My dad passed away when I was eight, and everything changed. My mom remarried soon after, hoping to start fresh. But her new husband wasn’t ready for a child, and suddenly I felt like there wasn’t space for me anymore. She told me she was too young to put her life on hold, and I was sent to foster care. I left with only memories and a quiet hope that one day she might come back for me.
Growing up in foster homes taught me strength in unexpected ways. I learned independence, patience, and how to build a life from the ground up. Still, a part of me always wondered if my mom ever thought about me or regretted letting me go. Fifteen years passed, and I tried to move forward with grace, even when old memories resurfaced.
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