At the end of the St. Vincent High School hallway, beneath the noisy laughter of teenagers, Mabel Jackson, a thin black woman in her 60s, was bent over, scrubbing the floor in her worn janitor’s uniform. Then came the loud thud of footsteps. Lucas Hamilton, a white student with blonde hair and blue eyes, the son of one of the school’s biggest donors, shoved Mabel hard into the wall.

Behind him, a group of white kids snickered like it was all some kind of game. This filthy old black lady’s cleaning what exactly? This floor is cleaner than you are. Lucas sneered, then stomped across the freshly mopped area, dragging a trail of muddy footprints.

Mabel looked up, tired but unshaken. I’m just doing my job. What you’re doing is wrong.

I’m reporting this. Lucas shrugged, smirking. What do you even know about right and wrong? Who are you anyway? Wait a second.

A teacher happened to walk by and saw everything. The next day, the school called in the parents.

And the man who arrived? Donald Hamilton, a sharp-dressed white businessman, polished and poised. He was also one of the school’s top donors. When the principal explained what happened, Donald frowned, not out of concern for his son’s actions, but because he was busy.

You brought me in here over some black janitor? Donald raised an eyebrow. The principal hesitated. We thought you should be aware, so maybe you could… It’s not my problem, Donald interrupted, waving a hand…

Just fire her if you have to. Don’t waste my time over some lowly old black woman. And just like that, days later, Mabel was let go.

No proper reason, just a cheap envelope handed to her like they were tossing away a burden. For weeks now, Mabel had no job, no support. She survived by picking up scrap metal and selling it.

She didn’t know that, just a few hundred meters away, someone was watching her from inside a shiny black Mercedes. The car quietly rolled closer. Donald Hamilton stepped out, hands in his pockets.

His eyes looked at Mabel, not cold like before, but something else, something deeper, harder to explain. Do you remember me? He asked, voice soft but full of meaning. Mabel froze.

A flash of confusion crossed her face. Then she shook her head and bent down to pick up another piece of scrap. You can come live at my house, Donald said.

Think of it as me repaying you for taking care of me when I was a child. Mabel’s hand stopped. She looked up.

Something lit up in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything, just gave a small nod. Donald had recognized her the first time he saw her working as a janitor at school. Mabel had recognized him too, but she didn’t dare admit it.

That past, she had buried it deep inside her heart. Years ago, Mabel had been Donald’s foster mother. She took him in when he was just a newborn, but when Donald turned nine, she sold him to a rich white family in exchange for money, even as he cried and begged her not to.

That white family raised Donald with strict rules. They wanted him to become the perfect son. Because he had been abandoned by Mabel once and was scared of being abandoned again, he followed every rule.

He never got to be himself, not until his adoptive parents died. Donald’s house was a fancy mansion in the suburbs. Everything was shiny, just like his life on the outside…

But when Mabel stepped in, she felt not just the coldness of money, but the coldness of the people inside. Lucas, the son who had once bullied her at school, saw her and laughed out loud. This old lady again? Dad, why’d you bring her here? As a pet? Donald didn’t answer.

He just turned away and said, she’s staying. Don’t make trouble. From that day on, Mabel lived there, and the insults began.

Lucas threw all his anger at her. He called her filthy maid, tossed things on the floor and made her pick them up, shouting whenever she walked past his room. The other maids, seeing how the owner treated her, joined in.

They gave her the hardest jobs, cleaning the dog kennel, scrubbing the basement toilet no one else would touch. And Donald, the man who had once been held in her arms, just watched. He said nothing, never defended her, as if trying to block out any connection to the woman who once mothered him.

One afternoon, Lucas was skating inside the house. He sped down the hallway, heading toward the staircase. Mabel rushed out, panicked.

Careful, that’s dangerous. Lucas stopped suddenly and snapped, what do you know to tell me what to do? Then out of nowhere, he shoved her hand away. Harder than usual.

Mabel lost her balance. Thud. Her body hit the stairs, bumping down each step, her thin frame crashing into the hard wood, like the world was punishing her with every hit.

Lucas froze, face pale. A thin stream of blood trickled from Mabel’s forehead. Dad! Dad! He screamed.

For the first time, Lucas was truly afraid. The sound of the ambulance cut through the air like a knife. Donald sat frozen in the hospital waiting area, hands trembling, fingers tightly locked together.

For the first time in years, there was no anger or hate in his heart. It was something else, more confusing. Worry, maybe.

Guilt, a little. But deeper than that, it was a feeling of loss, like something inside him was being torn apart. When a hospital worker came over to ask about the patient’s family, Donald flinched slightly.

He nodded and signed the papers, his hand reluctant. Just then, a deep, familiar voice spoke from behind. You’re Donald, right? You finally met your mother again? Donald turned around.

He saw a black man in his 50s, simply dressed, but with clear, kind eyes. The man stepped forward and reached out his hand. I’m Barnes, director of the Community Welfare Center, the one your mother brought you to years ago…

Do you remember me? Donald frozen. Something rose up inside him, but he forced it down. His voice turned cold.

I don’t have a mother. Don’t talk to me about her. A woman who sells her own child doesn’t deserve to be called mother.

Mr. Barnes was stunned. After a pause, he sat down next to Donald, his eyes full of sorrow. I’m sorry, Donald.

I truly am. Your mother, Mabel. She never sold you.

She didn’t take a single dollar. On the contrary, she cried until she almost collapsed, begging me to find you a better family, because she was too poor. He stopped briefly, then continued, every word hitting Donald like a hammer.

She didn’t want you to grow up in hunger, with no future like she did, but you were too young. You kept asking for her, crying and refusing to leave. So I, I was the one who lied to you.

I told you she sold you, so you’d calm down and accept the new family. I never thought those words would make you hate her all these years. I’m so sorry.

Donald sat frozen. Something cracked inside him. His heart trembled.

Memories rushed back like a flood. Her gentle eyes, the hand that held his every night, the soft lullabies in the hot summer wind, and that kiss on his forehead the day she left. He had never forgotten.

He had just locked it all away. She, she didn’t sell me, Donald whispered, his voice broken. A hot tear rolled down Donald’s cheek.

He held his head in his hands, his broad shoulders shaking. For the first time in so many years, he broke down and cried like a child. A few hours later, in the recovery room, soft white light shone down on Mabel’s wrinkled face…

She slowly woke up, her blurry eyes stinging from the light. And then she saw Donald sitting at the edge of the bed, holding her hands tightly, eyes red from crying. I, I’m sorry, mom.

That voice made Mabel gasp. She tried to sit up, but Donald quickly supported her. I, I know everything now.

I understand. You never abandoned me, treated you so badly. Mabel gave a soft smile.

Even though she was weak, her face lit up with a gentle glow that pushed back the pain. As long as you lived well, mother and son held each other in silence. Years of distance, misunderstanding and pain, apology and forgiveness.

Mr. Barnes had come to visit Mabel after hearing about her accident, but seeing the two reunited, he chose not to go in. He smiled and quietly walked away. A week later, Mabel, but this time, not as a servant, but as a mother.

Donald held a meeting with all the staff and firmly announced from today on my mother, Mrs. Mabel is the person I love and respect the most. Anyone who dares to insult or look down on her will be fired immediately. The staff lowered their heads.

Lucas, the son who had once pushed Mabel down the stairs, now stood frozen in a corner, face pale. Donald walked over to his son, his voice firm, but not harsh. Do you understand what you did wrong? Lucas nodded, trembling.

I shouldn’t have pushed her. I’m sorry. Donald looked at his son…