It was a rainy Tuesday afternoon. I was sitting across from my mom at the kitchen table, her coffee cup trembling in her hands. “You know, you were a mistake,” she said, her eyes vacant, like she was reciting a line she had rehearsed too many times. I felt the words slice through me, leaving a sting I’d never forget. How could she say that? I wanted to scream, to make her see me, the real me. But her gaze was fixed on some distant past, and I was frozen in that moment — desperate to understand if this could really be my truth.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. The rain tapped softly against the window, almost as if…