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

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.

Through it all, Grandma remained my rock, my compass.

Then last year, my world shattered. The call came on a Tuesday evening while I was working on a presentation. Grandma had suffered a massive heart attack. By the time I reached the hospital, she was gone.

I don't even remember the funeral. I was just happy that one of Grandma's friends stepped up to organize it. For me, everything was a blur.

The following weeks were hollow, and I felt like a ghost in my own apartment. Life was meaningless. I kept reaching for my phone to call Grandma, only to remember I couldn't anymore.

Then one rainy afternoon, someone knocked on my door. I wasn't expecting anyone, but I dragged myself up to answer it. There, on my doorstep, stood my mother.

Twenty years had left their mark on her face, but I recognized her instantly. Her hair was styled expensively, and she wore designer clothes instead of the simple dresses I remembered. But her eyes were the same deep brown as mine.

"Alexa," she said softly. "It's so amazing to see you. I... I heard about your grandma. I'm so sorry I couldn't go to the funeral."

I stood frozen in my doorway, unable to speak. A thousand emotions crashed through me at once. I didn't know what to say to the woman who had abandoned me so long ago.

"Can I come in?" she asked. "I know I don't deserve it, but I'd like to explain."

My heart screamed no, but some small part of me, that little girl who'd spent years drawing pictures of her absent mother, whispered yes. I stepped aside.

Mom, who I now thought of as Evelyn, sat on my couch and told me her story. Apparently, her marriage to Mark (the man who never wanted children) had fallen apart after only five years. She said she'd regretted leaving me every single day.

But she'd been too ashamed to come back for me. I didn't know how true her words were, but I listened.

"I know I can't make up for lost time," she said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "But I miss you so much. When I heard about Rose, I realized life is too short for regrets, so I found your address. Please, give me a chance to be your mother again."

I wanted to believe her. God, how I wanted to believe her. So I did something that would have made Grandma Rose shake her head: I let Evelyn back into my life.

At first, it seemed perfect. She called regularly, took me to lunch, and asked about my job and my friends. She cried when I showed her old photos of me and Grandma Rose during my teenage years.

"I wish I'd had time to ask for her forgiveness, too. She did me a huge favor by raising you after losing her own son," Evelyn said, squeezing my hand. "I hope that, wherever she is, she's happy that we're together again."

I nodded, wishing for the same. But I was not an innocent girl.

Despite letting her into my life, my intuition was screaming at me during every interaction with Evelyn. Because no matter how genuine her words seemed, several things felt off.

She was always on her phone, texting constantly. She'd also take photos of us together, making me pose and smile, but I never saw these photos posted anywhere. She never shared them with me either.

And I didn't know anything about her life since Mark. When I asked, Evelyn always managed to avoid the subject, deflecting with questions about me.

Finally, one night, we were having dinner at my apartment, and she went to the bathroom. Her phone buzzed on the table. I shouldn't have looked, but the screen flashed with a notification.

The message preview made me frown:

"Can't wait to meet your daughter..."

It was from someone named Richard.

With shaking hands, I picked up the phone and discovered it had no lock. I clicked and pulled up the full message thread. The first thing I saw was a photo Evelyn had just taken of us.

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 stomach lurched. 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 tight, tears streaming down her face. "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. Never forget your worth."

She was right, so I chose not to be part of whatever Evelyn had planned. I wouldn't be part of her life either. I was choosing myself.

Here's another story: Sue was left in a cardboard box as a small child. Luckily, a store clerk took her home and changed the course of her entire life. Now, in the form of an unexpected knock at the door, Sue has to face her past and the disappointment that comes with it. Is this a grand reunion or the biggest disappointment of Sue's life?

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided "as is," and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.