The hardware store had been Arthur’s dream. He opened it with his own hands, brick by brick, shelf by shelf. In the good times, we had three employees. We sold everything: cement, rods, tools, paint. The contractors in the neighborhood knew us by name. Arthur whistled while serving customers. I kept the accounts in a hardcover notebook.
After his death, I tried to keep it running. For six months, I got up at five in the morning to open the store. I carried bags of cement that hurt my back. I learned about wire gauges and types of nails. But it was not the same. Suppliers started raising prices. The competition from the big chains was drowning us little by little.
One afternoon, while closing the metal shutter, I realized I was losing money every month. And Steven had just received his acceptance letter to the state university to study civil engineering. Tuition was twenty-five thousand dollars a semester. Four years, eight semesters, two hundred thousand dollars just in tuition, not counting books, materials, transportation.
That night was no different from this one. I did not sleep either. I ran the numbers over and over again in that same hardcover notebook where Arthur recorded sales.
The next day, I hired an appraiser. An older man with thick glasses checked every corner of the hardware store. The inventory, the location, the lease, the clientele.
“One hundred fifty thousand dollars,” he said finally. “It is a noble business, Mrs. Miller. I am sorry you have to sell it.”
And I sold it.
I signed the papers with a trembling hand. I watched as they dismantled the green sign. I packed the memories in cardboard boxes.
With that money, I did three things. I paid for Steven’s full four years of college in advance. I bought the house where I live now, a property in the suburbs that cost four hundred thousand dollars. And with what was left, I bought a two-bedroom condo downtown for one hundred fifty thousand dollars, which I put in Steven’s name.
“It is your inheritance, my son,” I told him when he turned twenty-one, “for when you get married so you have a place to start.”
He hugged me. He told me I was the best mother in the world. He promised he would never let me down.
But promises, I discovered later, weigh less than air when there is a beautiful woman whispering in your ear.
I was left with just twenty thousand dollars in savings. I looked for work as a freelance bookkeeper. I had studied accounting before getting married, although I never practiced formally. I started keeping the books for small businesses in the neighborhood. A dry cleaner, two stationery stores, a coffee shop. I earned enough for my expenses without touching my savings.
I never asked Steven for anything. Not a dollar, not a favor. I wanted him to fly free, to build his life without the weight of guilt or obligation.
But now, sitting in my living room at three in the morning with my party outfit still on and my makeup smeared by tears, I wondered if I had not made the biggest mistake of my life.
Because by giving him everything without asking for anything in return, maybe I taught him that my love had no price.
And what has no price, anyone can trample on.
The first time Steven told me about Vanessa was a Sunday. He came to eat with that nervous smile he had when he wanted to tell me something important. He brought flowers, something he had not done since he was a teenager.
“Mom, I met someone,” he said while I served the pot roast he liked so much.
That was two years ago. Steven was thirty-three, working at a major construction firm and earning well. He had had girlfriends before, but none had made him look like this. Bright eyes, restless hands, that energy of someone who has just discovered something wonderful.
“Her name is Vanessa. She is a business administrator. I met her at a conference on urban development.”
Three weeks later, he introduced her to me.
I remember she arrived in high heels that clicked against the floor of my house. She wore sunglasses even though we were indoors. Her purse cost more than my refrigerator. She greeted me with two air kisses, the kind that do not really touch your cheek.
“Mrs. Linda, what a house. So cozy,” she said, looking around with a smile that did not reach her eyes.
Cozy. That word people use when they do not want to say small or modest.
During the meal, she spoke mainly about herself. About her work in the family business. About her trips to Miami and Vegas. About her dad, who had been an important businessman. All in the past tense, I noticed, but I did not give it importance then.
“You were widowed very young,” she said suddenly, looking at me with something that looked like pity. “It must have been very hard to raise a son alone.”
“It was,” I replied, “but it was worth every sacrifice.”
“Of course. Although now you can rest, right? Steven is a grown man now.”
It sounded reasonable, even kind, but there was something in her tone that made me uncomfortable, as if she were measuring, calculating, planning.
The visits became more frequent. And with each one, Vanessa dropped little comments like poison seeds planted with care.
“This house is huge for one person.”
“Do you not feel lonely sometimes?”
“I have seen beautiful condos for people your age, Linda. Modern, with elevators, without so many stairs to take care of.”
“Have you not thought about selling? With what this property is worth, you could live peacefully the rest of your life without worries.”
And the worst part was that she always said it in front of Steven. Always with that sweet, worried voice, as if she really cared about my well-being.
At first, my son interrupted her.
“Vanessa, my mom is fine where she is.”
