When I was ten, my mother rejected me, choosing her new family and “perfect son” over me. She gave me away to my grandmother, who lovingly raised me. Despite years of hoping for her love, she never showed regret or affection.
My grandmother was my true parent, always there for me until she passed away peacefully when I was 32. After her funeral, my mother appeared, asking me to help reconnect with my brother, who had just learned the truth about me from Grandma’s messages.
Though I was hurt, I agreed to talk to my brother. We bonded over shared pain and memories Grandma left behind, finally building a real sibling relationship. Meanwhile, my mother kept trying to reach me, but I refused to let her back in.
On Grandma’s birthday, my brother and I visited her grave and silently decided to leave our mother behind — together, stronger and free.
