The next morning, Dolores returned to the hospital. She handed the money to the clerk with shaking hands and whispered, “Please schedule my surgery.”
The operation was long and difficult, but when she awoke, light poured through the hospital window—and there, sitting beside her bed, was Ramón.
“Mom,” he said in a voice that cracked under the weight of regret, “I’m sorry. I was so afraid of what my wife would say. I should never have treated you that way.”
Dolores smiled weakly and placed her frail hand over his.
“Son,” she whispered, “money can be replaced. A mother’s heart cannot. I forgave you before you even asked.”
Ramón bowed his head and wept, his tears falling onto her hand like rain. The sound of the hospital machines faded into the quiet rhythm of forgiveness.
Outside, sunlight broke through the clouds for the first time in days.
A Son Transformed
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