After 20 Years Apart, My Mother Returned Seeking a Second Chance

At 5, My Mom Left Me with Grandma Because Her Husband Didn’t Want Kids – 20 Years Later, She Came Back Begging for Forgiveness

Alexa finally had the opportunity to make amends after 20 years of sketching the mother who had abandoned her. However, love may often have ulterior intentions, and Alexa would have to make a difficult decision if she discovered the truth about her mother’s unexpected homecoming.

Even after twenty years, I can still clearly recall that day. My mom was kneeling in front of me when I was five years old, holding my pet bunny on Grandma Rose’s front porch. As she explained why she had to leave, her mascara streaked her cheeks black.

Mom’s voice wavered as she replied, “Sweetie, Mark doesn’t want children in his new home.” But you have my undying love. Right now, this is simply the finest thing for everyone.

At the time, I didn’t understand much. My own father had died a few years prior, and Mark, her new husband, had entered the picture. I was never liked by him. I could perceive it even as a child. However, I was baffled as to why we were on my grandmother’s (Dad’s mother) porch.

As my mother kissed my forehead, my little fingers tightened their hold on the bunny. Long after she had walked to her car, the scent of her flowery perfume was still around. That’s when I understood she was leaving me… for good.

“Mommy, please don’t go!” She didn’t turn around when I shouted out to her. I was left crying by myself as the sound of her automobile vanished into the distance.

The screen door squeaked open behind me. “Oh, my word! Was it impossible for her to even ring the doorbell? Grandma Rose pondered while keeping her hands on her waist and glancing back and forth to the street.

As soon as her eyes found me, her warm arms encircled my trembling body. She said, “Oh, sweetheart,” and drew me in. “Don’t be concerned, dear. I’ll have you here for a while.”

Nothing stopped me from crying, even though I buried my face in her cozy cardigan. I was confused, but I knew my mother had left me.

Grandma put me to bed that night in her guest room, which would serve as my room for the next fifteen years. I was so tired from crying that she read me stories until I fell asleep.

Grandma Rose became everything to me as the days stretched into weeks and months. She always sat in the front row with her proud smile, walked me to school every morning, and never missed a play.

While we were eating, Grandma would always listen to every detail about my school and my friends, and her house was virtually always filled with the aroma of a home-cooked supper.

I still missed Mom, though.

I began sketching her behind closed doors. In my naive drawings, we were constantly together and content. On a swing, Mom pushes me. I’m having a tea party with Mom. My mother braided my hair.

I stored these sketches in a shoebox beneath my bed, adding new ones as my heart began to hurt too much.

Grandma would always respond, “Your mom loves you in her own way,” when I inquired about her. “But sometimes people don’t know how to show love properly.”

Grandma’s gray-streaked brown hair turned nearly white as the years went by. My life also progressed. I eventually found a job in marketing after graduating from high school and college, and I moved into my own apartment in the city.

Grandma was my guide and my rock through it all.

Then my world fell apart last year. I was working on a presentation on a Tuesday night when I received the call. Grandmother had had a severe heart attack. She had left by the time I arrived at the hospital.

I have no recollection of the funeral. The fact that one of Grandma’s friends took the initiative to plan it made me glad. Everything was a blur to me.

I felt like a ghost in my own flat throughout the next few weeks, which were empty. Life had no purpose. Every time I reached for my phone to call Grandma, I realized I was no longer able to do so.

Then someone knocked on my door one wet afternoon. I forced myself to answer it even though I wasn’t expecting anyone. My mother was there at my door.

Her face was scarred by twenty years, yet I knew who she was right away. She had luxury clothes rather than the plain gowns I recalled, and her hair was done in an expensive way. However, her eyes shared my rich brown hue.

“Alexa,” she muttered. “Seeing you is really wonderful. You told me about your grandmother. I’m very sorry that I was unable to attend the funeral.

I was speechless as I stood motionless in my doorway. I had a plethora of feelings all at once. I had no idea how to respond to the woman who had left me so long ago.

She said, “Can I come in?” “I know I don’t deserve it, but I’d like to explain.”

A tiny part of me, the young child who had spent years sketching her mother’s absence, whispered yes even if my heart cried no. I moved out of the way.

Sitting on my couch, Mom—whom I now called Evelyn—told me her story. It seems that after just five years, her marriage to Mark—the guy who never desired children—had broken down. Every every day, she said, she regretted leaving me.

However, she had been too embarrassed to return for me. I listened even though I wasn’t sure whether what she was saying was accurate.

“I know I can’t make up for lost time,” she replied, using a tissue to dab at her eyes. But I really do miss you. I discovered your address after learning about Rose and realizing that life is too short to live with regrets. Give me another chance to be your mother, please.

I wished to trust her. How I wished I could believe her. I allowed Evelyn to return to my life, which would have caused Grandma Rose to shake her head.

It appeared ideal at first. She brought me to lunch, called frequently, and inquired about my friends and job. When I showed her old pictures of myself and Grandma Rose when I was a teenager, she started crying.

“I wish I had had more time to beg for her pardon as well. Evelyn squeezed my hand and continued, “She raised you after losing her own son, which was a huge favor to me.” “I hope that, wherever she is, she’s happy that we’re together again.”

Wishing for the same, I nodded. I wasn’t a naive girl, though.

Every time I interacted with Evelyn, my intuition begged me to stop inviting her into my life. Because a number of things felt strange, regardless of how sincere her statements appeared to be.

She was constantly texting on her phone. Additionally, she would take pictures of us together, forcing me to smile and pose, but I never saw these pictures online. She also never told me about them.

Additionally, since Mark, I knew nothing about her life. Evelyn would always sidestep the topic and divert it with inquiries about me when I asked.

At last, she went to the restroom one evening while we were eating dinner at my apartment. On the table, her phone buzzed. A notification flashed on the screen, but I shouldn’t have looked.

I scowled at the message preview:

“Can’t wait to meet your daughter…”

Richard was the source of it.

I picked up the phone with trembling hands and found it was unlocked. I clicked, bringing up the entire thread of messages. Evelyn had just taken a picture of us, and that was the first thing I saw.

She had sent it to this Richard earlier that evening, according to the timestamps.

Under it was her message:

“Just me and my daughter having the best time together. I told you, I’m all about family❤️”

My gut churned. She was lying to him, pretending to be a doting mother. But why? I scrolled up a bit and discovered the reason.

Richard had two young kids, and he was looking for a woman who would become a maternal figure in their lives because their biological mother had disappeared.

Evelyn clearly wanted him, so she faked having a close relationship with me. She wasn’t here because she missed me or regretted leaving me. She was using our “reunion” to impress some man.

I put the phone back down and stared at the wall. She’ll pick any man over me. Every time.

When Evelyn came out of the bathroom, I didn’t confront her. Instead, I went to my bedroom and returned with the old shoebox full of childhood drawings. I handed it to her without a word.

“What’s this?” she asked, opening it. Her eyes widened at the stack of faded paintings. “Oh, Alexa… did you draw these?”

“Every few weeks,” I said quietly. “For years after you left.”

She hugged me close, tears running down her cheeks. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave you again,” she promised. “We’re family and that’s all that matters.”

My arms didn’t wrap around her. But she didn’t notice… or I suppose she didn’t care. I let her stay over, and the next morning, she left with more promises to call soon.

But I made no such commitments in return, and the fact that she left the shoebox in my guest bedroom was more than enough confirmation that this was just a means to an end for her.

When she called, I didn’t answer. When she showed up at my apartment days later, knocking and shouting my name, I sat silently until she gave up and left.

I felt better when she wasn’t around. So, one night, I took the shoebox of drawings to the dumpster behind my building.

As I threw it in, I remembered something Grandma Rose once told me:

“You are a strong, capable young woman, Alexa. Remember your value at all times.

I decided not to participate in whatever Evelyn had planned because she was correct. Nor would I be involved in her life. I was choosing myself.