I worked day and night, gave up my dreams, and ignored my health just to pay for my daughter’s college. I believed every sacrifice was worth it—until a single phone call shattered everything I thought I knew. What I discovered left me speechless.
Ever since I had children, everything I did was for them.
I dedicated my life to making theirs better, and I thought I was doing a good job. But it turned out I was wrong.
I had two daughters, Emily and Grace, and I loved them with all my heart. I raised them alone, and I will be honest — it was incredibly difficult.
But I kept moving forward, for their sake.
Emily, my eldest, decided not to pursue college after high school. She told me she would get a job and build her career that way. I did not argue, even though I really wanted her to study.
But it was her life, and she had every right to choose her own path.
Grace, the younger one, had been saying since childhood that she would become a doctor. She worked hard in school to get into university, and I supported her every step of the way.
I had once dreamed of becoming a doctor myself, but when I got pregnant, that dream slipped away. So I put all my hopes into Grace.
I worked tirelessly, despite the pain in my knee, to pay for her education.
I cleaned hotel rooms during the day and worked night shifts at the hospital as an orderly, since night work paid more. I never complained, because I knew why I was doing it. Every time my daughters called to ask how I was doing, I always said I was fine.
I did not want them to worry about me.
I was their mother — it was my job to worry, not theirs. One day, I felt especially unwell.
My knee hurt terribly, and I wasn’t sure if I could even make it to work. But then, I looked at the calendar and remembered that Grace’s tuition payment was due soon.
So, I forced myself out of bed, wrapped my aching knee, and went to work.
That day was hard. I had a long list of rooms to clean, and the pain in my knee kept growing worse. Still, I worked through it, clenching my teeth to keep going.
Around lunchtime, I felt my phone vibrating in the pocket of my uniform.
I pulled it out and saw the screen: Emily. “Hi, sweetheart, how are you doing?”
“Mom, if you’re standing, I think you should sit down.
I have something to tell you,” Emily urged, her voice tense. “What is it?” I asked, lowering myself onto the bed in one of the rooms.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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