"Besides, it's not like we're leaving her on the street. A motel for forty bucks a night, cheap and simple. My son even offered to pay. What more do you want?"

What more did I want?

I wanted my mother to sleep in the house I'd paid for.

Was that really too much to ask?

I was about to say exactly that when my mother tugged at my sleeve and whispered, "Zoe, don't let me cause problems between you and your family. I'll go to the motel. It's fine."

Then she lowered her head and smiled apologetically at Rebecca and the others.

"I'm so sorry for the trouble. I'll head out now. Please don't fight with Zoe because of me."

With that, my mom turned and walked out of my apartment.

I chased after her and caught her arm at the elevator.

"Mom, don't go."

She turned back, smiling as she patted my hand. "It's fine, sweetheart. I can sleep anywhere."

She had a smile on her face, but her eyes were rimmed with red.

I knew she was hurting. That forced smile was just to keep me from worrying.

But the harder she tried to hide it, the more my chest ached.

I gripped her hand tight, my voice breaking. "It's not the same."

"Mom, this is my home. You're my mother. You belong here."

My father passed away when I was young. Mom raised me on her own.

To make sure I never went without, she worked three jobs a day. Before dawn, she was at the bakery kneading dough. During the day, she ran a sewing machine at the garment factory. At night, she washed dishes at a restaurant.

She endured so much. Swallowed so much hardship.

But she never once let me wear a dirty shirt or eat a cold meal.

So from the time I was little, I made myself a quiet promise: study hard, work hard, and give her the life she deserved.

After graduation, I threw myself into my career, saved every penny, and bought this apartment. The very first thing I did was ask her to move in.

She refused every time.

One day it was the chickens that needed feeding, the garden that needed tending. The next, she'd say she was used to the countryside and wouldn't know what to do with herself in the city.

Then I got married, and she had a new excuse: young couples needed their privacy, and she didn't want to intrude.

But I knew the real reason. She was afraid of being a burden. Afraid my in-laws would resent her. Afraid she'd become a weight around my neck.

This time, she'd finally agreed to visit, and she hadn't even sat down before someone drove her out.