“But why? Did I do something wrong?”
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” my mother said. “I have a real family now. You’re just… getting in the way.”
“Enough, Pamela! She’s a child, for God’s sake. Your child.”
My mother shouted, “A mistake I’ve already paid for too much. Either you take her, or I’ll find someone else to.”
“Pack your things, darling,” said Grandma.
Even so, the trauma of my mother’s rejection continued to fester.
“Why doesn’t he love me?” I asked.
Her hands stopped. “Oh, Becca. Some people just aren’t capable of giving the love they should. It’s not your fault, darling. Never think it’s your fault.”
“But she loves Jason.”
“Your mother is broken in ways I haven’t been able to fix. I tried, God knows I tried. But she’s always run away from her mistakes instead of facing them.”
“So I’m a mistake?”
“No, darling. You are a gift. The best thing that has ever happened to me. Your mother can’t see beyond her own selfishness and doesn’t recognize what she is wasting.”
“Will you leave me someday too, Grandma?” I murmured.
“Never,” he said. “As long as I have breath, you’ll always have a home with me.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
When I was 11, my grandmother insisted we go out for a family dinner. She believed it was crucial to maintain some kind of connection, however tenuous. Deep down, I hoped my mother would realize what she had missed and welcome me back with open arms.
He barely grabbed me.
“Hi, Mom,” I said.
He frowned. “Ah! You’re here.”
I had spent hours on it, carefully folding the paper and writing “I love you, Mom” in my neatest handwriting on the front.
Inside, I had drawn our family: my mother, my stepfather, my little brother, and my grandmother. Because that’s how I wanted us to be… a real, happy family.
I said, “I made this for you.”
He barely glanced at it before handing it to my brother. “Here, honey. Something for you.”
I froze. That gift wasn’t for him.
“I bought it for you.”
“Oh, why do I need it? I have everything I want.”
Everything. Except me.
“Dinner is ready,” Charlie said.
“Let’s go,” my mother said.
That was the last time I wanted to see my mother.
Years passed. I grew up, became a successful woman, and built my own life.
My grandmother was my world. She never missed a graduation, a birthday, or any important event. She made sure I knew I belonged in her home.
But time is relentless. My grandmother, my real mother, also grew old.
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