The car slowed down in front of a two-story house, freshly painted, with flowers planted along the pathway. My daughter turned to me with tears in her eyes and whispered,
“Mom… this is your home. I bought it for you.”
I froze. “What do you mean? Why?”
She held my hand. “You gave me everything—your love, your life, your years. You never treated me as anything less than your own child. And I know I’ve been distant lately, but that’s because I was working extra jobs, saving every penny. I wanted to give you something back. You always worried about being a burden, about growing old. But you’ll never be a burden to me. You’ll always be my mother.”
I couldn’t hold back my tears. The heaviness that had crushed my heart just minutes earlier melted away. Instead of abandonment, she had been preparing a gift beyond my imagination: a place of peace, safety, and love, where we could still be together—but where I could finally rest after a lifetime of giving.
In that moment, I realized something I had almost forgotten—true love never forgets, and sacrifices never go unnoticed.
She wasn’t taking me away from family. She was bringing me home.