Grandma’s house became my sanctuary.
It was the first place where I felt wanted. Where someone’s face lit up when I walked into the room.
She hung my drawings on the fridge. Helped me with homework. Tucked me in every night.
Still, the pain never fully left.
“Why doesn’t she want me?” I asked one night as Grandma brushed my hair.
Her hands paused.
“Oh, Becca. Some people just aren’t capable of giving the love they should. It’s not your fault, honey. Never think it’s your fault.”
“But she loves Jason.”
Grandma resumed brushing, each stroke soft and comforting.
“Your mother is broken in ways I couldn’t fix. I tried… God knows I tried. But she’s always run from her mistakes instead of facing them.”
“So I’m a mistake?”
“No, honey. You are a gift. The best thing that ever happened to me. Your mother just can’t see past her own selfishness to recognize what she’s throwing away.”
I leaned into her, breathing in her lavender scent.
“Will you ever leave me too, Grandma?”
“Never,” she said firmly. “As long as I’m breathing, you will always have a home with me.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
When I was 11, Grandma insisted we attend a “family dinner.”
She believed it was important to maintain some kind of connection.
Deep down, I hoped—just hoped—that my mother would finally realize what she had thrown away.
But when we arrived, I saw her laughing, doting on Jason like I had never existed.
He sat in his high chair, mashed potatoes smeared across his cheeks, and she wiped them away so gently it made my chest ache.
She barely looked at me.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, forcing a smile.
She frowned.
“Oh! You’re here.”
My chest tightened, but I swallowed the pain.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small handmade card—slightly wrinkled, but made with care.
“I made this for you.”
Inside, I had drawn our family—me, her, Charlie, baby Jason, and Grandma.
All smiling.
All together.
The way I wished we were.
She barely glanced at it before handing it to Jason.
“Here, honey. Something for you.”
I froze.
“I-I got that for you.”
She waved her hand dismissively.
“Oh, what would I need it for? I have everything I want.”
Everything.
Except me.
That night was the last time I ever tried.
After that, I stopped reaching out.
And she didn’t care.
Not long after, she moved away.
She called Grandma occasionally.
But she never once called me.
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