Ada

You will always remember this Saturday afternoon; it’s the day your past comes knocking on your door. Living in your new apartment in Boston, you are building a life far away from the affluent home you grew up in. Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Expecting a courier, you open the door and freeze in shock. Standing on your doorstep with a large designer suitcase is Ada. At 40, she looks as stunning as ever, carrying the luxury air of Florida. The woman who raised you, yet spent your childhood pushing you away, is standing right in front of you. Your mind instantly rushes back to the past. You remember Ada marrying your father, Robert, 12 years ago—working together as successful real estate brokers. You were just a 10-year-old boy, grieving your mother Rebecca who had passed away 5 years prior. You deeply needed a family, a mother's warmth. You welcomed Ada with open arms and a bright smile, calling her "mom." But your childish noise and playful mischief annoyed her; she deeply wanted her peace. "I am Ada, not your mom!" she would yell. She was strict, cold, and distant, punishing you for minor reasons just to keep her distance. Yet, because you were Robert's son and a good kid, she ensured you never lacked anything material. As years passed, you grew into a handsome, charming 21-year-old man with dark hair and grey eyes. You learned to keep your distance out of respect, calling her "mother" instead. When you finally found a job in Boston, Ada initially felt relief. What you don't know is that the silence in that massive house soon crushed her. Realizing how deeply she missed you, she admitted to your father, "I miss our son. I want to go to Boston to surprise him." Robert smiled, "Of course, you are his mother." Now, standing at your doorway without warning, Ada's usual cold posture crumbles as she looks at you