At first, it seemed perfect. She called regularly, took me to lunch, and asked about my job and my friends. She cried when I showed her old photos of me and Grandma Rose during my teenage years.
“I wish I’d had time to ask for her forgiveness, too. She did me a huge favor by raising you after losing her own son,” Evelyn said, squeezing my hand. “I hope that, wherever she is, she’s happy that we’re together again.”
I nodded, wishing for the same.
But I was not an innocent girl. Despite letting her into my life, my intuition was screaming at me during every interaction with Evelyn. Because no matter how genuine her words seemed, several things felt off.
She was always on her phone, texting constantly. She’d also take photos of us together, making me pose and smile, but I never saw these photos posted anywhere. She never shared them with me either.
And I didn’t know anything about her life since Mark. When I asked, Evelyn always managed to avoid the subject, deflecting with questions about me. Finally, one night, we were having dinner at my apartment, and she went to the bathroom.
Her phone buzzed on the table. I shouldn’t have looked, but the screen flashed with a notification. The message preview made me frown:
“Can’t wait to meet your daughter…”
It was from someone named Richard.
With shaking hands, I picked up the phone and discovered it had no lock. I clicked and pulled up the full message thread. The first thing I saw was a photo Evelyn had just taken of us.
She had sent it to this Richard earlier that evening, according to the timestamps. Under it was her message:
“Just me and my daughter having the best time together. I told you, I’m all about family❤️”
My stomach lurched.
She was lying to him, pretending to be a doting mother. But why? I scrolled up a bit and discovered the reason.
Richard had two young kids, and he was looking for a woman who would become a maternal figure in their lives because their biological mother had disappeared. Evelyn clearly wanted him, so she faked having a close relationship with me. She wasn’t here because she missed me or regretted leaving me.
She was using our “reunion” to impress some man. I put the phone back down and stared at the wall. She’ll pick any man over me.
Every time. When Evelyn came out of the bathroom, I didn’t confront her. Instead, I went to my bedroom and returned with the old shoebox full of childhood drawings.
I handed it to her without a word. “What’s this?” she asked, opening it. Her eyes widened at the stack of faded paintings.
“Oh, Alexa… did you draw these?”
“Every few weeks,” I said quietly. “For years after you left.”
She hugged me tight, tears streaming down her face. “Baby, I’m so sorry.
I’ll never leave you again,” she promised. “We’re family and that’s all that matters.”
My arms didn’t wrap around her. But she didn’t notice… or I suppose she didn’t care.
I let her stay over, and the next morning, she left with more promises to call soon. But I made no such commitments in return, and the fact that she left the shoebox in my guest bedroom was more than enough confirmation that this was just a means to an end for her. When she called, I didn’t answer.
When she showed up at my apartment days later, knocking and shouting my name, I sat silently until she gave up and left. I felt better when she wasn’t around. So, one night, I took the shoebox of drawings to the dumpster behind my building.
As I threw it in, I remembered something Grandma Rose once told me:
“You are a strong, capable young woman, Alexa. Never forget your worth.”
She was right, so I chose not to be part of whatever Evelyn had planned. I wouldn’t be part of her life either.
I was choosing myself.
