My mom left when I was a kid, leaving only a note: “I can’t anymore. This burden stole my best years.” I was born with a disability, and I guess she couldn’t handle it. For months, I cried alone, feeling abandoned and unlovable. Her absence echoed through every birthday, every milestone she missed. It felt like I was never enough to be worth staying for.
But my stepfather stepped in. He never saw me as broken. He loved me like his own and lifted me up when I couldn’t stand on my own. With his support, I studied hard and became one of the most successful lawyers in the city. He taught me that love isn’t always from the people who give you life. Sometimes, it’s from the ones who choose to stay.
Life was full—friends, family, a career I’d built from the ground up. I often visited my dad’s farm for peace. Then one day, there was a knock at my door. It was her—my mom, older now, with tearful eyes and a trembling voice. My heart pounded as the past came rushing back all at once.
“I was scared. Leaving was my biggest mistake,” she whispered. Anger surged, but I knew forgiveness wasn’t for her—it was for me. I said, “It won’t be easy, but I’m willing to try.” She nodded. And just like that, we began again—slowly, but with hope. Some wounds don’t vanish, but sometimes, they can begin to close.