By the time Helen reached her son’s house, her legs trembled from exhaustion. The big iron gate and spotless driveway felt like another world compared to her modest home.
When she rang the bell, a tall woman appeared — Michael’s wife, Lauren, dressed elegantly and carrying an expression colder than the rain.
Helen offered a small, shaky smile. “I came to see you both… and to ask Michael for a little help. I need surgery soon.”
Lauren didn’t answer. She turned, calling over her shoulder, “Michael! Your mother’s here.”
Moments later, Michael appeared. His suit was crisp, his hands full with his phone and car keys.
“Mom,” he said hurriedly, “what’s going on? I’m in the middle of something.”
Helen hesitated, pulling out the folded hospital papers from her bag. “The doctors say I need an operation, and it’s… well, it’s expensive. I was hoping you could lend me some money. I’ll pay you back when your brother sells his harvest.”
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