Years ago, I was diagnosed with a serious sickness. My 23-year-old only daughter pulled away, stating, “I’m busy building my own life.” When I recovered, I removed her from my will. Her 16-year-old daughter, who never enquired about me, has appeared unexpectedly. She cried, “Mom had a breakdown. I heard everything from her. She left. Where else could I go?”
Looked at the girl on my front porch. At that age, she had hazel eyes and a strong jawline like her mother. She seemed softer and uncertain.
She stood with a bag and a crumpled sweater, crying-swollen eyes. I should have felt rage, bitterness, or satisfaction. But I only saw a scared youngster.
I left and widened the door. “Come in,” I said.
She entered like she had nowhere else to go. She kept her shoes on. Just lay on the couch with her arms about her legs.
