My Mil Slapped Me For Choosing My Dying Mother Over A Thanksgiving Turkey. My Husband Watched And Did Nothing. I Just Cut The Power And Canceled Their Feast, So Why Do I Feel Like The Villain?

The Final Goodbye

Five years later, Emily was a manager at that trading company. She even had her own small office with a south-facing window. It was a place filled with sunlight. She had moved out of the basement apartment and into a proper one. It was a small one-bedroom, but when she opened the window, she could see the sky.

Her mother still hadn’t woken up, but the doctor said her vital signs were very stable and she would likely hold on for a long time. Emily still visited her twice a week. She didn’t read the newspaper to her anymore; the world’s news was too depressing. Instead, she started reading novels, light, warm stories with happy endings.

“Mom, this is the last chapter of the book. The main characters finally got together. They opened a cafe by the sea and watched the sunrise every day.”

Emily read the last sentence and closed the book.

“When you wake up, should we go see the ocean? We could rent a place on the coast for a month and just do nothing but watch the waves.”

She looked at her mother’s face. There was no response, but Emily had learned to let go of expectation. She just wanted to talk. She just wanted to tell her, “I’m always here. I’m right here by your side, Mom.”

Thanksgiving came around once more. As usual, Emily bought fruit and pastries and headed to the nursing home. She knocked on the door to the room. There was no sound from within. Puzzled, Emily opened the door. The room was empty. Her mother was gone from the bed, and the machines that were always humming were all gone. Her heart stopped. She ran out of the room and sprinted to the nurse’s station.

“Excuse me! The patient in room 306! Where is she?”

A nurse looked up at her. The moment Emily saw the look in her eyes, a cold dread washed over her.

“Ma’am…” The nurse’s voice was low. “The patient passed away early this morning.”

Emily stood there stunned. Her mind went blank. “What?”

“Around 3:00 a.m. she went into sudden cardiac arrest. We performed CPR for over 30 minutes, but we couldn’t bring her back.”

Her legs gave out. Emily grabbed the counter for support and slid to the floor.

“How…?”

The nurse came around the counter and put a hand on her shoulder. “Try to be strong. She went peacefully. She was asleep without any pain.”

Emily couldn’t hear a thing. She just sat on the floor shaking uncontrollably. Her mother was gone. The mother who had collapsed in a market six years ago that autumn had, on another autumn day six years later, left forever. She hadn’t even gotten to see her one last time. Emily cried out loud. It was the second time she had wailed like that in six years. The first was when her mother had entered a vegetative state; this time was because her mother had left her side for good.

The funeral was small. Emily did not notify anyone from the Davis family. The only people who came were her aunt’s family, some of her mother’s old co-workers, and her friend Sarah. Sarah stayed by Emily’s side the entire time, silently handing her tissues, bringing her water, and making sure she ate.

Emily stood before the crematorium holding her mother’s portrait. The photo was from her mother’s 60th birthday. Her hair hadn’t been completely gray then and her wrinkles weren’t as deep. In the photo, her mother was smiling gently, a smile that showed the traces of a hard life but was endlessly kind.

“Rest in peace now, Mom.” Emily’s voice was cracked and raw from crying. “You worked so hard your whole life. You worried so much because of me. You can forget everything now and just rest.”

She watched as the attendant slid the portrait into the opening of the furnace. Flames roared to life. Her mother’s smile in the photograph disappeared into the fire, turning to ash. Emily stared blankly at the roaring flames. The warm hand that held hers on the way to the market, the way she would wave from the school gate when she came to pick her up, the way she slipped an envelope into her pocket on her wedding day saying a woman needed her own money, and her last image six years ago, laden with bags, turning away and saying, “I’ll come again soon.” That was the last time she had heard her mother’s voice.

Emily closed her eyes. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Mom, in your next life, don’t live such a hard life,” she whispered. “In your next life, I’ll be your mother. I’ll protect you.”

The Final Gift

A month later, while cleaning out her mother’s belongings, Emily found an old envelope. Inside was a bank book and a letter. The bank was in her mother’s name. The balance read $320,000.

Emily held her breath. This much money? How had her mother, a simple factory worker with a meager retirement fund, managed to save such a large sum? With trembling hands, Emily unfolded the letter. It was her mother’s handwriting. Her cursive was unsteady and some words were blurred as if by tears.

My Emily,

By the time you read this, I’ll probably be gone. This money is what I saved my whole life. The money I earned working night shifts at the factory, the extra cash from side jobs, the little bit of inheritance your father left me, and my retirement savings. I put it all together. I know, my dear. I know how much you suffered in that house. Every time I visited you, it felt like my heart was being torn apart. But I also know your personality. I knew you’d only feel worse if I said anything, so I just watched.

The only thing I could do was save money. I saved it so that if you ever felt like you couldn’t take it anymore and wanted to run, you wouldn’t hesitate because you had no money. So you wouldn’t have to endure because you had nowhere to go. I saved every penny so I could be the ground beneath your feet. Emily, your mother isn’t educated and doesn’t have much, so this is all I can leave you. Please don’t live like me. Live with your head held high. Don’t endure so much. Don’t let other people wear you down. You are the most precious daughter in the world to me. Live like you are precious. I love you, my daughter.

By the time Emily finished reading, her hands were shaking like a leaf. Teardrops fell onto the page, smudging the ink. She clutched the letter to her chest and curled up on the floor. A gut-wrenching sob escaped her. Her mother had known everything: that she was being treated like a maid, that she was bottling everything up and getting sick inside, that one day she would reach her breaking point and collapse. And so, her mother had quietly saved money to build a foundation for her daughter to stand on when she finally escaped. She had spent her whole life preparing for it.

Emily cried for a long, long time until her voice gave out. Then she slowly got up and walked to the window. Outside, the lights of the city spread out before her. Countless lights twinkled like stars and the headlights of cars flowed like a river. She took out her phone and checked the date. October 17th. It was her mother’s birthday.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” she whispered softly. “Thank you, Mom.“