Finding My Way Back to Her
The rain drizzled against the windshield, soft but relentless, blurring my view of the house I once called home. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, taking a shaky breath. This was the house where my daughter, Hazel, used to giggle as I tickled her belly, where she curled into my arms for bedtime stories, where she ran to me the moment I picked her up from school.
But now, I was just a visitor. A stranger.
Three years ago, I had no choice but to leave. Cancer had stolen my strength, my hair, and my ability to care for my child. Nathan, my ex-husband, had assured me it was temporary, that Hazel would stay with him only until I got better.
I believed him. But as the months stretched into years, the treatments drained me, and my visits with Hazel became fewer and fewer.
The first time she saw me after my surgery, her big brown eyes widened in shock.
“What happened to you?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
My heart ached, but I forced a smile. “I got sick, baby. But I’m better now.”
Nathan placed a hand on her shoulder and gave me a quiet, unreadable look. “It’s a lot for her. She needs time.”
At first, she sent me letters—small, precious notes covered in crayon drawings of suns, cats, and hearts.
“I love you, Mommy,” she had scribbled in big, wobbly letters.
But the letters became less frequent. Then, the calls slowed down. Then, they stopped.
“She’s at practice.”
“She’s busy with school.”
“She’s with her friends.”
Excuse after excuse until silence was all that remained.
Then, on one of my darkest days in recovery, an envelope arrived. I thought—prayed—it was from Hazel. But when I opened it, my breath caught in my throat.
Divorce papers.
Custody arrangements.
Nathan had moved on. Found someone else. And now, he was asking for full guardianship of Hazel.
My hands shook as I read the papers over and over, my mind screaming in protest. But I was weak, still recovering, barely able to stand for long periods, let alone fight a court battle. Nathan convinced the judge that Hazel needed stability, a routine. He convinced them that she would be better off with him—and his new wife.
And just like that, I lost her.
I signed the papers with a heavy heart, my lawyer assuring me that I would still get weekends with Hazel. But weekends weren’t enough. I wanted my daughter to know the truth. That I had never left her by choice. That I had fought with everything I had just to hold her again.
And finally, that moment had come. I climbed out of my car, my legs shaky but determined.
Before I could knock, the door swung open.
Sara. Nathan’s new wife.
She was polished, composed, every strand of her golden hair perfectly in place. The woman who had stepped into my role.
She studied me for a moment before speaking, her tone carefully measured. “Evelyn… I thought Nathan called you.”
A pit formed in my stomach. “Called me about what?”
She sighed. “He took Hazel to the fair.”
My pulse spiked. “But today is my day.”
She hesitated before saying softly, “Evelyn… she doesn’t want to go.”
I stiffened. “That’s not true.”
Sara folded her arms. “She doesn’t ask about you anymore. She calls me Mom now.”
The words hit like a slap. No. My baby wouldn’t forget me. She couldn’t.
Before Sara could say anything else, I spun on my heels and rushed back to my car. I had to find her. I had to remind her who I was.
At the Fair
The fair was alive with flashing lights, the scent of caramel apples and popcorn thick in the air. Laughter and music blended into a dizzying hum, but I barely noticed. My heart pounded as my eyes scanned the crowd.
“Where are you?” I muttered, pushing through the sea of people.
Then, I saw her.
Hazel stood by the cotton candy stand, her small hand wrapped tightly around Nathan’s. My breath hitched.
“Hazel!” I called, my voice cracking.
She turned, her brown eyes landing on me. For a brief second, there was something—recognition? But just as quickly, it faded. She didn’t move. She didn’t run into my arms.
A sudden gust of wind made me shiver. The people around me were staring.
Then, I realized why.
My wig. It was gone.
My fingers flew to my scalp, but it was too late. Hazel’s expression changed. Fear. Confusion.
She clutched Nathan’s sleeve and whispered, “You’re not my mom. You’re just a bald lady.”
The words sliced through me like a blade. My vision blurred, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might shatter.
I had fought cancer. I had fought for her. And now… she didn’t even know me.
A Mother’s Love Never Fades
That night, I sat in my dimly lit apartment, clutching Hazel’s old teddy bear, my body wracked with silent sobs.
When did I lose her?
I reached for the small shoebox filled with the letters she once sent me. My fingers traced her childish handwriting.
“I love you, Mommy!”
“You’re the best!”
Tears dripped onto the paper. I scrolled through my laptop aimlessly, my heart aching—until something caught my eye.
A post from her school. Art contest.
I clicked the link, and my breath caught.
There it was. Hazel’s submission. A sky full of stars.
I knew that story. I had told it to her every night. The one where a little girl followed the stars to find her way home to her mother.
She hadn’t forgotten. Not completely.
A spark of determination ignited in my chest. I grabbed my phone and made a call. “I need your help. We have two days.”
Reclaiming My Place
Two nights later, the school auditorium was packed. The lights dimmed. The screen flickered to life.
Hazel’s voice filled the room.
“Mommy, look! I made a smiley face!”
Gasps rippled through the audience as clip after clip played—videos of me and Hazel. Laughing. Playing. Loving each other.
Then, the letters appeared. The ones she never received. My voice echoed through the speakers.
“Hi, my love. It’s Mommy. I miss you so much. I never stopped writing. I never stopped loving you.”
Hazel turned to Sara, her voice shaking. “Where… where are these letters?”
Sara paled. “I… I didn’t want to upset you.”
Hazel stood abruptly. “You hid them?”
Silence.
Hazel spun around, her eyes scanning the crowd. Then, she saw me.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, she ran.
I barely had time to open my arms before she threw herself into them.
“Mom,” she whispered.
I held her tight, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I never left you, baby. I never stopped loving you.”
And just like in our stories, she had finally found her way home.
