I didn’t ask again.
Sometimes, mothers become cowards out of fear of hearing the truth.
Time passed.
My house improved thanks to the money he sent.
Everyone said I was fortunate.
But how can you be happy eating alone every day?
Every Christmas, I set a place for him.
I would cook his favorite stew and cry in silence.
Ten years.
It was too long.
Finally, I made a decision.
I was going to China.
I didn’t tell him anything.
For a sixty-three-year-old woman who had never left the country, it was madness.
But I bought the ticket with trembling hands and went.
I arrived and took a taxi to his address.
A two-story house.
Quiet — too quiet.
The garden was nice but lifeless.
I knocked.
No answer.
The door wasn’t locked.
I walked in.
The house was clean.
Too clean.
No signs of a woman living there.
No woman’s clothing.
No smell of food.
No warmth.
I went upstairs.
One room had men’s clothes.
Another looked like an office, barely used.
And the last one —
My legs nearly gave out.
Boxes.
So many boxes.
