All For My Children

My name is Helen Cooper, and I am fifty-eight years old. For the first half of my life, I worked like an old workhorse, revolving around my family and giving my best to my husband Jason Zimmerman and our two children. When my son Leon got married, I emptied my savings to buy their wedding house. When my daughter Jane had a baby, I quit my job to take care of her, not asking for a single penny in salary. I always believed that when I got old, the kids would be filial, and Jason and I could finally live a peaceful, happy life. But I never imagined that the golden years I longed for would turn out to be a carefully planned betrayal. That day, Leon and Jane suddenly showed up at home, carrying bags and packages, smiling unusually sweetly. "Mom, you and Dad have worked hard all your lives. We've bought you a luxurious retirement home!" Leon said, pulling out the purchase contract. I looked at my name on the contract, and my eyes welled up with tears. I held my children's hands, repeating, "You're wasting money," but inside, my heart was sweeter than honey. Jane Zimmerman slipped her arm through mine and said softly, "Mom, this is our love as your children—please accept it." "But since the money for the house wasn't enough, I took out a loan in your name. The monthly mortgage isn't much—just think of it as building security for yourself." I didn't think much of it—my children were so caring, after all—so I signed right then and handed my salary card to Jane to help with the mortgage payments. Since then, every month I waited for Jane Zimmerman to tell me the home loan was finally paid off, dreaming about moving into a spacious, bright retirement home. Then, six months later, Jason Zimmerman suddenly started coughing up blood. He was rushed to the hospital for tests and diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer. The doctor said chemotherapy needed to start immediately, with upfront costs of at least two hundred thousand. I was desperate and hurried home to get my salary card, hoping to withdraw whatever money was left for an emergency. But when I arrived at the bank, the teller told me there was only three hundred dollars left in the account. At first, I thought I misheard and checked several times. But no—there was truly only three hundred dollars. My heart just sank to the bottom. I deposit my salary into this card every month—how could there be so little left? I stumbled to the Real Estate Bureau, hoping to check on the retirement home, but the staff's words hit me like a thunderbolt. "This house was mortgaged last month. The person who mortgaged it is Jason Zimmerman." My mind went blank, my whole body trembled, and I could barely stand. Jason knew perfectly well that this was the retirement home our children bought for us. How could he mortgage the house? Clutching the mortgage certificate, I staggered back to the hospital. Jason Zimmerman lay on the hospital bed, avoiding my eyes when he saw the proof in my hand, stammering and unable to reply. After pressing him for a long time, he finally admitted that Leon Zimmerman and Jane Zimmerman had forced him to mortgage the house, saying they needed the money for an investment and would pay it back once it succeeded. I was so furious that my whole body shook, and I immediately called Leon and Jane to come to the hospital.