I roared, as neighbors began to peek through their windows. She stared at me, trembling from shock and exhaustion. "I’m so sorry, son... I must have the wrong address. I only wanted to see if you were happy," she whispered in a broken voice. She turned around and slowly, dragging her feet, she walked away into the unknown. I watched her go, feeling only relief that the "scandal" was gone from my gate. I had no idea that was the moment I lost the only person who ever truly loved me. Years later, an invitation arrived for a high school reunion. Despite my resistance, something pulled me back. Maybe it was the weight of the lies, or a hidden longing for my roots. I told my wife it was a business trip and flew back. The city of my youth looked gray and grieving. After the event, out of pure curiosity, I took a taxi to my old address. My heart hammered against my ribs as I approached the house. It was overgrown with weeds, abandoned and silent as a grave. A neighbor recognized me and handed me a key and an envelope. "Your mother passed away three months ago," she said coldly. "Every day she sat by that window, looking down the street, hoping you’d show up. She left this for you."