The story began on a cold late-winter morning, when Mr. Thomas, a sixty-year-old man, clutched with trembling hands the property deed he had just transferred to his son. A retired civil servant, he had spent a lifetime saving and working tirelessly until he finally managed to build a spacious house on the edge of the city.

That home was his proudest achievement – the gathering place for his children and grandchildren, and the shelter he believed would encourage him in old age.

Out of deep affection for his son, he decided to control the title over to his eldest, David, and his wife. He thought simply: “If they have the papers, they’ll feel secure in business, and this will prevent disputes later. Besides, I trust my son will always be loyal and fulfill his duty as a child.”

But to his devastation, the moment they left the notary’s office, David’s words struck him like a blade:

“From now on, don’t come into this house. It belongs to my wife and me. You have no place here anymore.”

Mr. Thomas froze. He couldn’t believe his ears. The very house he had built with sweat and sacrifice had suddenly become forbidden to him.

After signing away the deed, his son threw him out but what they didn’t know was that he still had ten million dollars hidden away…

Before he could explain, David coldly urged him to pack his things. Mr. Thomas quietly filled a small bag with a few old clothes. What no one realized was that hidden among those belongings was a savings book consisting of over ten million dollars and the secret accumulation of his life’s work.

The bitter winter wind pressed against his weary steps as he left the house, eyes heavy with sorrow and betrayal.

With nowhere to go, Mr. Thomas wandered until he found a small roadside café. He sat there for hours, empty-handed, until the owner, pitying his frail figure, asked,

“Sir, where are you headed so late?”

He forced a weak smile.

“Ah… just looking for a place to stay.”

Days later, he rented a tiny, damp room at the edge of town, barely ten square meters. Yet to him, it became a refugee. Each day, he quietly rode his bicycle to the market for groceries, sometimes stopping at a café to watch life pass him by.

Curiously, he never touched that secret fortune. He lived simply, just as he always had. To outsiders, he appeared a poor, abandoned old man. But inside, he carried a secret no one knew.

Many sleepless nights, he asked himself:

“If David knew I still had money, would he treat me differently? Or would he only see me as a wallet?”

He didn’t curse life, nor did he rush to condemn his son. He knew times change and so do hearts. But he held to the belief that one day the truth would surface, revealing who truly loved him and who merely saw him as a burden.

One day, he visited an old friend, Mr. Allen, a former colleague. After hearing the story, Allen shook his head, both angry and saddened:

“You were wise to keep that money hidden. Don’t tell him. When the time comes, use it to live in peace. Don’t let yourself suffer any longer.”

Mr. Thomas gave a faint, bitter smile, though a glimmer of resolve showed in his eyes. Perhaps he was beginning to know that in old age, one must be careful whom to trust even one’s own children.

As time passed, news of his plight spread throughout the community. Some pitied him, while others mocked:

“He was a fool, handing everything to his son.”

“Old people trust too easily—betrayal always leaves scars.”

Meanwhile, back home, David and his wife fell into crisis. Their business destr0yed, debts mounted, and the bank hounded them. The house they thought would be their shield was now at risk of foreclosure. Desperate, David began to think of his father—not out of love, but out of suspicion that he might have hidden assets.

One afternoon, David appeared at the small rented room. He knocked, his voice trembling with false remorse:

“Dad, I was wrong. I’m sorry. Please come home. The house isn’t the same without you.”

Mr. Thomas studied his son quietly, his eyes unreadable. Instead of answering, he poured a cup of tea and set it on the table. In the silence of that cramped room, the ticking clock echoed like a reminder of the rift between them.

In the old wooden cabinet nearby, the savings ledger of ten million dollars remained untouched. He had never spent a dime, nor spoken of it to anyone.

Would he now use it to rescue his son or keep it to secure his final years in peace?

Even he did not yet know the answer. What was certain was that father and son now stood at a crossroads, torn between love and greed.

The story closed with the image of Mr. Thomas sitting in silence, one hand resting on the teacup, his eyes gazing out a foggy window, as if searching for answers in the gray sky beyond.