I spent nineteen thousand dollars on my son’s wedding.
Every cent I had saved over a lifetime of working, sacrificing, and going without. I told myself it was a final gift. One last act of love before stepping quietly into the background of his grown life.
Instead, I watched him erase me in front of two hundred people.
My name is Stephanie. I am seventy years old. And for forty five years, I was Ethan’s mother in every way that mattered.
I adopted him when he was five years old. He came to me small and silent, with eyes that looked much older than his body. He woke up screaming most nights, calling for parents who would never come back. I learned quickly how to sit on the edge of a bed at three in the morning and whisper reassurances until the shaking stopped.
