That night, Helen sat in her small kitchen. Her stomach ached with hunger, and the scent of rain drifted through the cracks in the window.
She placed the noodle packet on the table, her only meal for the evening.
Her hands trembled. Inside was a stack of hundred-dollar bills — $3,000 in cash — and a note written in her son’s familiar handwriting.
“Mom,
I’m sorry for the way I spoke earlier.
I didn’t want Lauren to know — she gets upset when I send money home.
Please don’t think I’ve forgotten you.
Take this and get your surgery right away.
I love you. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to say it face-to-face.
– Michael.”
Helen pressed the note to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.
All the hurt from earlier — the disappointment, the sadness — melted away in an instant. Her son still cared. He had only been hiding his love behind silence and fear.
That night, she whispered through her tears, “My boy… you still have your father’s heart.”
Healing More Than a Heart
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