“Mommy, please don’t go!” I cried out, but she never turned around. The sound of her car faded down the street, leaving me alone with my tears.
Behind me, the screen door creaked open. “Oh, my word! She couldn’t even ring the doorbell?” Grandma Rose muttered, scanning the street with her hands planted on her waist.
When her eyes landed on me, her expression softened instantly. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around my shaking body. “Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered gently. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’re staying with me for a while.”
I buried my face into her soft cardigan, sobbing uncontrollably. Even through my confusion, I understood one thing clearly: my mother had abandoned me.
That night, Grandma tucked me into the guest room, which would become my bedroom for the next fifteen years. She read stories to me until I finally fell asleep, completely exhausted from crying.
As weeks turned into months, Grandma Rose became my entire world. She walked me to school every morning and never missed a single school play, always sitting proudly in the front row. Her house constantly smelled of home-cooked meals, and she listened attentively as I talked about my classes and friends during dinner.
But no matter how safe I felt with her, I still missed my mom.
In secret, I began drawing pictures of her. In my childish sketches, we were always together and happy—Mom pushing me on a swing, Mom hosting tea parties with me, Mom braiding my hair. I kept these drawings hidden in a shoebox under my bed, adding new ones whenever the ache in my chest became unbearable.
“Your mom loves you in her own way,” Grandma would say whenever I asked about her. “But sometimes people don’t know how to show love properly.”
