Finally, Sam shrugged. “I can check in on her during weekends.”
One excuse after another.
I watched my mother’s smile slowly disappear. Not all at once—just enough for the truth to reach her before the tears did.
This was the same woman who had worked night shifts at a grocery store after my father left just weeks after I was born. The same one who packed lunches, paid bills late, and somehow made everything stretch.
No one ever said it out loud, but growing up, I sometimes caught the way she looked at me.
Like when I arrived, everything began to fall apart.
I wore hand-me-downs from my older siblings because I was the youngest.
The unexpected seventh child.
I was never my mother’s favorite.
That’s not resentment—it’s just the truth.
Still, when I saw her sitting there, trying not to cry in front of the doctor, something inside me shifted.
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