Years passed, and though we celebrated birthdays and holidays, the emotional gap stayed wide. Emily grew into a successful young woman, but our connection never deepened. I often felt like an outsider, tolerated more than loved. Her birthday visits were brief, her hugs stiff, and I gave up hoping for more.
But inside that glove compartment were her childhood drawings simple pictures of us baking, laughing, and smiling. Each one labeled me as “Mom.” My hands trembled, tears spilled, and when I looked at her, she said, “I’ve always loved you, Mom. I just didn’t know how to say it.” In that moment, years of silence melted, and I finally felt like her mother.
