A Mother’s Love
The morning mist hung over Boston’s streets as the city slowly awakened. In the kitchen of L’Amour de la Pâte on Newbury Street, my day had already begun. As I carefully rolled out pie dough, I glanced out the window. People walking down the street seemed to be moving more briskly with each passing day. Thanksgiving was approaching.
“Mom, I did it!”
I turned around at the voice behind me to find my son, Lucas, proudly showing off the cupcake he had just finished decorating. Such delicate handiwork seemed beyond his eight years.
“That’s wonderful, Lucas,” I smiled, stroking his head. Saturday mornings had become our special time for baking together.
My husband, William, had left early again for a meeting with clients. As the sales director at Turner Enterprises, his work knew no holidays. He was responsible for a large portion of the company’s revenue.
“Rachel, today’s croissants are absolutely perfect!” Jennifer, one of our staff members, poked her head into the kitchen with an excited report. More than half of today’s croissants had sold within just an hour of opening.
Just recently, we’d been featured in the Boston Globe’s “Notable Bakeries” section, bringing even more customers to our door. We were all happily overwhelmed by the increasing number of people lining up first thing in the morning for our croissants.
For me, who grew up as the daughter of a single mother in Boston’s low-income South End, this success felt like a dream. I had worked desperately hard, with a scholarship to pastry school, gained experience as a pâtissier at a luxury hotel, and finally achieved my goal of owning my own shop.
When Lucas comes home from school, he always heads straight for the kitchen. He does his homework there while occasionally helping with the baking. At a recent parent-teacher conference, he confidently announced during his “Future Dreams” presentation that he wanted to be a pastry chef just like his mom. His teacher praised him as a caring child who helps bring the class together.
William’s work was also going extremely well. He said the major real estate development deal he closed last week would significantly contribute to meeting the company’s sales targets for the year. His skills in leading his team while actively pursuing new business opportunities himself were highly regarded both inside and outside the company.
However, not everyone celebrated our success.
“Marrying someone of her status? It’s a disgrace to our family.” I still vividly remember my mother-in-law, Patricia’s, words when William announced our marriage. For her, the CEO of Turner Enterprises and a pillar of Boston society, marriage to someone from a low-income neighborhood was completely unacceptable.
Though she attended our wedding, her discriminatory attitude never changed. Even when Lucas was born, while she lavished affection on her other grandchildren, she continued to treat him coldly. At society parties, she would act as if we didn’t exist, creating awkward situations for those around us.
Recently, her hostility had escalated further. At Lucas’s birthday party last month, she didn’t show up despite receiving an invitation. Later, when Lucas happened to run into his grandmother, she declared, “Expensive presents don’t suit a child with a mother from the slums.”
The memory of my son’s sad face that day still pains my heart.
Then yesterday, we received an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner, the Turner family’s traditional annual gathering. Every year at this time, tension builds.
“You don’t have to go,” William said, but I shook my head.
“I want to get along with Grandma,” Lucas said at the dinner table, hope shining in his eyes. I couldn’t easily dismiss such an innocent wish.
“Let’s go,” I decided. William’s face showed concern, but understanding our son’s wishes, he nodded quietly.
Thanksgiving morning brought an especially cold wind. The streets of the Chestnut Hill neighborhood, where well-dressed people hurried about, were already decorated for the holiday. Fallen leaves danced in the air, and maple trees were dyed a deep red.
I had been baking an apple pie since early morning. More than consideration for my mother-in-law, it was my professional pride that wouldn’t allow me to arrive empty-handed.
“Mom, is my tie straight?” Lucas nervously adjusted his collar in the back seat. His new navy suit with the light blue tie I’d chosen looked perfect for the special occasion. A silver pin adorned his small breast pocket.
“Perfect,” I answered, glancing at his expression in the rearview mirror. His face showed a complex mix of tension and anticipation. William’s profile in the driver’s seat was also more rigid than usual. I could see his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than normal.
When we arrived at the Turner Mansion, several luxury cars were already lined up in the parking lot: a Bentley, a Mercedes, and a Rolls-Royce, all gleaming in the winter sunlight.
The Victorian-style building seemed to radiate a special brilliance for the occasion. The red brick exterior, elegant arched windows, and meticulously maintained front garden all spoke to the Turner family’s history and authority.
Opening the front door, we were met with warm air and the savory aroma of roasting turkey. The spacious hall, illuminated by sparkling chandeliers, was already filled with relatives. The women wore designer dresses, the men in tailored suits. My blouse from a boutique felt distinctly out of place.
“William, Rachel, Robert,” my father-in-law greeted us warmly. His mild-mannered nature always prioritized family harmony. His gray suit seemed to express both his dignity as chairman and his gentle personality.
“Lucas, you’ve grown so tall,” Robert said, gently patting his grandson’s head. The surrounding relatives smiled naturally at the scene. Lucas’s expression also began to relax as he reunited with his cousins. Among the group of eight-year-olds, he gradually let go of his tension.
At first, everything seemed to be proceeding peacefully. The maids bustled about with table settings: the heavy silverware passed down through generations, delicately patterned white china, crystal glasses. The scene they created was as beautiful as a painting.
Pure white candles burned in antique holders, their soft light reflecting off the pristine white tablecloth. In the center sat an enormous turkey, perfectly browned. It was surrounded by traditional Thanksgiving dishes: cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and sweet potato gratin. The dessert card elegantly displayed my apple pie alongside pumpkin and pecan pies.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats,” James, the butler, announced, prompting about twenty family members to gather around the large dining table. The Turner cousins and their families, aunts and uncles, even distant relatives—family members who usually lived separate lives came together on this day.
Then came the sound of high heels descending the stairs. Patricia appeared, wearing an emerald green dress with a diamond necklace. Though she wore a perfect smile, something felt unnatural about it. I sensed something cold lurking behind those eyes.
“Rachel, what a lovely blouse,” she said. I merely nodded slightly, recognizing the sarcasm in her compliment from years of experience. Behind her, the maids paused briefly, watching the scene unfold.
Family members took their seats according to the place cards. Robert and Patricia sat at the head of the table, with the elder relatives beside them. We were directed to seats in the middle.
Lucas’s place was next to mine, but as we approached those seats, my blood ran cold.
Instead of the silver service plate, there was a stainless steel dog food bowl on the table. It was filled with brown kibble. The edge was engraved with the word “PUPPY.”
For a moment, silence fell. I could hear the gasps of surrounding relatives. One uncle coughed. A cousin let out a small scream. An elderly aunt turned away, while a younger cousin stared at the floor.
Lucas’s hand gripped my sleeve. I could feel his small fingers trembling.
“What is the meaning of this?” William’s voice shook with anger, burning in his eyes.
Then, Patricia’s cold voice rang out. Raising her glass elegantly, she deliberately spoke slowly, “Why would a child of slum-raised parents need fine dining?”
With those words came a thin smile, a perfectly calculated insult. Everyone at the table froze. Robert broke into violent coughing, and one of the maids dropped and shattered a glass.
Lucas’s small lips trembled as his eight-year-old eyes desperately tried to hold back tears.
Watching this scene, something in my heart quietly but definitively transformed into resolve.
I slowly stood up, only the creaking of my chair breaking the silence in the dining room. The chandelier cast long shadows across the table. I took my son’s small, cold hand. When I squeezed it firmly, I felt a slight pressure in return.
Without a word, we left our seats. Behind us, I heard William stand up as well, his angry breathing reaching my ears.
Our footsteps echoed on the marble floor as we walked to the entrance. Opening the door, cold air brushed our cheeks. As I helped my child into the back seat, I could hear chaotic voices from inside the house: aunts’ voices of criticism, young cousins’ agitated tones, and Robert’s shouting. But no one came after us. No one tried to stop us until we got into the car.
In the back seat, Lucas trembled slightly. Through the windshield, I looked up at the luxurious mansion. I could see several faces watching us from the second-floor windows, behind the lace curtains. Curious eyes followed us.
Only the sound of the engine broke the Thanksgiving silence. On the drive home, no one spoke a word, just the engine noise cutting through the cold night air. Lucas still shivered slightly in the back seat. The street lights illuminated his exhausted reflection in the car window.
Even after entering our warm home, the humiliation we suffered at the Thanksgiving table cast a cold shadow over our hearts. The living room lights, usually warm and welcoming, seemed to cast strange shadows tonight.
“Lucas, let’s get you in the bath,” I said, gently putting my arm around his shoulders. He nodded silently, still unable to find the courage to speak. As I helped him out of his new suit, I felt his small back occasionally trembling. The fine fabric that should have been filled with his tension and excitement.
I thought about what had happened tonight. Why did she need to be so cruel to an innocent child?
As warm steam filled the bathroom, I gently washed his back. Usually talkative, he remained silent. That silence squeezed my heart.
When we returned from the bathroom, he seemed to have regained some composure. After changing into his pajamas, I knelt before him as he sat on the bed. I watched his expression while carefully drying his hair.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Lucas suddenly whispered.
Those words clutched at my heart. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” I said firmly, embracing him.
Tears burst forth from his small body. The emotions he had been desperately holding back flooded out all at once. Warm tears soaked my chest.
“I just wanted to get along with Grandma.”
I slowly rubbed his back as he sobbed. I couldn’t find words of comfort. I just felt his heart gradually calming in my warm embrace.
“Your pastries are the best, Mom.”
I couldn’t help but smile at those words as he wiped away his tears. I sat beside his bed and began reading his usual bedtime story. Exhausted, he fell into a deep sleep during the story. Though traces of tears remained on his sleeping face, his breathing was peaceful.
I kissed his forehead lightly and was about to leave the room when I heard a small murmur in his sleep: “Mom.”
At that voice, I clenched my fists tightly. No matter what, I would protect this child. That determination solidified within me.
Leaving the bedroom, I found William in the living room, staring intensely at his mobile phone. His expression showed an anger I had never seen before. It was like seeing a different side of my usually calm husband.
“I will never forgive that woman,” he growled in a low voice, his clenched fist trembling. Company documents were scattered messily across the coffee table.
“William, I’ve had enough.”
He stood up and dialed his mother’s number. I didn’t stop him. This confrontation was inevitable. The dial tone seemed unnaturally loud.
“Why, Mother? Why did you do this?”
Patricia’s voice leaked through the receiver, words that sounded like excuses or defiance. Her voice still carried its usual arrogance.
“You thought it was a joke? How can you dismiss such cruel treatment of an eight-year-old child as a joke?” William’s voice gradually grew louder. The veins in his neck stood out with anger.
“Listen carefully. This ends our family relationship today. I’m also quitting the company tomorrow. You won’t control us anymore.”
Patricia’s voice became distraught, but William hung up. His hand was still trembling slightly.
With a deep sigh, he turned to face me. His eyes held determination, though fatigue showed on his brow. “I’m sorry, Rachel, for putting you and our son through this.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong.” I used the same words I had just spoken to our son, now directed at my husband. When I gently took his hand, he squeezed back firmly.
That night, William kept making phone calls late into the night. First, he explained the situation to his trusted subordinates. Surprisingly, many showed willingness to follow him. They too had harbored dissatisfaction with Patricia’s tyrannical management.
“Mr. William, I’m with you,” came the strong words of Tom Watson, a veteran from the sales department. “I’ll submit my resignation too. Let’s work together at the new company.”
“Young Sarah Chen declared without hesitation. As encouraging words continued to arrive, William’s expression gradually softened.
Next came confidential discussions with key clients. Despite the late hour, important clients answered his calls. Many companies who trusted William’s sales abilities showed positive reactions to doing business with the new company.
“We definitely want to continue working with you after your independence,” said the CEO of Johnson Group, Boston’s largest developer, giving us great hope.
As the night wore on, the path to independence gradually became clearer.
The next morning, major changes were already underway at Turner Enterprises headquarters. News of William’s resignation spread throughout the company. Then, excellent employees began submitting their resignations one after another. Long dissatisfied with Patricia’s discriminatory behavior, they decided to join William’s new company.
“At this rate, the sales department will collapse,” came a desperate report from Human Resources.
“Major clients are requesting to review their contracts,” Finance raised serious concerns.
Patricia’s outrageous behavior had begun to shake the entire company.
A few days later, preparations for establishing the new company were steadily progressing. Office space had been secured in a prime location in Boston’s Financial District. Funding was also lined up from multiple investors. William’s network of connections proved invaluable. Meetings with law firms, setting up IT systems, building the new organizational structure—through day and night preparations, the new company, “William Turner & Associates,” gradually took shape.
But on that quiet morning, an unexpected visitor appeared.
“Open up, Rachel!” Instead of using the intercom, the sound of someone banging directly on the door echoed. Patricia’s distraught voice. Her shouting could be heard by the neighbors. Through a gap in the curtains, I could see a luxury car roughly parked by the curb.
I quietly opened the door. There stood Patricia, in an unfamiliar state.
“Why did you seduce my son and destroy our family?” Her designer suit was disheveled, her usually perfect makeup smeared. She waved her luxury handbag wildly, her face a mixture of anger and sorrow. The mask of a social elite and Turner Enterprises CEO had completely fallen away.
“Think carefully about who really destroyed the family,” I answered calmly but firmly.
Just then, we heard movement upstairs. Lucas must have woken up.
“You treated your own grandson like a dog. Is that what family does?”
Silence.
“I won’t listen to words from someone of your status.”
Then, William’s voice rang out from behind me. “That’s enough, Mother.”
He stood at the door, stepping forward to shield me. My husband’s straight-backed figure looked dignified. “Leave. Don’t ever show yourself to us again.” His voice carried unwavering determination.
Patricia stared at her son as if looking at a stranger. For a moment, regret seemed to flash in her eyes, but that emotion was quickly hidden beneath her arrogant expression.
“I have my pride too,” she said in a trembling voice, then turned on her heel.
We silently watched as she got into her luxury car. Her back had completely lost its former dignity. The sound of the door closing echoed quietly, like announcing the start of a new morning.
Lucas came down from upstairs and took our hands. In those small hands, we felt hope for our new future.
The hallways of Turner Enterprises had lost their former vitality. A week after William’s departure, an unusual atmosphere enveloped the entire company. The office floor, once filled with employee energy, was now dominated by heavy silence.
“Over half of our major clients have requested contract reviews. This quarter’s sales forecast is down 40% from last year,” reported Finance Director Mr. Gray in a trembling voice at the board meeting. Before him lay a several-inch-thick report. The numbers, written in red, told the story of the company’s critical situation. The decline in the real estate development division was particularly serious, with new project orders almost at a standstill.
“The turnover rate in the sales department has exceeded 70%. Most remaining employees are actively job hunting. With recent graduates declining their offers, next year’s staffing plan has completely collapsed,” came the serious report from Human Resources. Following William’s departure, talented personnel continued to leave the company. The exodus of young employees was particularly notable, severely depleting the layer that should have been the company’s future.
Patricia tried to argue in her usual high-handed manner, but her voice lacked its former strength. Signs of fatigue showed through her makeup.
“We’ve received a formal request from institutional investors to hold an emergency shareholders’ meeting. The agenda includes management restructuring,” announced the legal director, causing board members to catch their breath. Pressure from major shareholders was increasing daily. The company’s stock price had plummeted, continuing to set new all-time lows. Market capitalization had decreased by 30% in just one week.
Suddenly, the conference room door burst open. “What is the meaning of this?” Robert stormed in, holding a newspaper.
The front-page headline read: “Turner Enterprises CEO Suspected of Misappropriating Company Assets.” The Boston Globe’s thorough investigative report spread across three pages. The article detailed Patricia’s misconduct. She had used the company’s private jet for personal shopping trips, charging the company about $500,000 annually. The $2 million renovation of her Chestnut Hill home had been processed as company expenses. Furthermore, there was blatant unfair treatment of minority employees, opaque promotion criteria, harassment of female employees, and intentional demotion of non-white employees. Harassment of business partners was also reported in detail, particularly her high-handed attitude towards small businesses, unreasonable price reduction demands, and intentional payment delays—actions that completely violated business ethics.
“All these allegations have been reported by whistleblowers, with evidence. The Securities and Exchange Commission has already contacted us about an investigation,” the legal director quietly added. Employees who had long suffered under Patricia’s tyrannical management had begun speaking out en masse. Specific testimonies were continuously being submitted to the anonymous hotline.
“These were legitimate management decisions.” Patricia’s words had completely lost their former authority. Even in her designer suit, she no longer carried the air of a power holder.
Then, Robert spoke gravely. The conference room air instantly froze. “Patricia, you will step down as CEO.”
The conference room fell dead silent. “No, more than that. You’ll leave management entirely. Enough is enough. We can’t allow the company’s reputation to be damaged any further.” Robert’s voice carried unprecedented strength. Known for his mild temperament, he now showed an uncompromising attitude. His eyes held years of regret and new determination.
“Clear out your office immediately.”
While security staff stood by, Patricia silently began packing her belongings. Her figure no longer showed any trace of the once-mighty empress, appearing instead as just a tired, middle-aged woman. Her hands trembled slightly as she packed documents into her expensive Birkin bag.
The next day, an emergency all-employee meeting was held at Turner Enterprises headquarters. The large hall was filled with an atmosphere mixing anxiety and anticipation.
“Effective immediately, I am assuming full authority,” Robert’s voice echoed through the silent hall. “We will completely reform our management policies and build a new system where all employees are evaluated fairly. Specifically, we will immediately implement transparency in promotion criteria, review the compensation system, and establish a diversity promotion committee.”
Small applause began to rise from the audience, and he paused, taking a deep breath. “I want to sincerely apologize to my son, William. My failure to properly supervise has caused deep wounds to him and his family.”
His words caused a small stir in the hall. Many employees seemed to sense real change in the company from this father’s apology.
The market also responded positively to the announcement of the new system. The stock price began showing signs of recovery, rising about 15% from its bottom. Even estranged business partners began expressing a desire to repair relationships. In particular, the development of new internal systems proceeded rapidly. Complete revision of personnel evaluations, enhancement of childcare and nursing care support systems, and active promotion of minority hiring. These initiatives received significant coverage in industry papers.
Meanwhile, William Turner & Associates was off to a strong start. Just one month after its establishment, they had already secured multiple major projects.
“We’ve officially signed the large development project with Johnson Group. The contract value is $50 million,” reported Tom Watson, formerly William’s subordinate and now his right-hand man. His eyes shone with unprecedented brightness. This waterfront development project in Boston had attracted industry attention.
The new company’s office was full of energy. Talented personnel who had transferred from Turner Enterprises were working enthusiastically in their new environment. The growth of young employees was particularly remarkable, continuously generating new ideas in their free environment.
Industry papers favorably reported William’s independence as bringing a fresh wind to the real estate industry. His management philosophy, particularly his emphasis on employee diversity, was highly evaluated. His name quickly became known throughout the industry as a new-era real estate developer.
One day, an email arrived from Robert. “Son, I feel terrible as your father. If possible, I’d like to talk about the company and, more importantly, about family.”
His words conveyed a father’s earnest desire to break the silence. The attached newspaper article suggested the possibility of collaboration between both companies.
William spent a long time considering his reply. He no longer felt hatred or anger, only a wish to build a new relationship remained in his heart. Finally, he wrote a brief message: “Are you free Sunday afternoon? Lucas wants to see you too.”
A small step marking the beginning of a new dialogue. It was also the beginning of a slow healing for a deeply wounded family.
Outside the window, Boston’s winter sun quietly illuminated the city. The light shone gently, as if blessing the dawn of a new era.
Epilogue
Boston’s streets were dressed in Christmas decorations. One month after the Thanksgiving incident, cold winds rustled the illuminated street trees as Newbury Street bustled with holiday shoppers. The interior of L’Amour de la Pâte was even more lively than usual. Long lines formed for Christmas season specialties like stollen and bûche de Noël.
“Mom, you’re in the newspaper again!” Lucas came running excitedly from the back of the shop. My store had been featured in the Boston Globe as “This Year’s Most Notable Bakery.” The article highly praised our product line that added creativity to traditional recipes and the warm atmosphere of the shop.
Meanwhile, in the upscale Chestnut Hill neighborhood, a moving truck quietly pulled away. Patricia was forced to leave the mansion she had lived in for many years. The dramatic decrease in income following her CEO resignation and complete exile from society. Her former friends now acted as if she didn’t exist.
A room in an old Back Bay apartment became her new home. She had to part with most of her luxury furniture and furnishings, keeping only mementos. From the window, the glamorous world of high society where she once reigned now appeared small and distant.
At Turner Enterprises, new winds were beginning to blow. Under Robert’s direct leadership, corporate culture reform was steadily progressing. Unfair practices were completely abolished, replaced by a new evaluation system emphasizing merit and diversity.
Then one day, “I’d like to consider a merger between our companies,” Robert’s proposal to William sent shockwaves through the industry. A vision of father and son joining forces to create a real estate development company for a new era. It meant more than just a business integration. “Turner & Turner Associates”—the new company name embodied their determination to overcome past conflicts and build a new future.
Sunday morning, we enjoyed brunch as a family. Lucas eagerly told his grandfather, Robert, about baking. His smile shone brightly, as if completely forgetting the tears of Thanksgiving night. “Next, I’m going to make a cake for Grandpa.” Those words brought tears to Robert’s eyes.
William’s and my relationship had also grown deeper through this ordeal. His decisiveness and kindness shown during the crisis had strengthened our bond.
However, I sometimes think about Patricia, living alone in her Back Bay apartment. They say she sits by the window on holiday afternoons, watching families pass by on the street, holding an expensive wine glass, quietly reflecting on her former glory.
As brilliant Christmas illuminations decorated the city, everything had changed, and something new was about to begin.