“Where did you get that car?” I asked, trying to sound composed.
He gave a shrug. “Got a new job.”
“What kind of job?”
“Nothing illegal, Mom. It’s legit.”
But the more I pressed, the more distant he became. Finally, he stormed out, clearly frustrated.
That’s when I decided to find out the truth for myself.
I followed him to a luxury salon and then watched as a well-dressed woman greeted him with a kiss. They drove off to a large home at the edge of town. My heart sank.
I knocked on the door, and she answered with a warm smile. “You must be Karen. I’m Lydia—Jake’s girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” I echoed, stunned. I turned to Jake, needing answers.
“Please, Mom—just let me explain,” he said quietly.
Later that evening, he sat down across from me, his tone softer.
“Lydia’s more than my girlfriend. She’s believed in me, pushed me to take my art seriously. She introduced me to people in the industry. I sold enough work to make back every penny you lost.”
I couldn’t speak.
“I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d be disappointed. But this… it’s real, Mom.”
A few days later, I stepped into a gallery filled with people admiring Jake’s work. He stood with pride, his eyes shining. Then, he walked to the center of the room and raised the car keys high.
“For the woman who gave everything for me—this is for you.”
Tears filled my eyes.
He hadn’t taken anything from me. He had grown. He had risen.
That night, I learned that trust doesn’t always look like reassurance. Sometimes, it looks like a red sports car and a son finally ready to say, “Thank you, Mom.”