I Beat Cancer to Reunite with My Daughter—But Her Stepmother Had Erased Me from Her Life

I Survived Cancer to Reunite with My Daughter, Only to Find Her Stepmother Had Erased Me from Her Life — Story of the Day

I overcame cancer to reunite with my daughter. But her comments, “You’re not my mom,” broke my heart when I finally saw her at the fair. All you are is a bald woman. And I was fully aware of its perpetrator.

My vision of the house became blurry as raindrops trickled down the windscreen. It’s the same house where I used to put my daughter Hazel to bed, where we used to dance barefoot on the porch, and where she would always run into my arms when I picked her up.

However, I was a visitor at that time. An outsider.

I was forced to leave three years ago. Cancer had taken away my hair, my strength, and my capacity to raise my child. Hazel would only stay with Nathan until I recovered, Nathan had promised, so it was only temporary.

I had accepted his word. But as the months went by, I became exhausted from the treatments, and going to the doctor became more difficult.

Hazel treated me like a stranger when I initially met her following surgery.

She muttered, “Whatever happened to you?”

Despite my broken heart, I grinned. “I became ill, sweetie. But now I’m better.

For her, it’s a lot,” Nathan muttered. “She requires time.”

Initially, Hazel wrote letters, which were small notes with illustrations of kittens and suns.

She had written, “I love you, Mommy,” in crayon.

However, the number of notes decreased. There were fewer calls. There were many excuses.

“She’s practicing.”

“She’s with her pals.”

“She’s occupied with her studies.”

Then there was stillness. Not another letter. No more phone calls. Just a phone that never rang and an empty inbox.

Then, at one of the darkest moments of my recuperation, an envelope showed up. No letter, no justification. only official records.

Nathan was no longer there. discovered another person.

My vision blurred as I examined the sentences, and I could vividly recall how my hands shook as I unfolded the sheets. separation. custody agreements. He was given full guardianship.

I was still too weak to fight, having just undergone chemotherapy. He had persuaded the judges that Hazel would benefit from routine, stability, and a home free from the uncertainties of a sick mother. He thus acquired what he desired in an instant.

With a heavy heart, I signed the paperwork. My attorney promised that I would still be involved in Hazel’s life and that we would spend weekends together. Weekends, however, were insufficient. I wanted her to return, and I wanted my kid to understand that I never chose to leave her.

But I was back at last. I had battled my way there, healed, and won my war. I ascended the steps of the porch. The door opened before I could knock.

Sara, Nathan’s new wife, was standing there looking flawless. calm and collected. The woman who had taken my position.

I tried to keep my voice steady. “I’m here to get Hazel.”

Sara’s lips formed a tiny, pathetic smile as she cocked her head slightly. “Evelyn… I believed Nathan had given you a call.

My stomach turned over. “What did you call me about?”

“She’s not present. She went to the fair with Nathan.

The fair? My heartbeat quickened.

“But it’s my day today.”

Sara breathed out slowly. “Evelyn is unwilling to leave.”

I tensed up. “That isn’t accurate.”

She no longer enquires about you. Now she calls me Mom.

The world swayed. No. My infant was unable to forget me.

I hurried back to my car before Sarah could say anything further. I needed to locate her. I needed to reunite with her.

The fair was alive with activity. The cool evening air was laden with the aroma of roasted nuts and caramel apples, which surrounded me like an uncontrollable recollection. Music streamed from a neighbouring stall, carousel lights flickered in a flurry, and children screamed with laughter. I didn’t hear any of it, though.

There was just one reason I was there.

“Where is she?” With my eyes darting wildly, I whispered to myself.

Every young girl wearing a brightly coloured jacket and every glimpse of her light brown hair made my heart race.

“Hazel, hurry up. “Where are you?”

Every step made my chest clench. Hazel must have been present. I knew Sara had lied. Today of all days, Nathan wouldn’t just take her away from me.

My skin pricked with chilly sweat. They weren’t present. No. No, I didn’t think it was true. Someone slammed into me before I could move after taking a hesitant breath.

A merchant yelled, “Watch it!” as I bumped into his booth. A crimson beverage leaked down my palms. sticky. Too sweet.

I could hardly hear the man complaining. “Sorry.”

Then I caught sight of her. Hazel. holding Nathan’s hand while standing a short distance away.

“Hazel!”

Her eyes were big as she gazed up at me.

“Baby, it’s me!” She didn’t rush to me when I stepped forward, every part of me begging to embrace her. She didn’t grin. She simply stared.

I became aware of the looks abruptly. People stared at me as though I was…

My scalp was stroked by a breeze. God, please! My wig. It had vanished.

Hazel tightened her hold on Nathan’s sleeve. She hooked her tiny fingers into his jacket. Her lip quivered.

I made contact. “Sweetheart, it’s okay…”

She winced. Then she whispered, in a tiny, weak voice,

“You’re not my mother. You’re merely a lady with a bald head.

The words cut like a razor through me. I took a deep breath, but it was insufficient. My entire world swayed. Not even my own daughter recognised me.

I held onto Hazel’s old stuffed teddy bear while I sat on the floor of my poorly lighted flat, with my back against the chilly wall. I rocked a little, my eyes burning as I relived the scene at the fair in my head.

You’re not my mother. All you are is a bald woman. How did this happen?

I used to know everything about my daughter, including her favourite bedtime stories, sandwich preferences, and songs she would hum without realising it. She now gave me an odd look, though.

I grabbed a tiny shoebox and took out the handcrafted cards Grandma used to send me. I copied her little scrawl, my fingers shaking.

“I love you, Mommy!”

“I can’t wait to see you!”

“You’re the best!”

That stopped when? She stopped loving me when?

I reached for my laptop in desperation and scrolled aimlessly till I gasped. a message from her educational institution. competition for art. When I clicked, my heart was racing.

Then I noticed it. Hazel’s surrender. A starry sky. I ran my fingertips across the screen.

We told the story. I used to tell her this story every night before bed: a young girl lost her mother but used the stars to find her way home. She repeatedly pleaded with me to recount it, eagerly seeking out new information and exciting adventures. However, the conclusion remained unchanged. She was always reunited by love.

A glimmer of hope rose within me. She had remembered. Not entirely.

Reaching for my phone, I called my friend. “I need you.” We need to get ready in two days.

It was crowded in the school auditorium. Students fidgeted in their chairs, teachers moved papers, and parents muttered. My heart was pounding as I stood in the darkness close to the door. That was it. My final opportunity.

I looked around the crowd before focussing on the front row. With their hands clasped together, Hazel sat next to Sara. My young daughter was unaware of what was about to happen.

Will she recall? Is she going to give a damn?

The lights went down. There was silence in the room. The screen came to light with a flicker. The speakers were filled with Hazel’s laughter. The audience erupted in gasps. A younger Hazel was shown on the television sitting on the kitchen counter with her cheeks dusted with flour.

“Look, Mommy! My face turned into a smile.

As I brushed the flour from her nose, I chuckled in the video.

“It’s the cutest cookie I’ve ever seen!”

Clip after clip rolled. We were on the beach, me spinning her in my arms while the breeze tangled her curls.

“Go, Mommy! “Higher!”

Then we hear the crunch of fall leaves underfoot.

“Mommy, more leaves! More.”

There was silence throughout the auditorium. Hazel’s fingers slipped out of Sara’s grasp as she sat motionless. Then came the following pictures. Letters. The screen was filled with envelopes, one after the other, all written in my hand and addressed to Hazel. Then the room was filled with my voice.

“Hello, my dear. It’s Mommy.

Hazel tensed. My voice continued to play over the letters as they continued to materialise.

“I really do miss you. Sweetheart, I’m not sure if you’re reading these. Perhaps they never get to you. However, I will continue to write. I will never give up.”

Hazel’s breathing became laboured. Sara’s face turned white. Hazel faced her.

“Where… where are these letters?”

Sara parted her lips, but nothing came out.

Hazel’s voice increased. “Why didn’t I get them?”

“I… I wanted to avoid upsetting you.

“So you hid them?”

Sara paused. “I thought it was better this way.”

There was an agonising quiet in the room. Hazel released her grip on Sara’s hand.

“You thought it was better to keep my mum away?”

With tears in her eyes, Hazel withdrew. She looked around the room. Then she noticed me.

Neither of us moved for a moment. Then she took off running.

She rushed herself into my arms before I could open them, clutching my coat as if I may vanish.

She whispered, “Mom…”

As I held her, tears ran down my cheeks.

The words “I never left you,” I whispered. “I never stopped loving you.”

Hazel shuddered. “I believed you had forgotten about me. Sara was also kind. She looked after me. You might die, she warned me. The letters then ceased.

“Mom, I painted the stars. as in our stories.

I wiped away her tears and cradled her face. “Oh, sweetheart. I was fully recovered. I’m present.

The hush was broken by a voice from the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” stated the aircaster. “We’ve seen a moment of love and reconciliation tonight. Coincidentally, that same lovely subject is reflected in this year’s contest winner.

A whisper went across the crowd. Hazel’s teary eyes widened as she faced the stage.

The speaker went on, “Hazel is the first-place winner for this year’s art contest.” “For her breathtaking painting, Following the Stars—a piece inspired by bedtime stories shared with her mother.”

Tucking a stray hair behind my daughter’s ear, I grinned.

“You succeeded, sweetie. As I always suspected you would.

With an inscrutable expression, Nathan got up from his chair. He moved towards us slowly. He just stared at Hazel in my arms for a long time. Then he let out a breath.

“I believed I was acting appropriately. She needed stability, I believed. But now I realise that she only needed you.

Hazel looked at him. “Can I go home with Mommy?”

He nodded after a moment of stiff jaw. “Yes, dear. You are able to.

Sara’s flawless poise was shattered as she sat still. But now, none of that mattered. I took Hazel in my arms and held her the way I had wanted to do for so long.

The love of a mother is like the heavens. Even when not visible, it is constantly present. And my little girl had at last found her way home that evening.

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