I was enjoying a rare day off, catching up on some sleep, when suddenly the doorbell rang. Who could be at my door so early? Dragging myself from bed and opening the door, I was faced with an elderly woman I didnt recognise. She looked absolutely terrified.
Who are you here for? I asked, puzzled.
My dear, dont you know your own mother? she replied, her voice trembling.
Mum? Please… come in, I stammered, completely shocked.
The memory of the day my mother was taken away from me still haunted me. Id waited for years, hoping shed come to the childrens home and bring me back. Eventually, the pain faded. I finished school, went on to university, and started my own business. Whenever someone asked about my parents, I simply said they had passed away. Id taught myself to rely on no one but myself. Confident, self-sufficient, and well-off, no one could ever tell Id grown up in a care home.
My mother, on the other hand, could barely remember when shed lost custody of me. In her younger years, she drank heavily, losing herself completely in the fog of addiction. She even ended up in prison, where, for the first time, she actually thought about me. She never truly loved me; at best, she felt pity.
When her second son was born, however, those maternal feelings finally kicked in. Shed do anything for himanything to keep him happy. As for me, she rarely gave me a second thought. She devoted herself entirely to the younger boy.
He grew up much like her, moving through foster homes and, by fifteen, collecting his first suspended sentence. It wasnt long before he racked up another, then found himself serving time. Knowing all too well what living behind bars was like, Mum tried desperately to keep him out of prison. Learning Id done well for myself, she immediately tracked me down.
And now she sat in my living room, crying and reaching out to me. She told me how shed searched for me, prayed for my health, and hoped every day to see me again. I wanted to believe her, but something deep inside warned me to keep my distance. Still, I rented her a flat, gave her some money, and told her she could count on my help. Privately, I kept a close eye on her, unsure if she had good intentions.
Just before Christmas, I visited the childrens home where Id grown up, bringing toys and snacks as I often did. One of the older carers approached me.
Your mum was asking for your address, she said.
Yes, thanks for helping her, I replied.
But be careful. Shes only looking to save her younger son. She just wants money. Dont trust her! She never loved you and she never will.
Do I have a brother? I asked, stunned.
Yes, ask her yourself, she replied.
I felt a lump rise in my throat, and breathing became difficult. It was hard to believe that Mum was about to betray me again. Swallowing my emotions, I went to her to get the truth. She was caught off guard by my questions and tried to dodge them, afraid I wouldnt help if I knew about my younger brother.
A few days later, I was attacked, beaten badly. When the thugs were caught, they confessed to the police that my mother had hired them. She wanted me dead to seize my inheritance and ensure an easy life for her younger son.
In court, she begged for forgiveness and claimed she was sorry, but Id reached my own conclusions.
Id managed before without a motherand I will manage now. Thats the hard lesson Ive learned, and as painful as it is, I know I must rely on myself, above all.
