“You’re a burden. I sold Dad’s company. Good luck paying rent,” my son said.
I smiled and replied, “All right, good luck.”
When they landed in Milan and checked their bank accounts, that’s when my real story began.
I was arranging fresh lilies in the crystal vase when I heard Wade’s car pull into the driveway. The sound of his BMW’s engine always made my stomach tighten these days. He only visited when he needed something, and it had been three months since our last conversation.
Through the window, I watched him emerge from the driver’s seat, adjusting his expensive suit jacket. Britney followed, her heels clicking against the pavement as she smoothed her blonde hair. Even from a distance, I could see the determined set of her jaw. Whatever they were here for, she was the one driving it.
The doorbell rang twice, sharp and impatient. I set down the vase and walked slowly to the front door, my heart already preparing for disappointment.
When I opened it, Wade barely looked at me. “Mom,” he said curtly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “We need to talk.”
Britney swept past me, her perfume overwhelming in the small entryway. She was carrying a leather briefcase, which she clutched like a weapon. “Hello, Agatha,” she said with that fake sweetness that always made my skin crawl.
I led them to the living room, the same one where Wade had taken his first steps thirty-five years ago. Now he stood in the center of it like a stranger, his arms crossed, looking at everything except me.
“Can I get you coffee? I just made a fresh pot,” I offered, trying to maintain some normalcy.
“This isn’t a social visit,” Wade said, his voice colder than I’d ever heard it. “Sit down, Mom. There’s something you need to know.”
My legs felt weak as I sank into my favorite armchair, the one Harold and I had picked out together forty years ago. Britney sat across from me, opening her briefcase with deliberate precision. Wade remained standing, towering over both of us.
“The company is sold,” he announced, as if he were discussing the weather.
The words hit me like a physical blow. “What do you mean, sold?”
Britney pulled out a thick stack of papers, setting them on the coffee table between us. “The sale went through yesterday morning,” she said, her voice business-like. “Wade has been handling all the paperwork for months.”
I stared at the documents, my vision blurring slightly. The company Harold and I had built from nothing. The one that had provided for our family for decades was gone. “But I’m still the majority shareholder,” I whispered.
Wade let out a harsh laugh. “Mom, you haven’t been involved in the day-to-day operations for three years. Not since Dad died. You don’t even understand the financials anymore.”
“That’s not true,” I said, but my voice sounded small, even to my own ears.
“Look at you,” Britney interjected, gesturing toward me with manicured nails. “You can barely manage this house. The bills pile up on your kitchen counter for weeks. You forget appointments. Just last month, you called Wade three times in one day asking about the same thing.”
Heat rose in my cheeks. It was true that I’d been calling Wade more frequently since Harold’s death, but not because I was confused. Because I was lonely. Because I missed having someone to share decisions with.
Wade pulled up a chair directly in front of me, his elbows on his knees. “Mom, you’re 64 years old. You’ve been struggling since Dad passed. The company needs young leadership, fresh ideas. I can’t keep watching you run it into the ground.”
“The company is profitable,” I said, my voice stronger now. “The quarterly reports show…”
“The quarterly reports show what Dad set up years ago,” Wade interrupted. “But the industry is changing. Technology, automation, digital marketing. You don’t understand any of that.”
Britney nodded sympathetically. “We’re not trying to hurt you, Agatha. We’re trying to protect you. The buyer paid well above market value. The money will keep you comfortable for the rest of your life.”
I looked between them, searching for any sign of the son I’d raised, the boy who used to climb into my lap when thunderstorms scared him. Instead, I saw a man who looked at me with barely concealed impatience.
“How much?” I asked quietly.
Wade and Britney exchanged a glance. “2.8 million,” he said. “After taxes and fees, you’ll have about 1.9 million in your account by Friday.”
It was a good price. Better than good, actually. But the money wasn’t the point. “You sold our company without even asking me.”
“I’m asking you now,” Wade said, his tone suggesting the conversation was over. “I’m asking you to sign these papers, making it official, to acknowledge that the sale was in your best interest.”
Britney leaned forward, her voice taking on that syrupy quality again. “Think about it, Agatha. No more board meetings. No more worrying about employee problems or market fluctuations. You can focus on what really matters. Your garden, your book club, maybe some travel.”
Wade stood up abruptly, pacing to the window. When he turned back, his face was hard. “The truth is, Mom, you’re a burden. You have been ever since Dad died. You call me constantly with questions that any competent business owner should know. You second-guess every decision I make, even though you don’t understand the modern marketplace.”
The word “burden” hung in the air like smoke from a fire. I felt something inside me crack. Not break exactly, but crack, like ice beginning to thaw.
“I sold Dad’s company because it was the right thing to do,” Wade continued, his voice rising slightly. “For the business, for the employees, and for you. Good luck with the rent on your new apartment, because this house is going to cost more to maintain than you can afford on a fixed income.”
Britney shot him a warning look, but he ignored it.
“You’re my son,” I said softly, more to myself than to him.
“And you’re my mother,” he replied. “Which is why I’m doing this. Someone has to make the hard decisions, and clearly it’s not going to be you.”
I sat in that chair for what felt like hours, but was probably only minutes. My mind was strangely calm, like the eye of a hurricane. When I finally looked up, both Wade and Britney were watching me expectantly.
“Okay,” I said simply. “Good luck.”
Wade blinked. “What?”
“I said, ‘Okay, good luck.'” I stood up slowly, smoothing my skirt. “I assume you’ll need me to sign those papers. Where?”
Britney fumbled with the documents, clearly expecting more of a fight. “Um, here… and here… and initial there.”
I signed where they indicated, my handwriting steady despite the tremor I felt inside. When I finished, I handed the pen back to Britney and walked toward the front door.
“That’s it?” Wade called after me. “You’re not going to argue? Not going to guilt trip me about family loyalty?”
I turned back to face him, my hand on the doorknob. “Would it change anything?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“I didn’t think so,” I said. “Have a wonderful time in Milan. I hope the weather is nice for your honeymoon.”
Britney’s eyes widened. “How did you know about Milan?”
I smiled for the first time since they’d arrived. “I know more than you think I do.”
After they left, I sat back down in my armchair and looked around the living room. Everything was exactly the same as it had been an hour ago, yet everything had changed. The silence felt different now. Not lonely, but expectant, like the moment before dawn.
I reached for my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart. “Marcus, it’s Agatha. I think it’s time we had that conversation.”
The first call came at exactly 9:47 a.m. Milan time, which was 2:47 a.m. where I was sitting in my kitchen, wide awake, with a cup of chamomile tea. I’d been counting down the hours, knowing that Wade and Britney would try to access their funds first thing in the morning after their arrival.
I let it ring.
The second call came three minutes later, then another. By the fifth call, my phone was vibrating so aggressively on the kitchen table that it nearly fell to the floor. I picked it up on the sixth ring.
“Hello, Wade.”
“Mom,” his voice was strained, panic barely contained beneath a thin veneer of control. “There’s a problem with the bank accounts. Some kind of technical issue. The funds from the sale aren’t showing up.”
I took a slow sip of my tea. “That’s strange. Have you called the bank?”
“Of course I called the bank!” The veneer was already cracking. “They said the account was closed yesterday afternoon. Closed? Mom? How does an account just close itself?”
“I wouldn’t know, dear. Banking isn’t really my area of expertise, as you’ve reminded me many times.”
There was a pause, and I could hear Britney’s voice in the background, sharp and demanding. Wade covered the phone, but I could still make out her words: “Tell her to fix it. Now!”
“Mom,” Wade’s voice was back, more controlled, but with an edge I’d never heard before. “I need you to call Marcus. There’s obviously been some kind of mistake with the paperwork. The sale money should have been deposited yesterday.”
“I’ll call him in the morning,” I said pleasantly. “It’s nearly 3:00 a.m. here, Wade. I’m sure whatever it is can wait until business hours.”
“No, it can’t wait!” The control snapped completely. “We’re in Milan, Mom. We have reservations, plans. I paid for a suite at one of the most expensive hotels in Europe. Our cards aren’t working either.”
I made a sympathetic clicking sound with my tongue. “That does sound inconvenient. I hope you brought some cash for emergencies.”
The line went quiet except for the sound of Wade’s breathing, which was becoming increasingly ragged. When he spoke again, his voice was dangerously low. “Mom, I’m going to ask you once more, and I need you to listen very carefully. Call Marcus right now and find out where our money is.”
“Our money?” I repeated the phrase slowly, tasting each word. “I wasn’t aware that you and I had any joint accounts, Wade.”
“The money from the sale! My inheritance! The 2.8 million that should be in my account right now!”
I set down my teacup with deliberate care. “Oh, that money. Yes, I know exactly where that is.”
“Thank God,” I heard him exhale. “So, call Marcus and—”
“It’s in my account,” I said simply.
The silence that followed was so complete, I wondered if the call had dropped. Then Wade’s voice came back, barely above a whisper. “What did you say?”
“I said the money is in my account. Where it’s always been. Where it will stay.”
The explosion was immediate. “What the hell are you talking about? I sold the company! I have the paperwork! You signed it yourself!”
“Yes, you did sell ‘the company.’ And yes, I did sign the papers. You sold 30% of Herald Industries for $2.8 million. Quite a good price for what you actually owned, all things considered.”
I could hear Britney now, her voice getting closer to the phone. “What is she saying, Wade? What is she talking about?”
“Mom,” Wade’s voice was shaking now, whether from rage or fear, I couldn’t tell. “Stop playing games. You can’t do this. The company was Dad’s. It’s mine now.”
“The company name was your father’s, yes. And the daily operations, the employee payroll, the office lease in downtown Austin… all of that was yours to sell. And you did. Congratulations.”
“Then where…” His voice cut off abruptly, and I knew he was beginning to understand.
“Where are the assets?” I finished for him. “The patents, the international contracts, the commercial real estate, the manufacturing rights… Those were never part of what you inherited, dear. Those were always mine.”
Six months later, I stood in the kitchen making coffee for two, a routine that had become as natural as breathing. The morning sun streamed through windows that sparkled. Wade had cleaned them yesterday as part of his weekly responsibilities. The house had never looked better or felt more peaceful.
“Good morning, Mom.” Wade appeared in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a simple button-down shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. The designer suits were long gone, sold months ago to help pay for basic necessities.
“Good morning. How did you sleep?”
“Better than I have in years, actually.” He moved to the cabinet and pulled out two mugs, a gesture that had become automatic. “I finished reviewing the quarterly reports last night. The German partnership is exceeding projections by 18%.”
I smiled, handing him his coffee—black, the way he’d learned to drink it when expensive coffee makers and fancy creamers were no longer in the budget.
It had taken Wade three months to stop being bitter about working for his mother instead of inheriting her company. It had taken another two months for him to realize that he was actually learning more about business than he ever had when he thought he was entitled to success. The transformation hadn’t been easy or pretty. After Britney left him, Wade had finally shown up on my doorstep, exhausted and humbled, asking if my offer of the spare room was still available.
“I have a meeting with the Henderson Group this afternoon,” I said now, settling at the kitchen table. “Would you like to sit in?”
Wade’s eyes lit up. “Really? They’re one of our biggest potential clients.”
“They’re also notoriously difficult. I thought you might learn something.”
Six months ago, he would have bristled. Now, he nodded eagerly. “I’d appreciate that. I stayed up until midnight researching them.”
I felt a familiar warmth in my chest. “Wade,” I said carefully, “I want you to know that I’m proud of how hard you’ve been working.”
He looked up from his notebook, surprised. “You are?”
“I am. When you first came back, I wasn’t sure if you were here because you genuinely wanted to change or just because you had nowhere else to go.”
“Honestly,” he said, his face reddening slightly, “at first it was because I had nowhere else to go. It took me a while to realize that what I thought was mine was never really mine to begin with. Now… now I realize that I wasted the first 35 years of my life trying to live up to an image of Dad that wasn’t even real.” He looked directly at me. “Now I feel like maybe I’m becoming someone Dad would have been proud of.”
“Your father was always proud of you,” I said gently. “He just wanted you to be proud of yourself, too.”
As we packed up to leave the office later that day, Wade turned to me one last time. “Mom… thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not giving up on me. For showing me who I could become instead of just accepting who I was.”
I smiled, thinking about the long journey that had brought us to this moment. “That’s what mothers do, Wade. We love you enough to let you fail, and we love you enough to help you succeed.”
“Even when your children call you a burden?”
“Especially then,” I said. “Because that’s when they need us most.”