AnnaMaria
I’m 69 years old. Every month, my youngest son sends me money, but I never receive a cent. I depended on my meager government pension, barely enough to cover the basics. Yet, for almost a year, the truth remained hidden—until I secretly investigated, and what I discovered left my entire family speechless.
Since my husband passed, I’ve been living with my eldest son and his wife in our modest home. Jun, my youngest, works abroad. From the moment he left, he promised:
“Mom, don’t worry. Every month, I’ll send money to your account. Use it for whatever you need.”
Those words were my comfort. But as months passed, I realized I hadn’t received a single deposit. Every time I asked, my daughter-in-law would smile sweetly and say:
“Grandma, you’re getting old… you hardly spend anything. We take care of you.”
It sounded kind—but a knot of unease had been growing inside me for months.
One day, I called Jun.
“Son, something’s wrong. Why haven’t I received anything you send?”
He froze.
“What do you mean, nothing? Mom, I deposit it every month! The bank even calls me to confirm. Please check again!”
My blood ran cold. If he was sending it, then who was taking it?
The next day, I went to the bank. The clerk checked quietly, almost reluctantly:
“The money comes in every month… but it’s withdrawn from the ATM.”
My legs gave way. I barely know how to use an ATM. I asked to see the security footage.
And there it was. My heart sank. Calmly, steadily, my daughter-in-law was withdrawing stacks of bills—money meant for me.
I printed everything: screenshots, videos, the bank statement. That night, I called my son and daughter-in-law to the table. I laid out the evidence.
“This is the money Jun has sent me… for a whole year. Not a single cent reached me. Look—here’s the proof.”
My eldest son stared at the images. His face turned pale.
“Is this true? Is that… you?” he asked, voice breaking.
My daughter-in-law sank to her knees, crying.
“Forgive me, Mom… forgive me… Greed got the better of me. I saw how much Jun was sending and thought… I thought you were saving it for him when he returned. We were struggling. That’s why I took it…”
Her words didn’t hurt because of the money. They hurt because of the betrayal.
My son slammed his fist on the table, his rage echoing through the room.
“You messed with my mother! How could you?”
I grabbed his arm, tears streaming down my face.
“Calm down, son. Money can be replaced. But when a family is broken… that wound never heals. All I ask is honesty. Don’t let money destroy what’s most precious.”
Silence fell. My daughter-in-law wept, my son clenched his fists in shame.
The next day, she returned every penny and promised it would never happen again. I forgave her—but the scar remained. Those images, those stolen months, I will never forget. A scar made not by money, but by betrayal.
I learned something powerful: anyone can change for money. I don’t hold onto hatred—but I don’t forget, either. True love, trust, and family unity are worth more than every coin in the world. When greed enters, everything crumbles.
