After twelve years of loving, helping, driving, paying, and showing up, my stepchildren told me, “You’re not the one who raised us.” So I finally stopped being the woman they only needed when life got hard. When they asked where I went, their mother knew the truth.
Or maybe Vanessa had always been excellent at finding me whenever money was involved.
She stood in the lobby wearing oversized sunglasses even though it was raining outside. Her blond hair was pinned back carelessly, and her mouth had that familiar shape between insult and performance.
