Her coat was designer, makeup flawless, jewelry on point, and her shoes probably cost more than a month’s rent!
My mom tilted her chin as if smelling something bad and barely made eye contact.
“Nathan,” she said, like she wasn’t even sure it was my name.
She looked polished.
But then she heard the girls’ voices down the hall, and her whole demeanor shifted.
She softened. Her lips curled into a fake smile. Her voice became sweet with fake warmth, and she pulled out shopping bags from a luxury store I’d only ever seen in YouTube vlogs.
The twins stopped in their tracks, staring at her with wide eyes like they’d seen a ghost.
She softened.
Lorraine crouched down and called their names, sugary sweet.
“Girls, it’s me… your mom…! Look what I brought, babies!”
Inside the bags were things I could never afford: a tablet, a necklace Ava couldn’t stop staring at, and an expensive stuffed toy Ellen had pointed at on the TV back in October.
Things that had felt like pipe dreams to them — and outright impossibilities to me.
“Girls, it’s me… your mom!”
The girls’ eyes widened.
I watched them blink and look at each other, confused and hopeful in the same breath. Because kids — no matter how much they’ve been hurt — still want their parents to be good.
Still want to believe in the version of the story where they come back, and everything makes sense.
I didn’t say much that night. I just watched. Smiled weakly.
The girls’ eyes widened.
Lorraine returned a few days later. Then again, after that. She was always giving gifts and showing exaggerated warmth.
She’d take the girls for ice cream, ask about school as if she hadn’t missed several years of it, and laugh too hard at their jokes like she was auditioning for a role she barely remembered.
For a second, I was numb, hoping maybe she wanted to mend things with the twins.
But every time she left, I’d feel this sour twist in my gut, like the walls of the apartment were closing in on me.
Lorraine returned a few days later.
But it quickly became clear what her real motives were — and why she had reappeared.
The other shoe dropped when the letter came.
It was in a thick white envelope with gold trim, which should’ve been my first warning. Inside was a letter from an attorney.
It had legal language and custody terms. Cold phrases like “petition for legal guardianship” and “best interests of the minors.”
I couldn’t feel my hands when I finished reading it.
It had legal language and custody terms.
She wasn’t here to reconnect. Lorraine wasn’t back because she missed her daughters. She wanted full custody!
I confronted her the next time she came by, when she arrived early, before the girls were home from school. She walked in without asking and sat on the couch like she still lived there.
I held the letter out to her, my hands trembling.
“What’s this?”
She wanted full custody!
She didn’t even flinch. She looked at me like I’d just asked her to pass the salt.
“It’s time I did what’s best for them,” she said. “You’ve done enough.”
“What’s best for them?” I could barely get the words out. “You left them. I raised them. I gave up everything for them!”
She rolled her eyes.
“Don’t be dramatic. They’re fine. You managed. But I have opportunities now. Connections. They deserve more than this life.”
“You’ve done enough.”
Then she said it — the thing that broke something in me.
“I need them.”
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