I wasn’t expecting anyone when the doorbell rang. To my surprise, it was my daughter, Jane, and her son, Tommy. “Mom, I need a favor,” Jane said. “Can you take care of Tommy for a few weeks? Maybe longer.” She carried a large suitcase, her face lined with worry. She claimed it was for a work mission, and I chose to trust her.
Tommy, full of energy and curiosity, brought joy to my home. We played games, read stories, and shared meals. But when I opened Jane’s suitcase to grab a fresh shirt for him, my heart sank. It was packed with clothes for all seasons—and at the bottom, an envelope stuffed with cash. I realized Jane might not return anytime soon.
Days passed, and Jane was unreachable. Tommy started asking for his mom. I called her friends and colleagues, but no one knew where she was. Then, one day, Jane called, briefly speaking to Tommy. “Trust me, Mom,” she said before hanging up.
Jane later confessed: Tommy’s father, Alex, was a dangerous man linked to the mafia. Fearing for her son’s safety, she hid him with me. “I prayed Alex would leave town so I could reunite with my son.”
Months later, Jane came back, exhausted but safe. I didn’t ask questions—I was just relieved she returned.