We cried together for a long time.
Emily told me that she had grown up in a loving family, had two children of her own, and had spent years dreaming of finding her biological mother.
“I always thought you didn’t want me,” she said.
I kissed her forehead.
“They told me you were dead, sweetheart. I’ve missed you every single day.”
Two weeks later, I was discharged from the hospital.
The doctors prescribed treatment, and Emily took me to her home.
There, I met my grandchildren for the first time.
My little granddaughter hugged me and said:
“Grandma, we’ve been waiting for you for such a long time.”
That evening, for the first time in fifty years, I sat at a dinner table where nobody ordered me to work.
Nobody demanded my money.
Nobody called me useless.
Robert called repeatedly, begging for forgiveness.
But I decided not to return.
