My father wanted to live with his mistress and lied about everything to get away with it. But I uncovered the truth during a chance encounter with someone I thought was gone forever.
When I was eight years old, my mother was hospitalized due to a serious illness. My father would occasionally take me to visit her, but one day, he came home with devastating news.
“I’m sorry, Sarah, your mother is gone,” he said.
I cried myself to sleep that night, heartbroken. But the very next day, my father told me we needed to pack.
“Why are we leaving?” I asked through my tears.
“We can’t stay in this town with all the memories of your mom. We need a fresh start,” he replied. So, still mourning my mother, I helped pack and got into the car with him.
We drove for hours and eventually reached a house that looked similar to our old one. “You’ll like it here, Sarah. You’ll make lots of new friends,” my father assured me.
But just a few days after we moved, a woman began visiting frequently. “Sarah, this is Erika, a great friend,” my father introduced her.
“Nice to meet you,” I said politely, but Erika barely acknowledged me, focusing only on my father.
A few months later, my father married Erika. She quickly moved into the house, and it became painfully clear that she didn’t like me. She constantly yelled at me, assigned me endless chores, and criticized everything I did.
“You’re just as useless as your mother was!” she spat one day.
“Don’t talk about my mother like that! Did you even know her?” I demanded, furious.
“Of course, I knew her! Her illness was dragging your father down, and he had to leave her,” Erika sneered.
When I tried to defend my mother, my father immediately took Erika’s side. He always did.
Years passed, and Erika made it clear she didn’t want me around. Once I was old enough, they started going on vacations without me. I saved every penny I could, planning to leave as soon as I turned 18. But Erika crossed the line one day.
I came home from school and found her in my room, holding my mother’s portrait.
“What are you doing?” I asked angrily.
“This picture has to go. I won’t have another woman’s photo in my house. It’s been years. You need to move on,” she said coldly.
“Don’t you dare touch that picture!” I yelled.
“This is my house, and I’ll do as I please! You’re nothing but an ungrateful brat!” Erika snapped.
Furious, I grabbed the portrait from her hands and stormed out of the house. I ended up at a bus stop and hopped on the first bus, not even caring where it was going.
Before I knew it, I was back in our old hometown. Wandering the streets, I stumbled upon a homeless woman sitting near a park. Something about her seemed eerily familiar.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Are you Emma Fraser?” I asked hesitantly.
She looked up at me, and her eyes widened in shock.
“Sarah? Is that you?” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes.
“Mom?” I gasped, realizing it was her.
We hugged tightly, both of us crying. When we finally calmed down, I asked her what had happened.
“Your father lied to you,” she began. “When I was in the hospital, he stopped bringing you to visit. Then one day, I was told he filed for divorce, took all our savings, and left with you. I had no way to find you.”
I told her about the life I’d endured with my father and Erika. She held me close and apologized for everything I’d gone through.
From that day forward, we started rebuilding our lives together. I used the money I had saved to rent a small apartment for us. My mom eventually restarted her career, and I found a job after graduating high school.
I also changed my last name to Fraser, my mother’s maiden name, cutting all ties with my father. He had taken me away from my mother and lied for years, so he no longer deserved to call me his daughter.
Finally, my mother and I had the fresh start we both deserved
