Susan Thompson slowly dialed her youngest son’s number, feeling her fingers trembling treacherously.

The old washing machine, which had faithfully served her for the past fifteen years, had finally given out, ending its service with a loud screech before falling silent forever. A new one was scheduled to arrive in an hour, and the urgency of dealing with household tasks threw her off balance.

The ringtone echoed loudly in the empty kitchen. Susan held her breath as, instead of her son Ben’s familiar voice, she heard the cold, January-wind tone of her daughter-in-law.

“Hello?” The irritation was obvious in that single word.

“Hi, Olivia,” Susan tried to make her voice sound as gentle as possible. “Can I speak to Ben?”

“What is it this time?” The question came like a gunshot.

“Well, the washing machine finally broke down. The new one’s coming soon, and I need to get the old one out and—”

“And calling movers is not an option?” Olivia interrupted. There was steel in her voice.

“Dear, with my pension…” Susan began, but stopped as she heard a sharp exhale on the other end.

“Oh yes, of course, your pension.” Sarcasm now laced Olivia’s tone.

“You stayed at home all your life, didn’t work a day, and now you complain about how little you get.”
Susan felt a lump in her throat. She had devoted her life to raising her children, to nurturing and educating them, and helping them become strong, independent adults.

“Olivia, I…” she tried to explain.

“You know what?” the voice on the other end now rang with fury. “Stop using your kids as free labor.”

Ben has his own life now, his own family. Your old age is your problem. We don’t owe you anything.

“My dear…” Susan whispered the word, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“You’ve had enough of our patience,” Olivia snapped, and the call ended in abrupt beeps.
Susan stared at the silent phone for a long time.

After the painful conversation, Susan remained frozen at the kitchen table, staring blankly into space. Her fifty-four years suddenly felt like they were crushing her. Since her husband’s passing seven years earlier, she had increasingly relied on her sons’ help. Ben, the youngest, lived just a few blocks away. But since marrying Olivia, their relationship had clearly deteriorated.

A quick call to her older son, Michael, was just as fruitless. He was away on a business trip and wouldn’t be back until the following week. Though he spoke to her more kindly than Olivia had, the result was the same – no one could or wanted to help her.

Susan wiped away a solitary tear and stood up with resolve. She felt humiliated and abandoned, but she couldn’t let herself fall apart. She called the delivery company and asked to postpone the washing machine drop-off until the next day. Then she counted her modest savings – the money she had put aside for “hard times.” It seemed that time had come.

She opened the old laptop Michael had gifted her years ago and started searching.

At seven o’clock the next morning, the doorbell rang persistently. On the doorstep stood four strong men in blue uniforms, their van parked outside.

“Good morning, Mrs. Thompson? We’re from ‘Rapid Relocations.’ We have an order scheduled for today,” said the oldest of them, checking a form.

Susan greeted them with a calm smile. She was already dressed and ready.

“Yes, thank you for coming. Please start with the washing machine in the bathroom – it’s very heavy.”

Within two hours, her three-bedroom apartment was completely emptied. Furniture, appliances, boxes of clothes and personal items – all were carefully loaded into the moving truck. Susan gave the place one last look, closed the door, and handed the keys to the building manager.

“Are you sure about this, Mrs. Thompson? After all these years…” he asked, concerned.

“Absolutely sure, Mr. Mitchell. I’ve made the best decision for myself.”

Ben’s phone rang at 8:30 a.m. It was the manager from his mother’s apartment building.

“Ben Thompson, good morning. Sorry to disturb you, but your mother asked me to inform you she’s handed over her apartment.”

“What do you mean, handed over?” Ben asked, confused, as Olivia stirred beside him, asking sleepily what was going on.

“She’s gone. Took everything. A moving company came and emptied the place. She left me the keys and this envelope for you and your brother.”

Ben jumped out of bed and dressed quickly, ignoring Olivia’s increasingly anxious questions. Within twenty minutes, he was at his mother’s building. The manager handed him a plain white envelope.

With trembling hands, Ben opened it. Inside were an official document and a handwritten letter.

“What does it say?” asked Michael, who had just arrived after Ben’s urgent call.

Ben read aloud, his throat dry:

“My dear sons,

Since my old age is my own problem, as I was reminded yesterday, I’ve decided not to burden you with my existence anymore. I’ve sold the apartment where you both were born and raised. The official documents are attached – the apartment was sold to the Novak family for €85,000.

I used part of the money to buy a small cottage in the countryside, about 125 miles from the city. The rest I will use for my old age, so I won’t have to ask anyone for help.

Don’t worry about me. As you know, I was raised in the country and I know how to take care of myself. Maybe I never worked in an office, but I worked my whole life – for this family.

With love,
Your mother, who owes you nothing, and asks nothing more of you.”

Ben let the letter fall from his hands, a wave of shame and regret crashing over him. Beside him, Michael stood silently, eyes full of tears.

“What have we done?” Ben whispered. “What did we do to her?”

In a small cottage in the village of Maplewood, Susan Thompson sat on her new porch, watching the sunset. The house was modest but charming, with a bit of land where she planned to start a garden. Her new washing machine was already installed, and her cozy furniture arranged just the way she wanted.

For the first time in many years, she felt free. Free from unmet expectations, disapproving glances, and the constant feeling of being a burden. Her new phone rang persistently – Ben’s fifth call in the last hour. Beside it, her old phone showed twelve missed calls from Michael.

With a sad smile, Susan turned off both phones and went inside. Tomorrow would be a new day – the first day of the rest of her life. A life where no one would ever say again:
“I don’t owe you anything.”

Six months later, a car pulled up in front of the cottage in Maplewood. Ben stepped out, staring in awe at the transformation. The garden was in full bloom, the house freshly painted, and a small greenhouse sparkled in the summer sun.

He knocked gently on the door, holding a bouquet – his mother’s favorite roses. When the door opened, he was stunned. Susan looked different – younger, well-rested, with freshly cut hair and a serene smile.

“Mom,” he whispered, his throat tight.

“Ben,” she replied softly, but she didn’t step aside from the door.

“Can… can I come in?”

Susan looked at him for a long moment, then opened the door wider.

“Of course. I just made some pie. But first, tell me – did you come alone, or did you come with a reason?”

Ben lowered his head, still holding the bouquet.

“I came to apologize. And to tell you… that I love you.”

Susan took the flowers and, for the first time in many months, embraced her son.
Sometimes, the harshest lessons are the most necessary.
And sometimes, you have to lose everything… to earn the respect of those who should’ve loved you unconditionally.