My daughter married a Korean man when she was 21. She hasn’t been home for twelve years, but every year she sends me $100,000. This Christmas, I decided to visit her in secret. When I opened the door to her house… I was paralyzed.
I’ll never forget that morning when I held the plane ticket with trembling hands, feeling my heart beat fast in a strange way. Twelve years. Exactly twelve years. Since Isabela married a Korean man, she has never returned home. But every year, without fail, 100 thousand dollars come to me, penny for penny.
People always said in amazement:
“You’re very lucky. Your daughter is so good to you… and you even married a rich man.”
But only I, as a mother, knew the pain of receiving money without being able to hug my own daughter. You can have all the money in the world, but not having your daughter around hurts in a way that you can’t explain.
My name is Helena, I’m 63 years old. I became a widow early and raised my only daughter, Isabela, alone. She was smart, sweet, and beautiful. Everyone said she would have a great life. And yes, she had a “great life”… at least that’s what others imagined.
When she was 21 years old, Isabela met Min-jun Park, a Korean man almost twenty years older than her. I was completely against it, not because of prejudice, but because of the age difference and the idea of seeing her live on the other side of the world. But my daughter was always stubborn.
“Mom, I know what I’m doing.
In the end, I gave in, because I saw in her eyes a firmness that I couldn’t break.
The marriage was simple. In less than a month, she embarked for South Korea with her husband. On the day she left, at Guarulhos airport, she hugged me crying nonstop. I also cried, but I tried to disguise it. I thought she would come back after a few years. But she didn’t.
One year, two, three… when it reached the fifth year, I didn’t even have the courage to ask anymore. Only the money kept coming.
Every year, exactly 100 thousand dollars, accompanied by a short note:
“Mom, take good care of you. I’m fine.”
It was precisely that word — well — that tormented me the most.
The neighbors whispered:
“She sends so much money, but she never comes back… there’s something wrong with that.
I just smiled. But at night, I couldn’t sleep peacefully.
We had a video call once. She was still beautiful, but there was something different about her gaze: always hurried, always distant. When I asked her why she never came to visit me, she was silent for a few seconds before answering:
“I’m too busy with work, Mom.
I didn’t ask anything else. Sometimes a mother becomes a coward just to not hear a truth that can break her heart.
Time went by. I got older. My hair became all gray. The house where I live, in the interior of Minas Gerais, improved thanks to the money she sent. Everyone said I was a lucky woman. But how can someone be happy having dinner alone every day?
Every Christmas, I kept putting an extra plate on the table for her. In some years, I would make the roast meat she liked best, watch the smoke rise from the pot, and let the tears fall into the sauce.
Twelve years is too long.
