However, late at night, I’d draw pictures of my mom and me, imagining a life where she had stayed.
I kept those drawings in a shoebox under my bed, and although I built a full life—with college, a job, and my own apartment—I never stopped wondering why she left.
For illustrative purpose only
Then, after Grandma’s sudden passing, I felt completely alone.
That’s when my mother suddenly appeared at my door, claiming she regretted everything.
She said she wanted to be part of my life again, and in spite of my hesitation, I let her in.
Initially, things felt hopeful—lunches together, teary conversations, and photos of old memories.
