For twenty years, my mother made sure the homeless boy living behind our house never went hungry. After her funeral, he took both my hands in his and told me, “Before she d:ie:d, she BEGGED ME TO KEEP HER SECRET FROM YOU.”

“Every year, I came back to this house,” Gabriel said. “Every year, I asked her whether you were ready to receive them, but she always said no.”

I stared at Gabriel with tears welling in my eyes as anger surged through me once again.

“After I turned eighteen, she did not have the right to decide for me anymore,” I said bitterly. “And neither did you.”

“I know,” Gabriel replied immediately, meeting my angry gaze without making any excuses. “I should have chosen differently back then, and loyalty to your mother does not excuse what I did to you.”

He explained that Mom had fed him, paid for his night school tuition, and treated him like real family when nobody else remained in his life. Gratitude had slowly turned into complete obedience, and obedience had eventually turned into a deep fear of betraying her wishes.

“And what about the luxury car?” I asked bitterly, gesturing toward his vehicle. “What about the expensive coat? Was Mom secretly feeding a future millionaire all those years as well?”