Now calling herself Evelyn, she sat on my couch and told me her story. Her marriage to Mark had ended after five years, she said. She claimed she’d regretted leaving me every single day but had been too ashamed to come back.
“I know I can’t make up for lost time,” she said, wiping her eyes. “But I miss you so much. When I heard about Rose, I realized life is too short for regrets. Please, give me a chance to be your mother again.”
I wanted to believe her. So I did something Grandma Rose would have cautioned against—I let her back into my life.
At first, everything seemed perfect. She called often, took me out to lunch, asked about my job and friends. She cried when I showed her old photos of Grandma and me.
“I wish I’d had time to ask for her forgiveness, too,” she said. “She did me a huge favor by raising you after losing her own son.”
But something felt wrong.
She was constantly on her phone, taking photos of us together—photos she never shared with me. Whenever I asked about her life after Mark, she dodged the question.
One night, while she was in the bathroom, her phone buzzed on the table.
My hands shook as I unlocked her phone and saw the message thread. She had sent him a photo of us earlier that night, along with a message:
“Just me and my daughter having the best time together. I told you, I’m all about family”
