“Pack your things, sweetheart,” Grandma said gently, wrapping her arms around me. “We’ll make this work, I promise.”
Grandma’s house became my sanctuary.
A place where I was wanted and where someone’s eyes lit up when I walked into the room. She hung my artwork on the fridge, helped with my homework, and tucked me in every night.
Still, the wound of my mother’s rejection festered.
“Why doesn’t she want me?” I asked one night as Grandma brushed my hair before bed.
Her hands paused. “Oh, Becca.
Some people aren’t capable of the love they should give. It’s not your fault, honey. Never think it’s your fault.”
“But she loves Jason.”
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