I’m 18, and My Grandmother Was My Only Family

I’m 18, and my only family is my grandmother, Doris.

My mother died giving birth to me. I never knew my father. From the start, it was just the two of us. She worked as a janitor at my school to support us—never complaining, never missing a single school event, clapping louder than anyone else.

At school, kids mocked me for it.
“Future mop boy.”
“He smells like bleach.”

I pretended it didn’t hurt. I never told her. To me, she was a hero, and I refused to let anyone make her feel small.

When senior prom came, I didn’t invite a date. I invited my grandma.