Mrs. Chen, who’d known me for 3 weeks, treated me with more kindness and respect than my own son had shown me in decades.
Maybe blood wasn’t thicker than water after all.
Maybe family was something you chose, not something you were stuck with.
That night, I slept peacefully, knowing that tomorrow would bring another day of quiet contentment, and that Cedric would have to figure out his own tomorrow for the first time in his life.
Two months had passed since I’d seen Cedric in my lobby, and I’d started to believe he’d finally given up.
I was wrong.
The first sign was a handwritten letter slipped under my door.
Not an email, not a text, but actual handwriting on actual paper.
Cedric had never written me a letter in his entire life.
“Dear mom,” it began.
“I’ve had time to think about everything, and I realize now how badly I treated you. I want to make things right.”
The letter went on for three pages full of apologies and promises.
He’d gotten a job, he said. He and Jessica were in counseling. They’d found a small apartment and were learning to be responsible.
The children missed me terribly and asked about their grandmother every day.
It was beautifully written, sincere sounding, and complete nonsense.
I knew Cedric. I’d raised him.
He’d never learned to sustain effort for anything difficult.
And admitting fault was the most difficult thing in the world for him.
This letter was just another manipulation.
Probably Jessica’s idea.
But I was curious.
How far would he go to get back into my good graces? How committed was he to this act?
I decided to find out.
I called him that evening.
“Cedric, I got your letter.”
“Mom.”
His voice was filled with relief and hope.
“I was hoping you’d call. Did you… Did you believe it?”
“I’m willing to give you a chance to prove it,” I said. “But it won’t be easy.”
“Anything. I’ll do anything.”
“Good. I want you to come here Saturday morning at 8:00. Bring work clothes.”
“Work clothes?”
“Mrs. Chen next door is 83 and needs help cleaning out her garage. If you’re really sorry for how you treated an elderly woman, you can start by helping another one.”
There was a pause.
I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head.
“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll be there.”
Saturday morning came and went.
Cedric didn’t show up.
I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed.
Not in him, but in myself for hoping he might have actually changed.
At 10:30, my phone rang.
“Mom, I’m so sorry. Jessica had a migraine and I had to take the kids to school and then my car wouldn’t start. And—”
“Cedric,” I interrupted. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. Let me make it up to you. I’ll come tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday. Mrs. Chen goes to church and visits her sister on Sundays.”