It had been twenty years since my husband left—twenty years of barely making ends meet, scraping together meals, and raising my son Jake alone. Jake, now twenty-five, was the reason I kept going, though he hadn’t yet found his footing. His passion was art, but it couldn’t pay the bills, and with my savings stolen recently, I was under more pressure than ever.

One day, I saw Jake driving an expensive sports car. Shocked, I demanded answers, but he insisted his new “job” was legitimate. Suspicion gnawed at me as he was cagey and defensive. I followed him across town and was stunned to see him meeting an older woman outside a high-end salon. They embraced, and my heart sank. At her mansion, I confronted them, accusing him of using her for money, but he angrily shut the door on me.

Later, Jake explained everything. Lydia, his girlfriend, had helped him launch his first art exhibition, which had already sold enough to pay my debts. He wanted to surprise me. I apologized for doubting him, overwhelmed by relief.

At the gallery a few days later, Jake gave a speech dedicating his success to me. To my amazement, he gifted me the car. After all our struggles, it felt like our lives were finally turning around.