That evening, they sat together watching the sun sink into the lake.
The sky glowed orange and crimson.
They held each other.
A soft breeze brushed her face, and for a moment she felt as though her late husband were there too, smiling proudly.
“Now I can rest,” Teresa whispered.
Her sons had learned to fly.
But more importantly, they had learned what sacrifice meant.
And she discovered that when a mother plants love, life returns it — multiplied, with wings.
Tonight, before you go to sleep, will you call your mother?
Because in the end, we all soar because someone once walked barefoot so we could run.
Who was yours?
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