I never thought I’d find my childhood sweater in a laundromat—twenty years after my mom disappeared. But the moment I saw her embroidery, I knew. The truth Grandma told me was a lie. And I needed answers.
Life was busy. Too busy for nostalgia. Between raising my three-year-old son, Liam, and taking care of Grandma, I barely had a second to myself.
“Ellie, did you take your vitamins today?” Grandma asked, peering over her glasses.
“Yes, Grandma,” I answered, even though I hadn’t.
“Single mothers need to stay strong,” she reminded me, like she hadn’t already told me a hundred times.
Grandma raised me after my mom left. And even though I had a child of my own now, she still treated me like I was the one who needed looking after.
“Bring me my tea, dear,” she’d call from her armchair.
“Grandma, you can get it yourself.”
A dramatic sigh.
“Is this how you talk to the woman who raised you?”
I loved her, I really did. But sometimes, it was exhausting. That day, I just wanted a break. A moment of peace while doing laundry.
I tossed my clothes into the washing machine, pressed the start button, and grabbed a cup of coffee from the vending machine. The usual routine.
Then, while waiting, I wandered over to the lost-and-found basket. My fingers brushed against something soft. A small, blue sweater.
A strange feeling stirred inside me. I picked it up and flipped the collar inside out.
There, stitched in delicate, nearly faded thread—was my name.
The laundromat blurred around me. My heart pounded in my ears.
Impossible.
I traced the tiny embroidered letters with my thumb. Memories crashed over me like waves.
I was five years old, lying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. My mother sat by the window, carefully stitching into the fabric.
“My little star, I will always be here…”
But she wasn’t.
I had been sick. My father had died. Mom struggled to find work. The only person who helped was Grandma.
And then one day…
I remembered how she hugged me longer than usual, smoothed my hair, and whispered:
“Be strong, my little star. You will be okay.”
And then she was gone. Grandma said she had abandoned me. That she didn’t care. We moved to another state.
And now, twenty years later, I was standing in a laundromat, holding the one thing my mother had made for me.
I swallowed hard and looked around.
Near the dryers, a thin, tired-looking woman sat wrapped in an old coat. Two small children played at her feet.
I walked up to her, my fingers gripping the sweater.
“Excuse me… Is this yours?”
She looked at it, then at me, then back at the sweater.
“Yes. My daughter wears it.”
“Where did you get it?”
She let out a slow sigh. “From a charity center near the old church. There was a woman there…”
My breath caught. “What woman?”
“A kind soul,” she murmured. “She always helped those in need. Sewed little embroideries on children’s clothes. Once, when I came in, she told me a story…”
My fingers clenched around the sweater. “What story?”
“She said she lost her daughter. That she searched for her for twenty years.”
I couldn’t breathe. The woman looked at me more closely.
“She said after twenty years of searching, she finally gave up and donated the sweater to the shelter.”
I forced a breath, trying to steady myself. “Do you remember her name?”
“She never told me.”
“Can I…” My voice cracked. “Can I borrow this? Just for a day.”
The woman studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Of course.”
I had no idea what I was going to do next. But I knew where I needed to start.
I needed to talk to my grandmother.
I walked into the house, gripping the sweater like it was the most important thing in the world. Grandma was in her usual spot—armchair, tea beside her, newspaper in hand.
I placed the sweater on the table in front of her. She didn’t even look up.
“Just a coincidence,” she muttered, flipping the page.
“This is not a coincidence, Grandma. Why did you lie to me?”
She finally lifted her head, her sharp gray eyes locking onto mine.
“Lied?” she scoffed. “What nonsense are you talking about now?”
“You told me Mom abandoned me. But I just met someone who got this sweater from a charity. Mom gave it away. After searching for me. For twenty years.”
“She left us, Ellie. That is the truth.”
“No,” I shot back. My voice was shaking. “You took me away. You hid me from her!”
Grandma’s hands trembled slightly as she placed her teacup down. “I did what I had to do.”
“I’m going to find her. Whether you like it or not.”
Grandma sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Do what you want. But if you leave to find her, don’t come back.”
I stared at her, my whole body numb.
I had spent years trying to be a good granddaughter. But now, she had shown me her real face.
And I wasn’t staying here anymore.
The next morning, I grabbed my bag, sweater in hand, ready to leave. But my keys were gone. My wallet too.
Grandma stood in the doorway, calm as ever.
“You don’t need to go, Ellie.”
“Where are my keys?”
She tilted her head. “You have a child to think about. Do you really want to drag him into this nonsense?”
“Give them back.”
“I won’t let you do this. Not to yourself. Not to your son.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“If you leave,” she said, voice cold, “Lucas stays with me.”
My blood ran cold.
“You can’t take my son away.”
“You’re the one leaving him.”
Tears burned my eyes. I wanted to scream. But then I looked at my son, playing on the floor, blissfully unaware.
I forced a breath. “Fine. I’ll stay.”
But Grandma didn’t know the truth. My plan hadn’t changed.
Later, I told Grandma I was taking Lucas to the playground. Instead, I borrowed a friend’s car.
“We’re going on an adventure, sweetheart.”
Lucas giggled. “Adventure?”
“Yes, baby. We’re going to meet someone very special.”
I drove to the charity center, my pulse pounding.
A woman at the desk smiled. “Anna’s in the garden.”
I stepped outside. And there she was—sitting at a wooden table, sewing a tiny pink dress.
I took a step forward. Then another.
She looked up.
Her fingers froze. Her eyes widened.
“Ellie…?”
And suddenly, words didn’t matter. I ran to her. Mom’s arms wrapped around me, tight and trembling.
“My baby… my little star… I thought I lost you forever.”
Lucas looked up at her. “Are you my grandma?”
Tears streamed down Mom’s face. “Yes, sweetheart. Yes, I am.”
And for the first time in twenty years, I wasn’t chasing a ghost.
She was real.
And I wasn’t letting go.
