I made myself a cup of tea, sat on the sofa, and finally let the tears come. I cried for the relationship I had lost. I cried for my granddaughter, who I probably wouldn’t see for a long time. I cried for the mother I had been—so dedicated that I had forgotten to teach my son the most important lesson: that a person’s worth isn’t measured in dollars.
But I also cried with relief, because after years of carrying the weight of being invisible, of being taken for granted, I had finally stood up for myself.
I had finally said, “No more.”My phone vibrated. A text message from Michael.
I stared at it for a long moment before opening it.
Asterisk, “Mom, I know you asked for space, but I need you to know that I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. Not for your money, not for your restaurants, but for forgetting who you were to me. For forgetting everything you did, for letting you sit there with no food while I ate as if you didn’t matter. I’m going to work on myself. I’m going to be better. And someday I hope I can prove it to you. I love you.”