I’m a widowed mom, raising my 13-year-old son, Evan, on my own. Since my husband’s passing, things haven’t been easy. I work two jobs to ensure that Evan gets a decent education, food, and a roof over his head. But the nights are long, and sometimes I wonder if I’m giving him the life he deserves. I try my best, but sometimes, I wonder if he’s hiding something.
It started a few days ago when I was cleaning his room. Evan’s a good kid, quiet but thoughtful. While I was tidying up, I stumbled across his old piggy bank. He had mentioned that he wanted to get something with his allowance, but as I picked it up, I was surprised by its weight. Thinking it was full of coins, I gave it a shake.
When I opened it, I was stunned. There, lying in the bottom, was over $3,000 in cash! I couldn’t believe it. My mind raced with questions. Where did he get this money? Why had he kept it hidden?
That evening, Evan casually mentioned that he would be going to a classmate’s birthday party after school the following day. It sounded harmless enough, but something about it didn’t sit right with me. I decided to follow him after school the next day. I needed answers.
The next afternoon, I waited until Evan left the house, pretending I was just going about my usual routine. I trailed him from a distance, staying hidden, trying to make sure he wouldn’t spot me.
I watched him walk straight into a run-down part of town, a place I had never seen him go to before. It wasn’t a neighborhood known for birthday parties. I was beginning to feel that knot of worry in my stomach tighten.
As I followed him down the street, I saw him meet up with a group of older boys. They were gathered outside a small convenience store, laughing and talking like old friends. One of the boys handed Evan a small, neatly folded envelope, and I could see Evan nod in agreement before slipping it into his pocket.
My heart sank. This wasn’t a birthday party. This was something else.
I stayed behind the corner, watching, not sure what to do. Evan had always been a smart kid, but now, I wasn’t so sure. Who were these boys? And what had he gotten himself involved in?
The boys disappeared into the store, and I followed, trying not to be seen. Evan was standing at the counter, chatting with the cashier, who gave him a suspicious nod before handing him a small bag. It was then that the reality hit me: Evan wasn’t just going to a simple party. He was caught up in something dangerous, and I had no idea what it was.
I waited until Evan left, my mind racing with worry and questions. What had he been doing? What was in that bag? And why hadn’t he told me?
I knew I couldn’t confront him right then. He’d be scared, and I didn’t want to break his trust. But I knew one thing for sure — I was going to have a long talk with him, and I would get to the bottom of whatever was going on.
The next day, I approached Evan with a calm demeanor, trying not to show my worry. “Evan,” I said, “I found something in your room, and we need to talk.”
He looked at me with wide eyes, and for a moment, I thought he might lie. But then, he looked down at his hands and sighed.
“I didn’t want to disappoint you, Mom,” he admitted. “But I’ve been saving up for something important. It’s for you — for us. I wanted to help out with the bills. I’ve been doing some stuff after school… nothing bad, I promise. But I didn’t want you to worry.”
My heart ached. Evan had been trying to help in his own way, even if it wasn’t the right way. The money wasn’t from anything illegal, as far as I could tell, but the secret life he’d been leading weighed heavy on me.
I knew it was time to step in, to remind him that he didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was just a kid, and he needed to know that it was okay to ask for help, that we would get through this together.
“I’m proud of you for wanting to help, Evan,” I said softly, wrapping my arms around him. “But we need to figure out a better way, okay? We’ll get through it, together.”