Late at night, as I was closing up, she rushed over.
I was thrilled and quickly took out the portion I had saved for her, eager to warm it up.
I knew deep down that my daughter still cared for me.
But when she spoke, it was only to question, "Mom, why are you selling pancakes here? What will my classmates think of me?"
My heart sank instantly. "Sophie, if you don't let me sell, how will I pay for your tuition and living expenses?"
She stomped her foot, looking like she couldn't communicate with me at all. "I knew you would say that. But there was no need to set up right outside my school!"
"Can't a mom just want to see her daughter?"
"Mom, you're an adult. Can't you live for yourself? I'm your daughter, not your accessory!"
That night, we parted on bad terms.
I understood her feelings, but I didn't want to spend another day and night with a man who reeked of alcohol, nor did I want to work in a dark, lifeless workshop anymore.
I wanted to stay here, in this vibrant campus filled with lively students, where I could see my daughter. Here, I felt a sense of peace and hope for life.