So my new routine began: up at 5 a.m., working until 2 p.m., then heading to my second job until 8 p.m. Weekends were for treatment and housework. I didn’t have time to think, let alone grieve.
Months passed. I worked, paid bills, and continued my treatments. Daniel’s room remained untouched, a constant reminder of the hope I held that he might return.
Dr. Chen continued to support me. During an appointment, she reminded me, “Evelyn, you’re making progress, but this stress isn’t good for you. Have you considered a support group?”
I shook my head. “I don’t have time. There’s always another bill to pay.”
Years passed. The debt slowly decreased, but the emptiness remained. Every birthday, every holiday, I stared at the phone, hoping it would ring. It never did.
I had given up on dating. How could I explain my life—a mess of abandonment and debt?
Then, thirteen years after Daniel left, there was a knock at my door.
Standing there was Daniel, now 31, holding two suitcases and offering a hesitant smile. “Mom, I want to come home.”
My mind raced. I wanted to slam the door, to yell at him for abandoning me all those years ago. Instead, I stepped aside and let him in.
“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping to his knees. “I had problems. I didn’t want to drag you into them.”
“What kind of problems?” I asked.
“Drugs, gambling… I got involved with the wrong people. I thought leaving would protect you.”
My anger softened slightly. “You could have told me. We could have faced it together.”
“I was stupid,” he said. “Can you forgive me?”
I sighed, feeling the weight of those thirteen years. “I need time. But you can stay for now.”
We ate dinner in silence, the clinking of forks the only sound. I couldn’t help but notice how much he’d changed. He wasn’t the teenager I remembered but a man weathered by life.
That night, strange noises woke me. I crept down the hall and found Daniel rifling through the closet where I kept my savings.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He spun around, holding a wad of cash. “Mom, I can explain!”
“Get out,” I said coldly. “Or I’ll call the police.”
For a moment, he looked like he might crumble, but then his expression hardened. He grabbed his bags and left without another word.
As the door slammed behind him, I sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face. Yet, amidst the sadness, I felt a strange sense of peace. I had survived 13 years without him, survived Robert’s death, illness, and debt. I would survive this too.
With the dawn, I made a decision—it was time to focus on myself and the people who truly cared. Daniel had made his choice, and now I would make mine.
I picked up the phone and called Dr. Chen’s office, leaving a message.
“Dr. Chen, it’s Evelyn. I think I’m ready for that support group now. And maybe a therapist. Call me when you can.”
It was time to start over. For me.