I had always trusted my son completely. From the moment he was born, I poured my heart into raising him, guiding him, and giving him everything I could. Now, at 69, I thought I was entering a phase of life where I could finally relax a bit and enjoy the comfort of knowing my family was taken care of.

I had done my best, and I had always believed that my efforts had been appreciated. But little did I know, what I was about to discover would shatter my trust in a way I could never have imagined.

For months, my son kept telling me the same thing: “Mom, don’t worry. I send money every month for you. Everything is taken care of.” At first, I was touched. He lived in a different city, working a job that demanded long hours, and I found solace in knowing that even from afar, he was thinking about me.

Every time I spoke with him on the phone, he reassured me, “Mom, check your account, it’s all there.” But when I did check my bank statements, month after month, the numbers never reflected what he claimed. My account was always empty.

I tried to dismiss it as some kind of banking delay. Maybe the transfers were slow, or perhaps there was an error in how I was checking the statements. I even asked the bank, twice, if there was a problem on their end.

Both times, they assured me there was nothing unusual. I started to feel a gnawing sense of unease, but I didn’t want to confront him. After all, he had always been a kind, thoughtful person. Maybe he really was sending money and it was just… stuck somewhere. I didn’t want to accuse him falsely.

But the months passed, and the emptiness of my account only grew more glaring. I started to feel foolish for trusting him blindly. Whenever he called, I could hear a kind of pride in his voice as he reminded me of his monthly support.

I wanted to believe him, but my intuition screamed otherwise. I began to notice small inconsistencies in his stories. Sometimes he would say he had sent the money on the first of the month, sometimes the 15th, and sometimes he said he had sent multiple transfers in a single month. The more I listened, the more it didn’t add up.

One evening, as I sat alone in my modest living room, I finally decided I needed to know the truth. I set up a camera in front of my front door, pointing toward my mailbox and the area where bank letters sometimes arrived. I wanted to see, just once and for all, whether the money he claimed to send was actually reaching me. I felt guilty, as if I were betraying him, but I knew I couldn’t go on living in uncertainty.

Days turned into weeks. Every time my phone rang, I felt a twinge of anxiety. He called more than usual, reminding me to check my account, claiming he had already sent the latest transfer.

And every time, I knew, my account remained empty. Then, one morning, the footage revealed what I could never have imagined. My son’s best friend—someone I had always trusted—walked up to my mailbox and retrieved the envelopes before I even had a chance to see them. Inside were letters and small checks addressed to me.

I was stunned. My heart sank so deeply that I felt physically ill. I couldn’t comprehend why my own son would allow someone else to take what was meant for me. My mind raced.

Was he aware of it? Was he complicit, or was he just oblivious? I knew I had to confront him, but I also knew I needed proof beyond my own eyes. So, I kept the camera running, capturing every visit and every person who came near my mailbox.

Within a week, the evidence was irrefutable. My son had indeed been sending money, but it never reached me because his friend had been intercepting everything. Why? That part remained unclear. Perhaps jealousy, perhaps greed, but the betrayal cut deeper than any explanation could ever mend.

When I finally confronted my son, I expected denial, perhaps even outrage at my accusations. Instead, he looked shocked, horrified, and deeply apologetic.

He had been sending the money faithfully, never realizing it was being stolen before it reached me. His friend had managed to convince him that everything was fine, creating false confirmations and fake messages that reassured him.