The Daughter She Threw Away

For as long as I can remember, my parents have been divorced.

Grandpa Adams and Grandma Chavez drilled a single, venomous truth into me since childhood: Mom was a villain. An ingrate. She didn't want me. She didn't deserve to be called "mother."

I never believed them. I knew how hard her life had been. I remembered.

The next time I saw her was at Danny Abbott's parent-teacher conference.

I sat there, a child pretending to be an adult, feeling dozens of eyes sizing me up.

"Where is your father?" the teacher asked, frowning.

"He broke his leg," I said quietly.

"And your mother?"