As a 16-year-old brimming with ambition and restless dreams, Joey decided he could no longer live within the narrow borders of his rural life. That morning, he left a farewell note beside his mother Flora’s worn sewing machine, its needle still threaded with white cotton from the night before.
“Dear Mom, By evening, you’ll be back, but I won’t be home. No, I wasn’t kidnapped; I just finally decided to run away. No matter how far I go, I’ll always love you. I’m sorry. Take care. With Love, Joey.”
The loud squawks of hens and the whisper of the tall trees surrounding the farm carved themselves into his memory. His backpack weighed heavy on his shoulders, but the burden in his chest was heavier still. Taking one last look at the modest home he shared with Flora after his father’s death, Joey turned away without daring another glance back.
Unaware of her son’s decision, Flora moved about the farm, waiting for Joey to show up as he had promised. She imagined him hauling water, mending fences, and sitting down with her for dinner. She had no idea his footsteps were carrying him farther with every passing second.
Joey loved his mother fiercely, but the farm’s silence pressed down on him like chains. He dreamed of becoming a doctor—something he believed impossible if he stayed rooted in the soil his father once tilled. He had begged Flora to sell the farm and start fresh in the city, but she could not abandon the land steeped in her husband’s memory. For Joey, the choice was clear: leave or let his dream wither.
When he finally reached the highway, the vision of Flora setting the dinner table flickered painfully in his mind. But he swallowed hard, flagged down a bus, and rode away toward the unknown.
The city was everything Joey had imagined—loud, alive, and merciless. On arrival, he phoned his friend Dan, who directed him to his home. The cab fare nearly emptied Joey’s pockets, and exhaustion gnawed at his determination.
Dan welcomed him with open arms, offering a roof and a promise. “Don’t worry about rent until you’re settled,” he reassured. “I’ve got you a job at the grocery store. You’ll do fine.”
Joey’s spirits flickered with hope. But reality bit hard. The long shifts, the meager pay, and the bitter cold of winter stripped away his confidence. On payday, his joy soured when Dan demanded nearly all his earnings for “rent and food.”
His dreams of medical school seemed to drift farther away. Each night, he picked up the phone to call his mother, yet fear gripped him. If I hear her voice, I might never be able to stay away, he thought. So he kept postponing the call.
One afternoon, Joey helped an elderly man who had slipped on ice. The man, Mr. Clark, insisted Joey sit with him, impressed by his kindness. Before leaving, he pressed a business card into Joey’s palm.
Weeks later, when Joey finally visited, Mr. Clark revealed his true role: director of a scholarship fund for disadvantaged but ambitious youth. “Joey, you could become the doctor you dream to be—full tuition, housing, food, all covered. All I ask is that you study hard.”
It sounded too good to be real. Yet it was true. Joey’s dream had been rescued by chance kindness—and a stranger’s generosity.
Still, even as his life transformed, guilt shadowed every milestone. He wanted to call his mother, but shame and fear held him back. I’ll wait until I have something big to tell her, he reasoned. And so, days turned to years.
Thirteen years later, Joey stood tall in his white coat, a freshly minted doctor. At the celebration dinner, Mr. Clark raised his glass. “Joey, you’ve done it! I’m proud of you. And your mother—oh, she’d be so proud, too.”
Joey smiled but felt the hollowness inside. It’s time to go home, he told himself. He had even bought Flora a small house in town, determined to surprise her.
But when he returned, dread clawed at him. The farm was desolate, overgrown, windows coated in dust. Inside, the air was stale and suffocating.
“Mom! Mom!” Joey shouted, his voice echoing through empty rooms. His panic mounted as he searched every corner. No sign of her. With trembling hands, he dialed her old number again and again—no answer.
Then, by the fireplace, he spotted a fragment of a letter half-consumed by ashes. His heart lurched as he read the surviving words:
“Joey, sweetie, I miss you so much. Why did you leave me? If I had known you would disappear like this, I would have gone with you. Please come back. This silence is killing me. Nothing can ever replace you. I wish—”
The rest was lost to fire. Tears blurred Joey’s vision. Regret choked him.
He stumbled outside, desperate, and ran into their old neighbor.
“Mr. Colins,” Joey panted. “Please—do you know where my mother is?”
The neighbor’s weathered face softened with recognition. “Joey… after all these years. I wondered if you’d ever come back.” He hesitated, as though bracing to deliver a truth Joey wasn’t ready to hear.
