The irony was not lost on me. After decades of silence, I finally had a voice.
Two days before my flight, Ethan appeared in the lobby of my building. The doorman called to announce his presence.
“Tell him I’m packing,” I replied. “I don’t have time for visitors.”
From my window, I could see him waiting on the street for hours like an abandoned dog. His presence annoyed me, but his desperation no longer moved me.
That same afternoon, I received an unexpected call. It was Carol, but her tone had changed completely.
“Stephanie, I need to speak with you urgently. It’s about my business.”
Her voice was tense, worried.
“Your business?” I asked, intrigued. “What does that have to do with me?”
“The video scandal has affected my company,” Carol admitted with difficulty. “Some important clients have canceled their contracts. They say they don’t want to be associated with a family that mistreated an adoptive mother.”
Her confession filled me with satisfaction. The consequences were spreading beyond Ethan.
“What a shame,” I replied without a hint of compassion. “But I’m sure a successful businesswoman like yourself will find a way to recover.”
The sarcasm in my voice was evident.
“Stephanie,” Carol pleaded, “could you help me? A public statement saying you hold no ill will toward our family—”
“You want me to lie publicly to save your business reputation?” I interrupted. “Carol, you orchestrated my humiliation at that wedding. You convinced Ethan that I was replaceable. Now you are reaping what you sowed.”
I hung up before she could respond.
The night before my departure, Ashley and Ethan showed up at my building together. This time they came up unannounced, probably by bribing the night doorman. When they knocked on my door, I was already in my pajamas, relaxing with a glass of wine.
“Mom, please,” Ethan shouted through the door. “Just give me five minutes. Five minutes to explain everything.”
His voice was hoarse, desperate.
“Ethan,” I called back from inside, “you had 45 years to explain things. It’s too late now.”
“You can’t punish me forever!” he finally exploded. “I’m your son. You have to forgive me.”
His demand revealed his true character. Even now, he believed he had a right to my forgiveness, that I owed him something.
“Ethan,” I said clearly, “I owe you nothing. You owe me 45 years of gratitude that I never received.”
Ashley interjected, her voice pleading.
“Stephanie, Ethan has lost 10 pounds. He can’t work. He can’t sleep. The doctors say he’s severely depressed.”
Her words were meant to awaken my maternal compassion, but they only confirmed that Ethan was suffering from the consequences, not from genuine remorse.
“Ashley,” I replied, “when Ethan humiliated me at the wedding, were you worried about my mental health? When he asked me for more money the next day, did you think about my emotional well-being? Suffering is an excellent teacher. Maybe Ethan will learn something from it.”
They stayed outside my door for two hours, alternating between pleas and reproaches. They finally left when I threatened to call security. From my window, I watched them walk away, Ethan shuffling his feet like a defeated man. It was the image of justice in action.
The morning of my departure dawned sunny and clear. As the moving service picked up my last belongings, I felt strangely light. I had lived for 70 years, 45 of them completely dedicated to Ethan. Now, for the first time in decades, I would live only for myself.
Mr. Miller arrived to say goodbye and give me the final documents.
“Everything is in order, Stephanie. The charitable foundation is established. Your properties are under professional management, and the new will is irrevocable.”
His words officially sealed my new life.
“Is there any chance you’ll change your mind?” Mr. Miller asked with professional curiosity. “Ethan seems genuinely repentant now.”
I smiled sadly.
“Mr. Miller, Ethan is repentant of the consequences, not of his actions. If I were actually poor, do you think he would be in therapy and making viral videos?”
My flight was at 6:00 in the evening. At three, while waiting for the taxi to the airport, my phone rang one last time. It was Ethan. This time, I decided to answer—not out of compassion, but to definitively close this chapter.
“Hello, Ethan.”
His breathing was heavy, ragged.
“Mom,” he whispered, “I know it’s too late, but I need to tell you something before you go.”
I waited in silence.
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