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When I returned home, Mom was waiting at the kitchen table.
“You opened the suitcase,” she said quietly.
“I was worried about you. Who is Aunt Maggie, and why didn’t you tell me where you’d been?”
Mom lowered her eyes before finally revealing the truth.
After my father left, she worked two jobs to support us. Margaret lived nearby and cared for me while Mom worked evenings. For almost two years, she helped raise me, taught me to bake, and gave me a safe place to stay.
But Mom eventually became ashamed of needing so much help. She felt she should have been able to manage everything alone. Gradually, she stopped calling Margaret, missed visits, and allowed their friendship to fade.
“I wanted you to remember a mother who could manage,” she whispered.
I was heartbroken. I’d never realized how much Mom had struggled or how much Margaret had done for us.
