After spending 20 years drawing pictures of the mother who abandoned her, Alexa finally got her chance at reconciliation. But sometimes, a person’s love comes with hidden motives, and the truth behind her mother’s sudden return would force Alexa to make a hard choice.
The memory of that day is crystal clear in my mind, even after 20 years. I was five, clutching my stuffed bunny on Grandma Rose’s front porch as my mom knelt in front of me.
Her mascara left black streaks down her cheeks while she explained why she had to leave.
“Sweetie, Mark doesn’t want children in his new home,” Mom said, her voice wobbling. “But I love you very much. This is just… the best thing for everyone right now.”
I didn’t understand much at the time.
Mark, her new husband, had come into the picture after my own dad passed away a few years before. He never liked me. Even as a child, I could tell.
But I couldn’t understand why we were at my grandmother’s (Dad’s mom) porch.
My tiny fingers gripped the bunny tighter as my mother kissed my forehead. The smell of her flowery perfume lingered in the air long after she walked to her car. That’s when I realized she was leaving me… for good.
“Mommy, please don’t go!” I called out, but she didn’t turn back.
The sound of her car faded into the distance, and I was left alone with my tears.
Behind me, the screen door creaked open. “Oh, my word! She couldn’t even ring the doorbell?” Grandma Rose wondered, looking back and forth to the street with her hands on her waist.
Her gaze landed on me, and immediately, her warm arms wrapped around my shaking frame.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, pulling me close. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’re staying with me for a while.”
I buried my face in her soft cardigan, but nothing could stop my sobs.
Despite my confusion, I knew that my mother had abandoned me.
That night, Grandma tucked me into bed in her guest room, which would become my room for the next 15 years. She read me stories until I fell asleep, exhausted from crying.
As the days turned into weeks and months, Grandma Rose became my entire world. She walked me to school every morning and never missed a single play, always sitting in the front row with her proud smile.
The smell of a home-cooked meal was almost permanent in her home, and Grandma would always listen to every detail about my classes and my friends while we ate.
But I still missed Mom.
In secret, I started drawing pictures of her.
In my childish scrawls, we were always together and happy. Mom pushing me on a swing. Mom and I having a tea party.
Mom braiding my hair.
I kept these drawings in a shoebox under my bed, adding new ones whenever the ache in my heart grew too strong.
“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.”
The years passed, turning Grandma’s brown hair with gray streaks to almost completely white. My life moved on, too.
I graduated from high school and then college, eventually finding a job in marketing and moving into my own apartment in the city.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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