“You don’t want us,” Ellen said, her voice quiet but shaking. “You left us.”
Lorraine blinked. “Honey, that was a long time ago. I had to. But now I—”
“No,” Ava interrupted through tears. “You left. Bubba stayed. Bubba takes care of us. You just bring stuff. That’s not the same!”
They were both crying now, talking over each other — saying things I hadn’t known they’d even been holding in.
“You didn’t come to my school play.”
“You missed it when I got glasses!”
“You don’t know us!”
“Please don’t make us go with her!”
“You left us.”
And then the part that shattered me.
They ran to me and wrapped their arms around my waist as if, if they held on tight enough, they’d never have to let go. Ava buried her face in my shirt and sobbed, “You’re our real parent.”
Lorraine’s face shifted.
The warmth drained out of it. What was left looked… annoyed. Embarrassed. Like we’d ruined her scene.
Lorraine’s face shifted.
She straightened her coat and glanced around the apartment as if it offended her now. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said, “You’ll regret this.”
And just like that, she walked out.
The door slammed so hard that one of the picture frames fell off the wall!
That night, after the girls finally fell asleep — still clinging to me like their lives depended on it — I sat at the kitchen table and made a decision.
“You’ll regret this.”
I wasn’t going to react or fight.
She had a lawyer. Fine. I’d get one too.
Now I had her full name, address, and information. She wanted custody? Then she was going to get the responsibility, too — legal, financial, and public.
I filed a case. Not to spite her, but because I knew the truth.
She had a lawyer.
I had raised these girls since the day they were born. I didn’t just want to keep custody — I wanted her to be held accountable. So, I filed for full legal guardianship and retroactive child support.
The courtroom part was hell. Her attorneys arrived in slick suits and with smug faces.
They tried to spin the story, saying I was emotionally manipulating the girls. That I was too young, that I’d deprived them of a relationship with their mother. That I was unstable, controlling — even jealous.
The courtroom part was hell.
It took everything in me not to yell. But I stayed calm.
