I sat at my kitchen table and cried in a way I hadn’t cried in years.
This was the woman who had thrown me out.
Who had been cold, strict, sometimes cruel.
Who never once said she was proud of me.
Who never told me she was sorry.
And yet—quietly, without a word—she made sure my child would have opportunities I never did.
I’ll never know what changed in her heart.
Maybe guilt.
Maybe regret.
Maybe love she never learned how to show.
What I do know is this:
She never gave me comfort while she was alive.
But in her final act, she gave my child a future—
and gave me a memory that no longer hurts to hold.
