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“His pride,” Ashley admitted. “He’s afraid his friends and colleagues will judge him. But I told him that if he really loves you, he should swallow his pride.”
For the first time, Ashley had said something sensible. It was ironic that she was the one who understood what Ethan needed to do.
I left them there, processing my words and probably calculating how much money they had just seen leave my credit card.
That afternoon, as I admired my new jewelry in my apartment, I reflected on the encounter. Seeing Carol and Ashley in that jewelry store had been revealing. Their shock at my spending power confirmed they had never taken me seriously as a person with resources. To them, I had always been the poor relative who needed their charity.
My phone rang. It was Ethan. This time I decided to answer.
“Hello, son.”
His voice was hoarse, exhausted.
“Mom, Ashley told me she saw you at the jewelry store. She… she told me what you bought.”
There was a pause.
“I didn’t know you had that much money available for personal expenses.”
His breathing was heavy on the other end of the line.
“Mom, I’m considering making the video, but I need to know that you’ll really forgive me if I do.”
That question revealed exactly who Ethan was. Even in his apology, he needed guarantees. He needed to know what he would get in return.
“Ethan,” I replied, “a genuine apology doesn’t come with conditions. You either feel real remorse or you don’t. You decide.”
Ethan hung up without responding.
For the next two days, I heard nothing from him. Ashley sent me a few messages saying he was reflecting deeply on the video. Carol tried to call me several times, but I didn’t answer. I had already said everything I had to say.
On the third day, as I was packing my belongings for the move to Barcelona, my phone exploded with notifications. Ethan had posted the video to his social media. With trembling hands, I opened the app to watch it.
“Hi everyone,” Ethan began, his voice cracking. “I need to talk about something very important. Three weeks ago at my wedding, I made the biggest mistake of my life.”
He ran his hands through his hair, visibly distressed.
“I told everyone I wanted to thank my real mother, referring to my mother-in-law. What I didn’t say that night is that my real mother, my only mother, is Stephanie Herrera. She adopted me when I was 5 years old after my biological parents died. For 45 years, she gave me all her love, her time, her money, her dreams.”
Tears began to roll down Ethan’s cheeks.
“My mom worked two jobs to pay for my private school. She gave up having her own family to take care of me. She spent all her savings on my wedding, $19,000 that she had saved her entire life.”
His voice broke completely.
“And I repaid her with public humiliation. I treated her like she was a nobody. I called her the day after the wedding asking for more money. I let my wife treat her badly. I allowed my mother-in-law to replace her. I’m an ungrateful son who doesn’t deserve the love of that extraordinary woman.”
The video continued for five more minutes. Ethan detailed specifically each of his failings, every moment of disrespect toward me. He admitted that he had known about the adoption from a young age, but had never truly thanked me for saving his life. He confessed that he had seen me as an ATM for years.
“My mother, Stephanie, has disinherited me,” Ethan continued. “And she has every right to do so. I destroyed our relationship out of vanity, for wanting to impress people who weren’t worth it. If she decides to move to Europe and never see me again, I will understand, because I broke the heart of the one person who loved me unconditionally.”
The video ended with Ethan looking directly at the camera.
“Mom, if you’re watching this, I want you to know that I am sorry for every second of pain I caused you. I don’t expect your forgiveness. I just hope you find the happiness you deserve, with or without me.”
The screen went black. My tears were falling onto my phone as I read the comments. There were hundreds of them.
“You’re a thankless brat,” one person wrote.
“That woman deserves a better son,” commented another.
“I hope your mother never forgives you,” said a third.
The video was going viral.
My phone rang immediately. It was Javier, my friend from the factory.
“Stephanie, I just saw Ethan’s video. Everyone is talking about it. Are you okay?”
His voice reflected shock and compassion.
“I’m fine, Javier. Better than I’ve been in years.”
“That boy looks destroyed,” Javier continued. “But what he did at that wedding was unforgivable. Are you really moving to Europe?”
I looked around my apartment at the packed boxes, the plane tickets already purchased.
“Yes, Javier, it’s time for me to live for myself.”
Over the next few hours, I received calls from people I hadn’t heard from in years: former co-workers, neighbors, even some distant cousins who had seen the video. They all expressed their support and their outrage at the treatment I had received.
“We always knew you were too good for him,” my old supervisor from the factory told me.
Ashley showed up at my apartment that same afternoon, unannounced. Her face was swollen from crying.
“Stephanie, please open the door. I know you’re in there.”
Her voice was desperate. I finally opened it, more out of curiosity than compassion.
“Ethan hasn’t stopped crying since he posted the video,” Ashley said, walking in uninvited. “He’s getting hundreds of hate messages. His co-workers are looking at him differently. Some clients have canceled meetings with him.”
Her description filled me with a satisfaction I didn’t expect.
“And I’m supposed to care about that?” I asked coldly.
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