I was snuggled under my blanket, going through Netflix and scrolling through rom-coms, the kind that makes you laugh a bit and then cry a bit, when my best friend Christina showed up at my door with her baby Mike in her arms and her younger son Dylan standing beside her.
“Emily, I need your help,” she said, sounding worried and unlike Christina I knew, who has always been cheerful and strong as a rock. “Can you watch the kids for just an hour? I have an emergency, I promise to be back quickly.”
“Sure, Chris,” I said. “But what’s wrong? Is there anything else I ca help you with?”
“No, just look after the kids until I return.”
The three of us saw my best friend leaving, not assuming that the hour would turn into days, then weeks, months, and years.
Hours passed by and I got worried sick for my friend. I knew she wouldn’t leave her children behind – or so I thought – so I contacted the police and filed a missing person report.
Authorities did all in their power, but they failed at locating Christina.
I couldn’t understand why she did what she did. She wasn’t the kind of a person who would abandon her children just like that.
A time passed by, I realized the kids needed someone to rely on, and eventually, they started calling me “mom,” which felt both natural and profound.
Not wanting them to end up at a shelter or a foster family, I adopted Mike and Dylan, and they became my world. Everything in my life revolved around these two souls whose mother left behind and never turned back.
Then, seven years later, during a vacation, fate intervened.
Walking along the shore, Dylan grabbed me by my hand and said, “Mom, there she is,” pointing to a woman in the distance.
I looked at her and realized it was Christina, my best friend. She looked older and frail, but it was definitely her.
Dylan ran towards her, while Mike and I followed.
“Why did you leave us?” he asked her with eyes full of tears.
I was eager to hear her response, but Christina pretended she didn’t know who we were, and that felt like the ultimate betrayal.
Her voice felt cold and distant, and I couldn’t recognize the woman who had once been the closest thing to a sister to me.
Without saying a word, I took Dylan by the hand and told him we needed to leave. That woman wasn’t worth that little boy’s tears.
Once at the hotel, Christina appeared again. It turned out she worked as a cleaner there.
This time, I confronted her.
“Christina, how could you do this to me? You left your children and never looked back. Don’t you see the pain in their eyes? They missed you and cried for you for months…,” I said, the anger in my voice feeling like a threat.
Looking at the floor, unable to lift her head, she was overwhelmed with shame.
Caring for her children weighed heavily on her, and she believed they would be better off without her. And maybe, just maybe, she was right, because no child deserves a mother who would give up on them that easily.
That night, we decided to leave.
Christina tried to speak to her children, but they didn’t want to listen. The seven years spent without her felt like eternity, and they no longer saw her as their mother.
In his quiet resilience, Dylan handed her a dollar before closing the door. “We’ll clean the room ourselves,” he said quietly, pain settling in his young heart.
The encounter with my best friend became a chapter we all wanted to forget and leave behind.
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Bored Daddy
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