The Day I Stopped Being a Mother
The day I signed the divorce papers, I voluntarily gave up custody of my daughter.
Because that day, in the courtroom, she clung to her father’s neck, sobbing with all the fury a six-year-old could muster:
“You don’t even love me… do you? If you leave Daddy, I’ll stay with him… and you’ll be all alone forever!”
In my past life, I had ignored her childish threats. I fought tooth and nail for her custody. I poured every ounce of myself into raising her.
And yet… she spent her entire life hating me. Not once did she ever call me “Mom” until the day I died.
On her wedding day, she even invited her father’s mistress to the stage to give a speech of thanks.
Now, opening my eyes again, seeing that same cruel little face staring back at me, I simply nodded.
“I don’t care.”
After all… I never wanted a daughter like her anyway.