word carefully, “that house was bought with a lifetime of savings from your father-in-law and me. I have the right to decide how to use it. You…”

Clara was trembling with anger.

“Are you trying to drive us to our deaths?”

“Enough!” Julian suddenly roared, startling both of us. “Stop it. Mom, you go rest first. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I walked into my room in silence and closed the door. All my strength seemed to drain away. Sitting on the edge of the bed, my hands trembled uncontrollably. My temples throbbed with pain.

This was the family I had given everything for.

In their eyes, I was just a nuisance. An old woman who should obediently hand over her assets.

On the bedside table was a photo of Arthur and me. He was smiling gently in the picture, as if giving me strength. I gently stroked the frame, tears streaming down silently.

“Oh, Arthur,” I murmured. “How did our son become like this?”

The night grew late. The house was quiet. I lay in bed, unable to sleep. The scenes from earlier replayed in my mind Clara’s twisted face, Julian’s cowardice.

Suddenly, a severe headache hit me, and a flash of white light exploded behind my eyes. I tried to sit up but found my right side unresponsive. My right hand fell limply to the side of the bed.

Oh no.

I vaguely realized what was happening. I tried to call for help but couldn’t form clear words only muffled groans. My vision started to go dark.

In my last moments of consciousness, I saw the door being pushed open and Julian’s terrified face appearing in the doorway.

“Mom! Mom, what’s wrong with you?” His voice sounded like it was coming from far away. “Clara, call an ambulance. I think Mom’s having a stroke!”

Then everything went black.

Blinding white light.

That was my first perception of the world when I surfaced again. Then the smell of disinfectant, the rhythmic beeping of a machine, and the feel of a coarse bedsheet beneath me.

I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids were heavy as lead.

“Blood pressure is stable. Right-side limb mobility, grade two. A mild stroke. Requires further observation.”

A fragmented conversation drifted into my ears. It seemed to be a doctor speaking.

“Mom, can you hear me?”

This time it was Julian’s voice, very close, choked with tears.

I mustered all my strength and finally opened my eyes. In my blurry vision, Julian’s haggard face slowly came into focus. His eyes were red and swollen, his face unshaven. He looked ten years older.

“Water,” I managed to squeeze out. My throat felt as dry as if it were on fire.

Julian quickly used a cotton swab to moisten my lips.

“The doctor said not to drink too much. You might choke. Mom, you scared me to death.”

I moved my eyes slightly, taking in my surroundings. It was a two-person hospital room. I was by the window. The other bed was empty. Outside, the sky was overcast. It was impossible to tell the time.

“What time is it?” I asked hoarsely.

“Three in the afternoon,” Julian replied, looking at his watch. “You were unconscious for a day and a night.”

I tried to move my right hand. I could only feel a faint sensation. I couldn’t lift it. My right leg was the same. My left side could move, but any big movement made me dizzy.

“The doctor said you had a mild stroke,” Julian said, holding my left hand. “Your right side is temporarily weak, but it can be recovered through physical therapy.”

I nodded faintly, then suddenly remembered something.

“Leo?” I whispered.

“He’s at Clara’s parents’ house,” Julian said quietly. “Clara has an important project at work. She can’t get away.”

I closed my eyes, my heart turning cold.

My daughter-in-law wouldn’t even visit me in the hospital.

This was the family I had taken care of for three years.

“Mom,” Julian hesitated. “About that night, we ”

“Don’t say it,” I interrupted, my voice weak but firm. “I heard everything.”

Julian’s face turned pale.

“Mom, those were just angry words. We didn’t mean it ”

“Julian,” I looked at him steadily, “I’m sixty-eight, not six. I know the difference between angry words and what you truly mean.”

He hung his head in shame, his hands clenched into fists.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t respond. I turned my head to look out the window instead. The sky was gloomy, looking like it was about to rain. The room fell silent, with only the beeping of the monitor echoing.

A nurse came in to check my blood pressure and IV, breaking the awkward silence. After she left, Julian, as if desperately searching for a new topic, said,

“The doctor said you need to be observed in the hospital for two weeks. Then we’ll see if you need to be transferred to a rehabilitation facility.”

“What about the cost?” I suddenly asked.

Julian was taken aback.

“What?”

“The hospital bills. The treatment fees,” I said calmly. “My insurance doesn’t cover much.”

“That… don’t you worry,” Julian stammered. “Clara and I will figure something out.”

I gave a cold, dry little laugh.

“With my demolition money?”

Julian’s face flushed.

“Mom, that’s not what I meant ”

“Then what did you mean?” I pressed. “Weren’t you in a hurry to use that money to buy a townhouse?”

“I…” Julian was at a loss for words. After a long while, he mumbled, “Mom, you need to rest now. We’ll talk about this later.”

Just then, the door to the room opened and a familiar figure walked in. It was Mr. Peterson, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Mrs. Chen,” he said, walking quickly to my bedside. “I heard you were hospitalized. I came to see you.”

I looked at him in surprise.

“Mr. Peterson, how did you ”

“The staff at the community center told me,” he said. “Everyone is worried about you.”

Julian stood up awkwardly.

“This is James Peterson, my mom’s calligraphy teacher,” I said. “Julian Chen, my son.”

Mr. Peterson shook his hand, his expression a mix of warmth and concern.

“Don’t worry about the class,” he said to me. “Just focus on getting better. Pat and the others all said they wanted to visit, but I was afraid it would be too many people and disturb your rest, so I told them to come in a few days.”

I was so moved my eyes welled up.

“Thank you. I’m sorry to have worried everyone.”

Mr. Peterson asked a few more questions about my condition and promised to connect me with a good physical therapist. The whole time, Julian stood to the side, looking strangely out of place.

After a while, Mr. Peterson got up to leave.

“You rest well. I’ll come see you again,” he said. Before he left, he gave Julian a meaningful look. “Family is the most important thing. I hope you cherish it.”

After Mr. Peterson left, Julian was silent for a long time. Then he suddenly said,

“Mom, I’ll go buy you some fruit,” and hurried out of the room.

I lay alone in the hospital bed, looking at the flowers Mr. Peterson had brought a bouquet of carnations and baby’s breath, simple and fresh. The card read: Wishing Mrs. Chen a speedy recovery from all the members of the community center calligraphy class.

A simple greeting, but it brought tears to my eyes.

These people I had known for only two weeks cared more about me than my own family.

In the evening, the door opened again. I thought it was Julian, but instead I saw Pat peeking in, holding a thermos.

“Mrs. Chen,” she whispered. “I snuck in. The nurse wouldn’t let too many visitors in.”

I was so happy I tried to sit up. Pat quickly stopped me.

“Don’t move, don’t move. Just lie down,” she said, opening the thermos. A delicious aroma immediately filled the room. “I made some chicken soup. It’s good for recovery.”

With Pat’s help, I drank a few sips of the hot soup. My stomach instantly felt warm.

“Where’s your son?” Pat looked around. “Why isn’t he here?”

“He went to buy something,” I said softly.

Pat pursed her lips.

“You’re in the hospital and he has time to go shopping,” she muttered. Then she lowered her voice. “Mrs. Chen, let me tell you something. My son was the same way. When I was sick in the hospital, he was busy looking at houses with his wife.”

I shook my head with a bitter smile.

“Pat, please…”

“Okay, okay, let’s not talk about sad things,” she said quickly, patting my hand. “Did you know Mr. Peterson had your Harmony in the Family piece framed? He said he’s going to put it in the most prominent spot at the exhibition.”

I looked at her in surprise.

“I wrote it so poorly.”

“Who says?” Pat’s eyes widened. “Mr. Peterson said your characters have a strong structure, that you must have practiced since you were a child.”

As we were chatting, the door was suddenly pushed open. Julian stood there with a bag of fruit, clearly surprised to see Pat.

“And you are…?” he asked.

“I’m a friend of Mrs. Chen,” Pat said, standing up straight. “My name is Pat. You must be her son, right? You look just like her.”

Julian nodded awkwardly.

“Hello. Thank you for visiting my mom.”

“Mrs. Chen is very popular at our community center,” Pat said meaningfully. “Everyone loves her. You’re very lucky to have such a wonderful mother.”

Julian’s face turned red, then pale. He could only nod.

Pat stayed for a little while longer, then left. Before she went, she whispered to me,

“Mrs. Chen, remember: if you need anything, just ask. We old folks may not have much money, but there’s strength in numbers.”

I squeezed her hand gratefully.

After Pat left, Julian silently peeled an apple, cut it into small pieces, and fed it to me. Neither of us mentioned the unpleasantness from before, but in the silence, something seemed to be slowly changing.

That night, when the nurse came to give me an injection, Julian was asked to leave the room. When he came back, his face was unusually grim.

“What is it?” I asked.

Julian hesitated.

“Clara called,” he said at last. “Leo has a fever. She can’t leave, so she wants me to go back.”

My heart tightened.

“Then you should go back. Leo is more important.”

“But you…”

“I’ll be fine,” I managed a smile. “The nurses are here.”

After a moment of internal conflict, Julian finally said,

“Then I’ll go back and check. I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

He helped me adjust my bed, poured a glass of water, and placed it within reach.

“Mom, if you need anything, just press the call button,” he said.

Watching his retreating back, I had mixed feelings. When Leo was sick, he rushed back immediately. When I had a stroke, he hesitated.

That was reality.

The next morning, the doctor came for rounds. He said my condition was stable and I could start simple rehabilitation exercises. A young therapist taught me how to move my fingers and toes. Although each movement was incredibly difficult, I gritted my teeth and persisted.

Julian didn’t show up until noon, his eyes bloodshot.

“Leo’s fever went up to one hundred and two,” he said wearily, sitting down. “It was a rough night. He’s better now. Clara took the day off to take care of him.”

I nodded and said no more.

In the afternoon, a community worker, Sarah, suddenly visited, bringing a basket of fruit.

“Mrs. Chen,” she said, walking quickly to my bedside. “I heard you were hospitalized. I’m here on behalf of the community to see you.”

I was a little surprised.

“Sarah, how did you know?”

“Your son mentioned it when he came to the community office to handle some paperwork,” Sarah said. She lowered her voice. “Mrs. Chen, about the demolition. Your son came yesterday and revoked the previous power of attorney. He said you would handle it personally after you’re discharged.”

I looked at the sleeping Julian in surprise. I had never expected him to do that on his own.

Sarah continued,

“He also asked about legal protections for the elderly. Mrs. Chen, your son actually cares a lot about you.”

I shook my head with a bitter smile.

“I hope so,” I said quietly.

Sarah talked about some recent community news and left me her contact information, saying I could call her anytime.

In the evening, Clara actually came to the hospital with Leo. His face was still a bit pale, but he was in good spirits. As soon as he entered, he called out,

“Grandma!” and rushed to my bedside.

“Be careful,” Clara quickly pulled him back. “Grandma is sick. You can’t jump on her.”

I reached out my left hand and stroked Leo’s hair.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Grandma’s fine. Is your fever gone?”

Leo nodded, then took a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket.

“I drew this for Grandma.”

On the paper was a crayon doodle of a person in a hospital bed with a smaller person standing next to it.

“It’s beautiful,” I said sincerely. “Grandma loves your drawings the most.”

Clara stood by, her expression complicated.

“Mom, are you feeling better?” she asked.

“Much better,” I said calmly, noticing the dark circles under her eyes. It seemed Leo’s illness had taken a toll on her, too.

“Um…” Clara wrung her hands. “Don’t worry about the medical bills. Julian and I have discussed it. We’ll pay for it with the demolition mon I mean, with our savings.”

I looked at her directly.

“With your savings?” I repeated.

Clara’s face flushed.

“Yes. With our savings,” she said quickly. “You just focus on getting better.”

Leo tugged at my sleeve.

“Grandma, when you come home?” he asked.

“Soon,” I said, forcing a smile. “As soon as the doctor says I can.”

They didn’t stay long, saying they were afraid of tiring me out. Before leaving, Clara, for the first time, said,

“Mom… you rest well. Call if you need anything.”

I nodded without saying much. Change didn’t happen overnight. But at least this was a start.

That night, Julian stayed with me. I woke up in the middle of the night to find him sitting in the chair by my bed, looking at something in the dim light. I looked closer and saw it was the growth album I had made for him from his birth to his college graduation. Next to each photo, I had written the date and a little story.

He was so engrossed he didn’t even notice that I was awake.

In the moonlight, I saw him wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. At that moment, I suddenly understood: my son might have lost his way, but deep down, he was still the boy who would cry over an album his mother made.

It was just that the adult world was too complicated. Marriage, career, children all the pressure had made him forget his original self.

I gently closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep. In a corner of my heart, the ice began to quietly melt.

On the seventh day of my hospital stay, I could already lift my right hand slightly. Although I couldn’t hold anything yet, the physical therapist said I was making great progress. Julian came almost every day, sometimes with soup from home, sometimes just sitting quietly with me during therapy. Clara visited twice more, always bringing Leo. Her attitude was much softer than before, but her eyes always held a hint of caution, as if she were on guard against me suddenly bringing up the demolition money.

That afternoon, I was practicing gripping a rubber ball when Mr. Peterson appeared at the door.

“Mrs. Chen,” he said, walking in with a bright smile. “You’re looking much better.”

I put down the rubber ball, surprised and happy.

“Mr. Peterson, what brings you here?”

“I came to bring you this.” He took a photo out of his briefcase. It was from the community art exhibition. The Harmony in the Family piece I had written was framed beautifully and placed in the center of the display.

“Everyone misses you very much,” Mr. Peterson said. “Pat talks about you every day. Says the tea parties aren’t the same without Mrs. Chen.”

I stroked the photo, my nose tingling.

“Please thank everyone for me,” I said.

Mr. Peterson then told me that, after seeing the exhibition, the senior center had invited the community to host a calligraphy class and they had specifically requested me as a teaching assistant.

“Me?” I stared in disbelief. “I’ve only had a few lessons.”

“You have a gift,” Mr. Peterson said, winking. “And the community residents all like you.”

As we were talking, Julian pushed the door open and was clearly surprised to see Mr. Peterson.

“This is James Peterson, my calligraphy teacher,” I said.

Mr. Peterson extended his hand.

“Julian Chen,” he said with a polite nod. “Your mother is our pride and joy. Her calligraphy is improving by leaps and bounds. She’s the star student in our class.”

Julian looked at me in astonishment.

“Mom, you’re that good?” he asked.

I felt a little embarrassed.

“Mr. Peterson is exaggerating,” I said, but a warmth spread through my chest.

Mr. Peterson stayed for a little longer, then left, saying that when I was discharged, they would hold a welcome party for me at the community center.

After seeing him out, Julian sat by my bed.

“Mom,” he said quietly, “you really love calligraphy, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“I loved it when I was young. I just never had the chance to learn.”

Julian was silent for a moment. Then he said,

“Mom, I’m sorry. I never knew you had this hobby.”

“It’s okay,” I said softly. “You’re busy with work. I understand.”

This seemed to sting him. He lowered his head, his hands clenched.

“No, Mom. It’s because I wasn’t paying attention. I’ve always seen you as ‘Mom,’ but I forgot that you’re also Eleanor.”

I looked at him, surprised.

“Julian,” I said.

“Mom,” he said, looking up, his eyes red, “when you’re discharged, let’s have a proper talk about the demolition money. About the future. I have some thoughts.”

I nodded, feeling both hopeful and anxious.

Three days later, the doctor finally approved my discharge. Although my right hand hadn’t fully recovered, I could manage my daily life. Julian and Clara came to pick me up together. Leo didn’t come because he had preschool.

When I got home, I found the apartment clean and tidy, with a bouquet of flowers on the dining table. Clara, for the first time, cooked herself, making a few light dishes.

“Mom,” Julian cleared his throat at dinner. “Clara and I have discussed it. After you’ve rested, we’ll have a family meeting to clear things up.”

“We can talk now,” I said, putting down my chopsticks.

Julian and Clara exchanged a look. Then Julian said,

“All right. About the demolition money for the old house… we’ve decided to respect your wishes.”

“Respect my wishes?” I repeated.

Clara suddenly jumped in.

“Mom, we found a three-bedroom apartment not far from here. The neighborhood is very nice.” She took a brochure out of her bag. “The master bedroom is south-facing with a balcony.”

I opened the brochure. It was a new apartment building, three bedrooms and two living rooms. It did look nice.

“We’ve done the math,” Clara said eagerly. “After the demolition money comes, we’ll give you one-third. The rest is just enough for the down payment on this apartment. Julian and I will slowly pay off the mortgage.”

I closed the brochure and looked her in the eye.

“Where is my room?” I asked calmly.

Clara was taken aback, then pointed to the floor plan.

“This secondary bedroom gets plenty of sunlight. It’s not the basement anymore,” she said quickly.

“And the basement?” I asked.

Clara’s face turned bright red.

“That was… that was just a thoughtless idea before,” she stammered. “In the new house, you’ll of course live upstairs.”

“Let’s not lie to each other anymore,” I said quietly. “What I heard, what I saw I’m clear about them in my heart.”

The dining table fell silent. The air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Julian hung his head. Clara bit her lip, her fingers twisting nervously.

“Mom,” Julian finally spoke, “we were wrong. We were really wrong. I’ve thought a lot during this time.”

He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and pushed it toward me.

“This is a new distribution plan I made. Take a look.”

I picked up the paper. It detailed a new plan for the demolition money: forty percent for me, sixty percent for them to buy the new house. The new house’s title would have all three of our names, and I would decide the style of my room.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” I asked, putting the paper down and looking Julian in the eye.

Julian took a deep breath.

“Mom, the night you were hospitalized, I looked through the growth album you made for me,” he said. “Next to every photo, you had written the date and a story from that time, from my birth until now.”

His voice choked up.

“It was only then that I realized you remember every important moment of my life,” he continued, “but I didn’t even know you liked calligraphy.”

Clara shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

“Also,” Julian added, “that day Mr. Peterson came to see you, he said you were their pride and joy. I suddenly felt so… jealous. My mother is such a treasure in others’ eyes. Why did she become a burden in mine?”

My eyes welled up, but I held back the tears.

“Mom,” Julian said, grabbing my hand, “give me a chance to make it up to you. I know I hurt you, but I really regret it.”

Clara suddenly stood up.

“I’ll go check if Leo’s clothes are dry,” she said, and hurried out of the dining room.

Julian watched her leave and sighed.

“Clara knows she was wrong too,” he said softly. “She’s just too proud to admit it.”

I shook my head.

“Julian, change takes time,” I said. “A simple ‘I was wrong’ can’t erase everything.”

“Then what should we do?” Julian asked anxiously. “How can we make you forgive us?”

“It’s not about forgiveness,” I said quietly. “It’s about rebuilding trust.”

I took out my phone, found a photo I had saved, and showed it to him. It was a picture of a senior living community well-equipped with a medical center, activity rooms, and even a small garden.

“I looked into this while I was in the hospital,” I explained. “I want to use my share of the demolition money to pay the fees here and move in.”

Julian’s expression changed drastically.

“Mom, you’re going to leave us?” he asked in a panic.

“Not leave,” I shook my head. “But find a lifestyle that’s more suitable for me. There, I’ll have my own space and can participate in various activities. You can come visit me anytime. Leo can stay over on weekends.”

Julian was at a loss.

“Didn’t we agree to live in the new house together?” he asked.

“Julian,” I said, holding his hand, “a mother–son relationship doesn’t end just because we live apart. On the contrary, a little distance might be good for both of us.”

Julian lowered his head in pain.

“Mom, you don’t trust us anymore, do you?” he asked quietly.

I was silent for a moment, then answered honestly.

“Not enough right now,” I said. “But this isn’t the end. It’s a new beginning.”

Clara had returned to the doorway at some point and overheard our conversation. To my surprise, she didn’t object. Instead, she said softly,

“Mom, if you really want to live in a retirement I mean, a senior community, we can help you choose a better one.”

“It’s not a retirement home,” I corrected her gently. “It’s a senior living community. They have a lot of activities, people my own age to socialize with, and professional nursing staff.”

“But Leo will miss you,” Clara said weakly.

“I’ll come back often to see him,” I said with a smile. “Or you can bring him to my place to play. A little distance in a relationship might be better than being crammed together and resenting each other.”

Julian and Clara looked at each other, unsure how to respond.

“Also,” I continued, “I plan to use part of the money to set up an education fund for Leo, specifically for his future schooling.”

Clara’s eyes lit up.

“Really, Mom?” she asked.

“Of course,” I nodded. “He’s my grandson. I love him.”

This seemed to touch Clara. Her eyes turned red and she suddenly started to cry.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said.

I handed her a tissue and didn’t say much. Some wounds need time to heal. Some trust needs to be rebuilt through actions, not words.

That night, we reached a preliminary agreement. After the demolition money came, forty percent would be mine for the senior community fees and Leo’s education fund. Sixty percent would go to Julian and his family for their new house. The new house would have a room reserved for me, and I could stay there anytime. As for the senior community, I planned to try living there for three months to see if it suited me.

Before bed, Julian came to my room holding an old box.

“Mom, I found this when I was cleaning out the study,” he said.

I opened the box. Inside were all my paintings and design sketches from when I was young. Some had yellowed, but they were well preserved. I had completely forgotten about these.

“You see?” Julian said softly. “You were so talented once, but you gave it all up for me and Dad.”

I stroked the yellowed drawings, memories flooding back.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I once had dreams, hobbies, and an identity other than mother and wife.”

“Mom,” Julian said, suddenly kneeling before me like he did when he was a child. “I support your decision to go to the senior community. Not because I don’t want to take care of you, but because I want you to find yourself again. To be as happy as you are at the community center.”

My tears finally fell, dripping onto those youthful dreams. Julian hugged me and gently patted my back, just like I used to comfort him.

In that moment, I felt like I could see the light at the end of a long tunnel. Maybe we really could find a new way to get along. Not through sacrifice or demands, but through mutual respect and fulfillment.

Three months later, sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the calligraphy piece I had just finished. The four large characters Spring blossoms, autumn fruits stretched across the paper, the ink still wet and glistening in the sun.

“Mrs. Chen, this piece is magnificent,” Mr. Peterson said, standing beside me. “Your brush work is becoming more and more steady.”

I put down my brush and flexed my right wrist. After continuous physical therapy, my right hand had recovered about eighty percent of its function. Writing and painting were no longer a problem.

“Let’s use this one for next week’s community exhibition,” I said with a smile.

“Excellent,” Mr. Peterson replied, helping me roll up the paper. “By the way, for tomorrow’s intergenerational event, is your son confirmed to attend?”

I nodded.

“He said he would come.”

Three months ago, I had moved into this high-end senior living community. Although Julian had accepted my decision, he was clearly reluctant at first. He had brought Leo to visit me a few times during this period, always in a hurry. Clara had only come once. I knew they were still adjusting to this new way of living.

“Take it slow,” Mr. Peterson said, as if reading my mind. “It takes time to mend family rifts.”

As we were speaking, my phone rang. It was a message from Julian.

Mom, what time does the event start tomorrow? I took a half day off.

I replied with the time, a flicker of anticipation in my heart. I had proposed this intergenerational event, inviting family members to visit the community, understand the lives of the elderly, and promote mutual understanding. Many residents’ children had agreed to come, but I was most concerned about Julian’s attitude.

The next morning, the activity center was decorated warmly and festively. The walls were adorned with residents’ calligraphy and paintings, and long tables were set with pastries and fruit. As one of the event organizers, I arrived early to help.

At ten o’clock, family members began to arrive. Pat’s son came with her grandson. Another resident’s daughter arrived, pushing her father in a wheelchair. I kept looking toward the entrance, searching for Julian.

“Don’t be nervous,” Pat said, patting my shoulder. “Your son will come.”

Sure enough, around ten-thirty, Julian appeared at the entrance alone, wearing a casual suit and holding a bouquet of flowers.

I went to greet him. He handed me the flowers somewhat shyly.

“There was traffic,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m glad you came.”

I took the flowers and showed him around the event. Julian looked around curiously the calligraphy display, the handicraft booth, the wall of activity photos. His gaze lingered for a long time on my calligraphy work.

“Mom, did you really write this?” he asked, pointing to the Harmony in the Family piece. His voice was full of disbelief.

“Of course,” I said proudly. “Mr. Peterson says I have a talent for it.”

Julian shook his head and smiled.

“In my memory, you only knew how to do housework and take care of Leo,” he said. “I never knew…”

“People have many sides, don’t they?” I said softly. “Just like you’re not only Clara’s husband, Leo’s father, and a department manager, but also my son.”

Julian nodded thoughtfully.

After the event officially began, I went onstage as a resident representative and spoke about my life in the senior community the calligraphy class, the tea parties, the fitness courses, and how these activities had helped me rediscover my self-worth.

“Many children think that bringing their parents to live with them is the definition of filial piety,” I said. “But sometimes, a little distance and independent space can actually make family relationships healthier. Here, I am not only a mother and grandmother, but also Eleanor a student in the calligraphy class and an organizer of community events.”

In the audience, I saw Julian listening intently, his expression softening.

After my speech, there was warm applause. Julian stood in the back row, clapping particularly hard, his eyes shining.

During the free time, he took the initiative to find Mr. Peterson and ask about my calligraphy studies, chatted with Pat to learn about my daily life, and even sampled desserts from the community cafeteria, saying they were better than the café downstairs from his office.

“Mom,” he said, holding my hand after the event, “can I see your room?”

I took him to my little apartment a one-bedroom, not large, but with great lighting. The walls were decorated with my calligraphy. My desk was set up with art supplies, and the balcony held a few potted plants.

“This is really nice,” Julian said, looking around. His tone was sincere. “Much better than I imagined. I can tell you’re very happy here.”

“Do you like it?” I asked.

“I do,” he nodded.

We sat down at the small dining table. I brewed a pot of tea. Julian took a file folder out of his bag.

“Mom, the demolition money came through yesterday,” he said. “As we agreed, this is your share.”

I took the folder. It contained the bank transfer receipt and a copy of the new property deed. The new house was registered in all three of our names, with a room reserved for me as promised.

“Clara wanted to bring it over herself,” Julian said, a little embarrassed, “but she had to work late.”

I knew it was an excuse, but I didn’t expose it.

“Please thank her for me,” I said.

Julian took a sip of tea and suddenly said,

“Mom, I’ve thought a lot these past three months. Seeing you so happy here, I feel both happy and guilty.”

“Why guilty?” I asked gently.

“Because I never thought about what you needed,” he said, lowering his gaze. “I only knew how to take from you help with the baby, the housework but I forgot that you have your own life and dreams.”

I patted his hand.

“It’s not too late to know now,” I said.

“Mom,” Julian looked up, his eyes red. “Can I see that growth album? The one you made for me?”

I took the album from the bookshelf and handed it to him. Julian flipped through it page by page from his birth to his one-month photo, from his first steps to his first day of school. Next to each photo was the date and a little story I had written.

When he reached the last few pages, Julian suddenly froze. There were a few photos he had no memory of. At his college graduation, I stood beside him, smiling radiantly. On his wedding day, Arthur and I posed with him, tears in our eyes. When Leo was born, I held the newborn, my face full of happiness.

“These were all important moments in your life,” I said softly. “I’ve always treasured them.”

Julian’s tears finally fell, dripping onto the photos.

“Mom, I was wrong,” he said, his voice shaking. “I was so wrong.”

I hugged him, gently patting his back the way I used to when he was little.

“It’s okay, son,” I whispered. “It’s okay.”

That afternoon, we talked for a long time about funny stories of Arthur, about why I had moved in with them in the first place, about how overwhelmed he felt balancing work and family. The three-hour conversation was more in-depth than everything we had said to each other in the past three years.

Before he left, Julian hugged me tightly.

“Mom, I’ll bring Leo to see you next week,” he said. “Can Clara come too?”

“Of course,” I smiled. “I’ll teach Leo to write with a brush.”

After seeing Julian off, I returned to my desk, opened my journal, and wrote down my feelings from the day.

Julian came to the event today. He’s changed. He’s starting to truly see me.

At sixty-eight, my life seems to have just begun. I have something I love, my own space, and a family I can see anytime. It turns out that old age isn’t about waiting to be taken care of, but about rediscovering your own worth.

Closing my journal, I looked out the window. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow on the community garden. A few elderly residents were strolling and chatting. Their laughter drifted up on the breeze.

I picked up my brush and wrote four large characters on a fresh sheet of paper.

Free and at peace.