Twenty years after my mother left me on my grandmother’s doorstep because her husband didn’t want children, she showed up at my door—polished, apologetic, claiming she wanted to be part of my life again.
I was five when she abandoned me, clutching my stuffed bunny as she drove away, leaving Grandma Rose to raise me. Grandma became my world, nurturing me through school, heartbreaks, and adulthood. I coped by secretly drawing pictures of the mother I longed for—us together, happy, safe.
After Grandma’s death, my mother, now calling herself Evelyn, returned. She seemed remorseful, trying to reconnect, but something felt off. Then I discovered she’d been sending photos of me and my daughter to a man, Richard, to impress him—once again putting someone else above me.
I didn’t forgive her. I let her leave, shoebox of my childhood drawings in hand, and I chose myself. For all the years of love and care Grandma Rose gave me, I remembered my worth—and refused to be used again.