It was early evening, and a soft drizzle was falling. Mrs. Turner walked slowly along the dirt path, leaning heavily on her cane. Slung over her shoulder was an old, faded cloth bag holding a few papers and a small amount of money—barely enough for a simple piece of bread.
She was seventy years old. Her legs trembled with each step, but that day she had made up her mind—she had to go. She needed to see her son, Daniel, the child she had raised with all her love and sacrifice.
There had been nothing left to eat at home for days. Hunger had drained her strength. She had no choice but to ask her son for a little help.
Daniel now owned a hardware store. He lived comfortably—a large house, a nice car, all the conveniences. Mrs. Turner believed that no matter how busy he was, he wouldn’t let his own mother go hungry.
When she arrived, she stopped in front of the tall iron gate and rang the bell. The sharp “ting ting” echoed. After a moment, the door opened. A young woman—Daniel’s wife—looked her up and down before speaking in a distant tone:
“Mother-in-law, what are you doing here?”
Mrs. Turner gave a faint smile, her voice shaky.
“Dear… I came to see you… and I was hoping to ask Daniel for a small favor…”
The young woman turned without replying and went inside to call him. A moment later, Daniel appeared, phone still in his hand, neatly dressed.
“Mom, what’s going on? I’m really busy.”
Mrs. Turner lowered her eyes and spoke softly.
“Son… there’s nothing left to eat at home… I thought maybe I could borrow a little money… I’ll pay you back later…”
Daniel frowned, letting out a long breath.
“Mom… things are tight for me right now too. All my money’s tied up in the business. You should head home for now—we’ll talk later.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Son, even just a little… so I can eat…”
Daniel glanced at his wife, then quickly said, as if trying to end things:
“Alright, take this bag of rice. I really don’t have cash right now. I’ll send you some later.”
He walked to the car, took out a small sack of rice, and handed it to her. Then, gently but firmly, his wife guided her toward the gate.
“You should go. It’s going to rain harder.”
Mrs. Turner lowered her head, clutching the rice tightly to her chest, trying to hide the tears running down her cheeks. The iron gate shut behind her, leaving her alone in the rain.
On the way home, she didn’t blame her son. Instead, she tried to comfort herself.
“Maybe he really is struggling… At least he gave me rice… that’s still something…”
When she got home, she placed the bag on the table. Her stomach burned with hunger, and she thought about cooking right away……………..
