For 15 years, Meg believed her mother had abandoned her. Then one day, she appeared unannounced, but Meg’s father threw her out, warning, “That woman is nothing but trouble.” After he stormed off, Meg read the note her mother had given her: “Meet me. I’m ready to tell you the truth.”
When the doorbell rang, I was expecting DoorDash, not the woman who left when I was three years old.
I’d ordered Chinese food because I was craving those little fried wontons. I was already digging in my pocket for tip money when I opened the door. Instead of a delivery driver, there was a haunted-looking woman on the doorstep.
She started crying as soon as she saw me. “Oh my God, Meg,” she breathed. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I hope you will.
I am your mother.”
Part of me already knew it was her. She had my eyes and my nose. But I couldn’t help wondering why she’d finally returned, after 15 years.
Did I even want to know? I’d spent years believing my mom didn’t want me. She’d left without any explanation, according to Dad.
I’d tried to ask questions about her, hoping to find some clue about her, but Dad always told me,
“There’s no point talking about ghosts, Meg. She made her choice.”
At that moment, the ghost was on my doorstep. Heavy footsteps echoed in the hall behind me, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I didn’t even have time to blink before the woman quickly pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper, scribbling something down. “Here, please take it, before your father sees,” she whispered. I clenched the note tightly in my hand, crumpling it until it all but disappeared from sight.
A few seconds later, Dad appeared at my side, angrier than I had ever seen him. “How dare you show your face here, after all these years?” he snarled. “Get out of here!
Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, Kayla.”
He slammed the door so hard that the narrow panel of figured glass beside it rattled. “That… that was Mom, wasn’t it?” I asked. “You stay away from her, Meg.
I don’t know why she’s back, but that woman is nothing but trouble.”
He stomped off toward the kitchen. I waited until I heard him banging around in there. Then I slowly unclenched my fist, smoothed out my mother’s crumpled note, and began to read.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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