I spent my life quietly sacrificing for one person—my son, John. I raised him alone, clipping coupons and skipping luxuries so he could thrive. And he did—he opened his own restaurant, and I was so proud. When it opened, I visited quietly, dressed simply. But a sharply dressed woman approached and told me I didn’t belong there. Embarrassed, I left without seeing John.
The next day, John and his girlfriend came for lunch. It was her—the same woman from the restaurant. Her name was Sarah, and she asked me for a loan to open her café. I declined. She gave John an ultimatum: her or me. He chose her. Weeks passed until John invited me to Sarah’s café opening. I went—prepared. Outside, I asked her about her plans. She confessed she only used John for financial security, mocking his naivety and me.
