A young man who gave his mother a little money every day accidentally discovered her secret

Every day on his way home from work, Jamshid would give his mother a little money. Sometimes fifty thousand soums, sometimes a hundred thousand. When he had more, he gave more; when he was struggling, he gave less. But he never left his mother empty-handed.

— Mother, here is a share from our daily provision for you, — he would say, handing her the money.

His mother, Muqaddas aya, would always give the same reply:

— My child, use it for yourself. What do I need? I have my pension, I have a home. Think about your own family.

— You are my mother. Giving to you is not an extra expense, — Jamshid would laugh.

For him, this had become a simple habit. After his father passed away, his mother had raised him alone, educated him, married him off, and even prioritized her son's needs over buying clothes for herself. Now, Jamshid wanted to make his mother happy in any way he could.

However, Muqaddas aya had a habit. She never spent the money her son gave her right away. She would carefully fold the bills, put them in her old wallet, and hide it at the very top of her wardrobe.

Jamshid had seen this many times, but he had never asked why.

— Mother, what do you do with the money? Why don't you buy yourself something to eat? — he would sometimes ask.

— It will come in handy, my child, — his mother would answer briefly.

Jamshid understood this as simple savings. He thought perhaps his mother was worried about having needs when she got older.

But one day, he found out why the money was being collected.

As usual, Jamshid returned from work and went to his mother's house. He had received his salary today, so he wanted to give her more than usual.

— Mother, here, I'm giving you a little more today. Buy yourself some nice clothes. Winter is approaching.

Muqaddas aya took the money and smiled at her son's face.

— Thank you, my child. May God bless your life.

Just then, Jamshid's phone rang. Because he received an urgent call from work, he left the money on his mother's table and went out to the yard.

The phone conversation lasted a long time. When he returned, his mother was talking to her neighbor, and the papers on the table had fallen to the floor.

— Mother, your papers have fallen, — Jamshid said, picking them up.

Among the papers, he noticed a small notebook with his name written on it. The first page of the notebook recorded dates and amounts of money.

"January 3 — 50,000 soums".

"January 4 — 100,000 soums".

"January 5 — 50,000 soums".

Jamshid was surprised. The following pages continued with the same type of entries. Every day, every amount was recorded precisely.

— Mother, what is this? — he asked.

Muqaddas aya was silent for a moment. The neighbor woman also stopped talking.

— Nothing, my child. I just wrote it down.

Jamshid continued to flip through the notebook. On one page, his hands began to tremble.

There, written in larger letters, it said:

"Jamshid's debt — 18,700,000 soums".

The young man looked at his mother.

— What debt? I don't owe anyone anything!

His mother bowed her head. After a brief silence, she began to speak in a low voice:

— My child, there is something I didn't tell you. Last year, when you were struggling at work and needed money to renovate your house, you borrowed money from me. Do you remember?

Jamshid remembered those days. Indeed, he had been short on money to repair his roof and had taken several million soums from his mother. He had said he would pay it back when he could.

— Yes, mother. But why are you keeping a record of this? I told you I would pay it back.

Muqaddas aya tried to smile.

— I have been deducting all the money you gave me from that debt. You give a little every day. And I write it in the notebook. I said I wouldn't let you know.

— Why? After all, I am giving you this money to help you!

His mother held her son's hand.

— I know, my child. But you have your own family, your children. If I took money from you and spent it on myself, something inside me would feel uneasy. I did this so you wouldn't have to worry about paying back the money you borrowed from me. I deducted what you gave every day from your debt. And you were happy thinking you were providing for me.

Jamshid looked at the notebook once more. There was one more entry there:

"Remaining — 0 soums".

The young man stared at these numbers for a long time.

— So, the money I gave you was me paying back my own debt?

— Yes, my child. Now you have no debt left to me.

Tears came to Jamshid's eyes.

— Mother, you raised me for all these years. You educated me, married me off, and provided me with a home. Now, if I give you money, do you count that as a debt too? Was I born in debt to you?

Muqaddas aya wiped her son's eyes.

— For a mother, it is not the money her child gives that is valuable, but his love. I don't expect anything from you. Just be healthy and live peacefully with your family. That is enough for me.

Jamshid hugged his mother. Until now, he had considered himself a good son for giving his mother money. But now he realized that his mother had been denying herself the money he gave, saving it so as not to be an extra burden on her son's family.

That day, after Jamshid returned home, he told his wife everything. Then he made a decision: from now on, there would be no accounting when giving money to his mother. He would set aside a separate amount for her every month, buy her necessary things, and most importantly, check on her well-being often.

The next day, he went to his mother's again. He had a small box in his hand. Inside was a new phone and the glasses his mother had been wanting to get for a long time.

— My child, what is the need for these? — his mother said.

— There is a need, mother. You were keeping track of my debt. Now I want to show you my love for you without keeping track of it.

Muqaddas aya laughed. Then she stroked her son's head.

— Love has no accounting, my child. It should only be felt.

That day, Jamshid realized one thing: the money given to parents is a very small thing compared to their love. And they sometimes hide their own needs so as not to burden their children.

Therefore, the greatest gift to a mother is not money. It is attention, time, kind words, and making her feel that you are by her side every day.

Because one day, the opportunity to give money to your mother may no longer exist. But at that time, there will be no price for the regret of unspoken loving words, unmade calls, and delayed visits.