Poor People Don’t Go To Fancy Places. YOU Stay Home!’ My Daughter-In-Law Said…

I spent the mornings organizing all my documents. Every paper, every receipt, and every piece of evidence of what had happened was accounted for.

I kept them in separate folders, everything ordered and everything clear. Mr. Thompson had advised me to keep copies of everything, and I followed his advice to the letter.

Susan came to visit me on Wednesday afternoon. She brought a lemon cake she had made that morning.

She sat with me in the kitchen and poured me coffee without asking anything.

But I knew she was curious. She had noticed Mr. Thompson’s car and had seen Michael leaving my house with a distraught face.

“Are you okay, Eleanor?”

she finally asked.

I looked her in the eyes—those kind eyes that only wanted to make sure I was okay. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t lie.

“No, I’m not okay. But I’m going to be.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

she asked.

I told her everything—every detail, every lie, and every betrayal. Susan listened to me in silence without interrupting or judging.

When I finished, she took my hand in hers.

“That boy doesn’t know what he has. He never knew.”

“It doesn’t matter what he knows or doesn’t know anymore. What matters is what I know now,”

I replied.

“And what are you going to do?”

she asked.

“I am going to recover my dignity. I am going to make sure this never happens again.”

Susan nodded.

“If you need anything—anything at all—just tell me. You are not alone in this.”

Her words filled me with warmth. It was the warmth I should have received from my own family but only found in a neighbor—in a true friend.

Thursday morning, Mr. Thompson called me.

“Mrs. Davis, I have news. Michael has started selling some things. He put the car up for sale, and he is trying to get a personal loan to cover part of the debt.”

“And Kate?”

I asked.

“She knows. There was a pause. From what I understand, she is furious—very furious. She has been calling Michael all kinds of names; she says he ruined her life.”

Of course. Kate only cared about herself, about her image, and about her lifestyle.

She didn’t care about the damage they had caused or about the mother they had betrayed.

“Good. Let her face the consequences,”

I said.

“There is something else, Mrs. Davis. Kate has been making calls, trying to get money from her own family. It seems her parents have resources; they could help pay the debt faster.”

“As long as they pay what they owe, I don’t care where the money comes from,”

I replied.

“Understood. I will keep you informed of any developments,”

he said.

I hung up the phone and stood there thinking. Kate asking her family for help, Kate humiliating herself in front of her parents—Kate having to explain that her husband had committed fraud against his own mother.

There was a certain poetic justice in all of this, but I didn’t feel satisfaction.

I didn’t feel joy for her suffering; I just felt a void. It was the void of knowing my son had chosen that woman over me.

He had preferred to please her than to respect his own mother. Friday night, while I was preparing dinner, my phone rang.

It was an unknown number. I hesitated to answer, but something made me pick up.

“Mrs. Eleanor?”

It was a woman’s voice, older and educated.

“Yes, who is this?”

“My name is Mrs. Sterling, Sonia Sterling. I am Kate’s mother.”

My heart skipped a beat. Kate’s mother—what would she want?

“Mrs. Sterling, how can I help you?”

“I need to speak with you in person. Could you come to my house tomorrow? It is important.”

“What is this about?”

I asked.

“I prefer to discuss it in person, please. It is about our children, about this terrible situation.”

Something in her voice made me accept.

“Okay. What time?”

“Is 3:00 in the afternoon okay?”

“Okay,”

I replied.

“I will send you the address by text,”

she said.

I accepted and hung up. What would Kate’s mother want?

Would she come to defend her? To attack me? To ask me to forgive everything and forget what happened?

That night I barely slept. I tossed and turned in bed thinking of all the possibilities and preparing what I would say.

I was rehearsing the answers. I wasn’t going to let myself be manipulated.

I wasn’t going to allow anyone to make me feel guilty for protecting myself.

Saturday, I got ready carefully. I put on my best dress—the light blue one that always made me feel presentable.

I combed my hair and put on light makeup. I wanted to look dignified and strong, not like the poor and embarrassed woman Kate had described.

The address Mrs. Sterling sent me was for a house in the upscale part of the city. It was a large house with a well-kept garden, an iron gate, and a fountain in the entrance.

Everything screamed money—old money. I rang the bell, and a housekeeper opened the door.

She led me through a huge living room to a back garden where Mrs. Sterling was waiting for me.

She was seated at a wrought-iron table. She stood up when she saw me.

She was a woman of about 70, elegant, with perfectly coiffed hair and dressed in expensive but understated clothes.

“Mrs. Davis, thank you for coming.”

She extended her hand. Her grip was firm.

“Mrs. Sterling,”

I acknowledged.

“Please sit down. Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

“A coffee is fine,”

I said.

She signaled to the housekeeper, who disappeared inside. We sat facing each other.

Sonia looked at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. It wasn’t hostility, but it wasn’t warmth either.

“I know this is awkward for both of us,”

she began.

“But I needed to talk to you. I needed to meet you.”

“Meet me?”

I asked.

“Yes, because my daughter has told me many things about you, and frankly, I wanted to see if they were true.”

I felt my body tense up.

“What kind of things?”

“Kate told me that you were a difficult woman, that you were always asking for money, that you were manipulative, that you used guilt to control Michael.”

Sonia paused.

“But when I found out what actually happened, what Michael did to you, I knew my daughter was lying.”

The housekeeper brought the coffee. We waited in silence until she left.

“Does Kate know you are talking to me?”

I asked.

“No, and I would prefer she didn’t know. At least not yet.”

Sonia picked up her teacup.