Twenty years later, that day still haunts me. I was five, clutching my bunny on Grandma Rose’s porch as my tearful mom explained she was leaving because her new husband didn’t want kids. I didn’t understand—only felt abandoned. Grandma took me in, raising me with unwavering love. She became my anchor through school, college, and beyond.
Last year, she passed away. Soon after, my mother, Evelyn, reappeared—apologetic, wanting to reconnect. Hoping for closure, I let her in. But I soon discovered she was only using our reunion to impress a new partner seeking a “family woman.” When I confronted her with the childhood drawings I’d made longing for her, she offered empty promises.
I realized some wounds don’t heal—and some people don’t change. I let her go, choosing my own worth over her deception. Grandma was right all along: I am strong, and I deserve better.