I worked abroad for three years. Factories, sleepless nights, low pay. Every month I sent almost everything home to my sister Helena. She promised she would take care of our mother.
When I came back, the house was unrecognizable. Paint peeled off the walls. The gate leaned like it had never been fixed. Weeds filled the walkway. The flower pots my mother once cared for were empty.
Inside, the smell hit me—sour food, damp air. Curtains drawn, dust floating, the floor sticky. I followed the sound of coughing to my mother’s room.
She was lying weak on the bed. Thin. Pale. Her silver hair tangled. Around her, piles of trash, rotten fruit, and dirty dishes. Flies buzzed. Her water glass was coated in dust.
She smiled faintly when she saw me. “David… you’re home.”
I held her cold hand and asked, “Mom, what happened? Where’s Helena?”
“She goes out. She says she’s busy,” my mother whispered.
Rage boiled in me. For three years I had trusted Helena. Thousands of dollars sent for medicine and care. And this was what I found.
Then the door slammed. Helena walked in wearing new, expensive clothes. She froze when she saw me.
I demanded answers. She claimed she was “under pressure” and had “expenses.” I reminded her how I had worked in harsh conditions abroad, living on almost nothing, so Mom would be cared for. She admitted she used the money for herself.
I was sick with anger. Our mother starved while she lived comfortably.
From that night on, I stayed. I cleaned the house. I took Mom to the doctor. They said she was weak and malnourished, but she would recover with proper care. I cooked, fed her, and listened to her stories. Slowly, she smiled again.
Helena drifted away, bitter and defensive. Eventually she stopped coming home. I did not chase her.
I had my mother. Her health improved. Her laughter returned. And every time she pressed my hand and said, “Thank you, David,” I felt I had done the right thing.
Money alone had not saved her. Presence did. Care did.
That night, sitting under the stars, I whispered, “I’m home for good, Mom. You’ll never be alone again.”
