At five in the morning, my cabin security alarm shattered the silence and my phone started buzzing — the young guard at the gate whispered, “Ma’am, your daughter-in-law just arrived with a moving truck and three men. She’s saying she owns the place now. I didn’t run to the door. I didn’t beg or argue. I stared at the Colorado mountains outside my window and simply told him, “Let her in.”

We were close. Not in the way some mothers smother their sons, but in the way two people respect and genuinely enjoy each other’s company. He’d drive up to the cabin once a month, help me fix whatever had broken, and we’d sit by the fire talking about everything and nothing.

He was proud of his independence, proud of the life he’d built.

And I was proud of him.

But Daniel had one flaw, one I’d noticed since he was young.

He trusted too easily.

He saw the best in people, sometimes to the point of ignoring the warning signs that others might catch. As his mother, I’d always worried that someone would take advantage of that kindness.

I just never expected it to happen the way it did.

It was late April when he called.

The snow had finally melted, and I was outside planting seeds in the small raised beds I’d built near the shed. My phone rang and I wiped the dirt from my hands before answering.

“Mom,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “I have something to tell you.”

“You’re quitting your job and becoming a park ranger,” I teased. “Finally.”

He laughed. “Not quite, but I did meet someone.”

I straightened, holding the  phone closer.

“Someone?”

“Her name’s Melissa. We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now. I wanted to wait to tell you until I was sure, you know. But, Mom, I’m sure. She’s incredible.”

There was a warmth in his voice I hadn’t heard in years. The kind of excitement that made my chest tighten with both joy and caution.

“Tell me about her,” I said gently.

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