Every expense was carefully calculated. She wanted to survive the winter without debts, without shame, without asking anyone for help.

When she called the sawmill, her voice was soft and uncertain. She did not ask for discounts. She did not complain. She only requested the smallest amount she could pay for, hoping it would keep her old stove burning through the coldest nights.

But the next morning, a large truck stopped in front of her house.

Much too large.

Without saying a word, the workers began unloading wood. The pile grew higher and wider. Nena felt her heart tighten. She knew she could never pay for that much.

With tears in her eyes, she begged the driver to stop.

“There must be a mistake… Please… I don’t have this kind of money…”

She held out all her savings. Everything she had.

The driver gently shook his head.

“This is not a mistake, ma’am. It’s a gift… from your son.”

Nena froze.

“From my son?… But… he disappeared twenty years ago…”

The man looked at her seriously.

“He is alive. And he has never forgotten you.”

Her legs gave way. She sat down on the cold ground as memories flooded back.

Twenty years earlier, she had been left alone with a small boy. Her husband had died in an accident. The money ran out. No one came to help.

She worked wherever she could — cleaning houses, washing clothes, helping neighbors. All so her son would never go hungry.

In winter, they slept under one thin blanket. She always gave him the last piece of bread.

“Eat, my dear. I’ve already eaten,” she would lie.

When he turned fifteen, he left for the city to study. She sold her last cow to pay for his journey.

The letters became fewer.

Then they stopped.

People said he was missing.

Maybe dead.

She cried for years.

Then the tears disappeared.

The driver handed her a folded note.

“He wanted you to read this.”

Her hands trembled as she opened it.

“Mom, I’m sorry I wasn’t there. Now it’s my turn to take care of you. You gave me life — I give you warmth.”

She pressed the paper to her chest.

Two days later, another car arrived.

A tall man stepped out. His hair was touched with gray. He stood at the gate, unsure.

“Mom…”

Nena ran outside barefoot, not feeling the cold.

They embraced.

Twenty years of pain vanished in one moment.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a better life,” she sobbed.

“You gave me everything,” he replied. “Love. Strength. Hope.”

From that day on, her house was warm.

The stove never went cold.

There was food in the fridge.

And most importantly — she was no longer alone.

Every morning, he made her tea.

Every evening, he asked:

“Are you cold, Mom?”

And she smiled:

“No, my son. I’m warm. In my home. And in my heart.”