Of course, dear. I’ll keep you both in my prayers.
After I hung up, I sat back in my chair and looked around my modest apartment. Three rooms that had housed countless family dinners, birthday celebrations, and holiday mornings.
Walls that had heard David’s first words, witnessed his first steps, absorbed tears from scraped knees and broken hearts.
This wasn’t about money.
This had never been about money.
This was about respect, about being seen as more than a walking ATM. About a son who’d forgotten where he came from and a daughter-in-law who thought kindness was weakness.
Tomorrow, Oilia would start looking for a new apartment. She’d discover that luxury living was expensive and her husband’s salary wouldn’t stretch as far as she’d thought.
But first, she’d have to face the truth about the tacky old lady who’d been paying her way all along.
3 days after the rent notice, David showed up at my apartment unannounced. I was watering my African violets when I heard his key in the lock, the spare I’d given him years ago for emergencies.
Mom.
His voice echoed through my small living room.
Are you home?
In here, sweetheart.
I set down my watering can and smoothed my cardigan. The same green one I’d worn to Christmas dinner.
He looked terrible.
Dark circles under his eyes. His usually perfect hair disheveled. His expensive suit, the one I’d helped him buy for his promotion, was wrinkled like he’d slept in it.
David, you look exhausted. Sit down. Let me make you some coffee.
He slumped onto my old sofa, the one Oilia had once suggested I replace with something more contemporary.
Mom, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me.
I paused, my hand on the coffee tin. Something in his voice made my chest tighten.
Of course. What is it?
Do you know anything about Hastings Property Management?
I kept my expression neutral, though my heart started beating faster.
Should I?
I’ve been doing research on our landlord, trying to find some way to negotiate this rent increase, and I found something strange.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through what looked like property records.
Hastings Property Management has been buying buildings all over the city for the past 15 years. Small apartment complexes, commercial properties, even that strip mall where you get your prescriptions filled.
I said nothing, just continued preparing the coffee. My hands were steady, but inside I felt the first flutter of something that might have been panic.
The weird thing is I can’t find much information about who owns the company. It’s all very private, professional.
Maybe they like their privacy, I said, bringing him a mug of coffee, black, two sugars, the way he’d liked it since he was 12.
That’s what I thought, too. But then I started thinking about the timing.
He looked up at me, his eyes searching my face.
Our rent has been below market value for 5 years, Mom. Way below, almost like someone was giving us a family discount.
The silence stretched between us.
I sat down in my recliner, the one that had held me through late nights when he was sick as a child. Through the lonely years after his father left us with nothing but debt and broken promises.
David, what are you asking me?
I’m asking if you’ve been paying our landlord all these years. Have you been covering the difference in our rent?
If only it were that simple.
If only I were just a generous mother helping her struggling children instead of the property owner they’d been insulting and taking advantage of.
No, sweetheart. I haven’t been paying your landlord.
It was technically true. I hadn’t been paying myself.
He relaxed slightly, but the worry lines around his eyes remained.
Oilia thinks someone’s playing a sick joke on us. She’s convinced this is personal.
Personal? Why would she think that?
David sat down his coffee and rubbed his temples.