Lydia Brooks raised her son Nate solo, scraping by to keep him fed and schooled. She glowed when he finished high school, even when he chose a college states away—Nevada to her Oregon. She missed him, but cheered as he left, staying connected with regular calls those early years. Visits never happened—travel cash was a dream—but she lived for his voice. As college wore on, the calls trickled off, though Lydia clung to each one like a lifeline.
When Nate’s graduation neared, he dialed her, “Mom, it’s in two weeks—can you make it?” Her heart swelled, “I’ll be there—proud as can be!” Flights weren’t cheap, and a gift was a must, so Lydia picked up extra shifts cleaning houses. She saved enough, booked her trip, and nabbed a cool leather wallet at the store. “My son’s graduating in Nevada!” she told the cashier, who grinned and boxed it up. Nate met her at the airport, and at the ceremony, she whooped as he grabbed his diploma, snapping pics like a pro. “You made this happen, Mom,” he said, hugging her tight.
They hit a ritzy burger joint after, Nate insisting, “I’ve been working—this is my thank-you.” Lydia’s eyes misted as she gave him the wallet. “It’s awesome—I’ll carry it always,” he said. They toured Nevada a few days, laughing and exploring, but then she headed home, asking, “Come visit soon?” “I’ll try—got interviews,” he replied. Calls came often at first, then faded—months turned to years. In a rare chat, she murmured, “I’m so alone—can’t eat much.” “Take a stroll, see friends,” Nate said, distracted by his tech job and artsy girlfriend.
Years later, needing records for a startup, Nate flew back unannounced. He pulled up to their house—roof caved, walls cracked, yard a jungle. Inside, it was bare, eerie. No answer from Lydia’s phone, so he hit up Mrs. Carter next door. “Nate? You’re here?” she said. “What happened?” he begged. “That storm last fall trashed everything—she couldn’t afford fixes, didn’t want to bother you, so she’s in a home now,” Mrs. Carter shared the spot. Nate sped over, spotting Lydia frail in a chair. “Mom,” he wept, collapsing. “Nate? You came?” she gasped.
“I failed you—I’m so sorry,” he cried. “Get up, silly,” she said, but her tears flowed too—reunion bittersweet. “I’m staying—taking care of you,” he swore. He fixed their house, brought her home, moved his business to Oregon, and settled in with his girlfriend. They all thrived, Lydia cooking and chatting, her loneliness gone for good.
