A mother’s love is tested when her son’s reckless behavior shatters her trust—and her home.
Steward was once the center of my world. After his father died, we grew even closer. But as he got older, he pulled away. So when he called and asked to use my house for his birthday party, I was hopeful. Maybe this was a chance to reconnect.
“Of course, sweetie,” I told him. “I’ll be at Mannie’s anyway.”
The next morning, I returned home and froze. The front door was damaged, a window smashed. Inside, my house was destroyed—furniture broken, glass everywhere. Then I saw the note:
“Had a wild party. You might need to tidy up.”
No apology. No remorse.
I called him—no answer. I left a message, barely holding back tears. “How could you do this? If you don’t fix it, I’ll take legal action.”
I collapsed in grief. I had given him everything—and he left me with nothing but a mess and a broken heart.
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