The BMW’s red bow gleamed under my son’s Christmas lights like a taunt. I watched from the kitchen window as Marcus handed Linda the keys to her brand new $60,000 gift, his face beaming with pride. «Merry Christmas, Mom Linda,» he called out, using that ridiculous nickname that made my teeth clench.
My daughter-in-law, Ashley, squealed and clapped like they’d just cured cancer instead of buying a luxury car for a woman who’d been in our family exactly eight months. If you’re watching this, subscribe and let me know where you’re watching from. Me? Well, let me show you what my loving son got his actual mother.
I held up the pink plastic piggy bank, shaking it so the three lonely dollar bills inside rustled like dead leaves. Three dollars. After 35 years of raising him, after every sacrifice I’d made, every penny I’d spent on his college education, his wedding, his down payment.
Three dollars. «It’s symbolic, Mom,» Marcus had explained with that patronizing tone he’d perfected since marrying Ashley. «You’re always saving money.»
«So we thought this would be perfect.» Perfect. That’s exactly what I’d called it when I smiled sweetly and thanked him for such a thoughtful gift.
Because that’s what mothers do, isn’t it? We smile and pretend our hearts aren’t breaking while our children hand us scraps and call it love. I watched Ashley link arms with Linda, both of them admiring the leather interior like schoolgirls.
Linda had swooped into our family after my dear husband Tom passed two years ago, appearing at every family gathering with her perfectly styled silver hair and designer clothes. Somehow she’d managed to become «Mom Linda,» while I, the woman who actually birthed Marcus, had been demoted to just «Mom» and apparently only worth three dollars.
The December wind rattled my kitchen window as I set the piggy bank on the counter next to the Christmas cards I’d never sent. Cards that would have cost more than my entire gift. The irony wasn’t lost on me, though I doubt Marcus would appreciate it, even if I explained it to him.
I’d spent the morning cooking their Christmas dinner, of course. Standing in my kitchen for six hours, I prepared honey-glazed ham, homemade rolls, green bean casserole from scratch, and that ridiculous trifle Ashley insisted on, even though no one but her actually liked it. My feet ached, my back screamed, and my hands were raw from washing dishes. But hey, at least I got three dollars out of the deal.
The front door opened and I heard Ashley’s voice carrying through the house. «Dot, we’re heading out to show Mom Linda her new car around town.»
Not, «Would you like to come?» Or, «Want to join us?» Just an announcement that they were leaving. Taking their precious «Mom Linda» on a victory lap, while the woman who’d provided their Christmas feast stood alone in her kitchen, holding a children’s toy.
I heard Marcus call out, «Thanks for dinner, Mom. We’ll see you next week.» Next week, when they needed something, no doubt.
My jaw tightened as I listened to their car doors slam, one after another, followed by the distinctive purr of a $60,000 engine pulling out of my driveway. The house fell silent, except for the hum of the dishwasher and the ticking of the grandfather clock Tom had loved.
I looked around my empty kitchen at the mountain of dishes I’d volunteered to clean up, at the leftover food that would feed me for a week because God knows they wouldn’t take any home. That’s when I noticed Linda’s purse sitting on my counter, forgotten in her excitement over her shiny new toy.
A black leather Kate Spade bag that probably cost more than my monthly grocery budget. She’d left it right next to my $3 piggy bank, and somehow, that felt like the universe delivering a message.
I picked up the purse, feeling its expensive weight in my hands. Inside, I could see her wallet, thick with credit cards and cash, her phone in a rhinestone case, and a prescription bottle. How careless of her to leave behind something so important.
How very careless indeed. A slow smile spread across my face as I carried Linda’s purse to my bedroom, where I could examine its contents properly. After all, I was just being helpful, making sure nothing was missing before I returned it.
That’s what good mothers do. Linda’s wallet was a treasure trove of information, and I do mean «treasure.» As I carefully inventoried the contents on my bedroom dresser, I couldn’t help but marvel at how much someone could learn about a person from their purse.
Cash. Nearly $400. Credit cards from every major bank, plus store cards for Nordstrom, Saks, and Tiffany.
But it was the folded papers tucked behind her driver’s license that made my eyebrows shoot up. Bank statements. Three of them. Printed just last week. Our dear Linda wasn’t just well-off; she was loaded.
The kind of loaded that makes a $60,000 BMW look like pocket change. Her checking account balance alone had more zeros than I’d seen since Tom’s life insurance payout. And here I’d thought she was just another widow trying to find companionship in her golden years.
If you’re watching this, subscribe and let me know where you’re watching from. Her phone buzzed constantly with text messages, and I couldn’t help but notice the notifications lighting up the screen. «Deposit confirmed: $15,000 from something called Sunset Investments.» «Meeting confirmed for Thursday. Bring the Williams file.»
Williams. That would be us. I sat in Tom’s old recliner, the one Marcus had tried to convince me to throw away because it didn’t match Ashley’s decorating vision. Funny how everything that mattered to me didn’t match their vision.
The prescription bottle caught my attention next. Anxiety medication prescribed just two months ago, right around the time she’d started getting more involved in our family finances.
You see, Linda had been so helpful lately. Offering to drive me to doctor appointments. Volunteering to review my insurance policies. Asking detailed questions about Tom’s pension.
«Just want to make sure you’re taken care of, honey,» she’d say with that sweet smile. But now, I was wondering exactly who was being «taken care of.»
The house phone rang, jarring me from my investigation. «Mrs. Williams? This is Officer Patterson with the state police. I’m calling about a report we received regarding a missing person. A Linda Chen?»
My heart skipped, but my voice stayed steady. «Linda Chen? I’m sorry, Officer, but I’m not familiar with that name.»
«Our records show she was last seen at your address earlier today. Her son filed the report when she didn’t return home and wasn’t answering her phone.»
Her son. Interesting that she’d never mentioned having children. In all her stories about being a lonely widow, somehow she’d forgotten to mention family members who might file missing person reports.
«Well, we did have Christmas dinner today,» I said carefully. «But I believe she left with my son and daughter-in-law. They were going for a drive in her new car.»
«New car? A BMW. Christmas gift from my son.» I let that sink in. «Perhaps you should contact them. Marcus Williams and Ashley Williams.»
After I hung up, I looked at Linda’s phone again. Twenty-three missed calls from someone named «Brian Chen» and text messages getting increasingly frantic. «Mom, where are you? The police are looking for you. Please call me back.»
So Linda had a son who cared enough to call the police when she went missing. Unlike my son, who’d probably wait a week before wondering where I was. The irony was delicious, really.
Here I was, holding the belongings of a woman whose child actually worried about her well-being. I opened her photo gallery, telling myself I was still just being «thorough.» Most recent photos showed Linda at various family gatherings. Our family gatherings.
