I thought she was wicked for her meanness. I was wrong. It wasn’t so much what she did as much as she was my favorite person in the world following the death of my mother.
She had the best of intentions, however tis work, wicked work, raising a child not your own; especially a boy entering puberty.
Once the bloom is off the rose and the applause for generosity dies, I am guessing its resentment that takes the place of warm feeling heroics.
I forgave long ago for being cast off, however this took time and therapy to understand this was not your choice as much as it was your ignorance.
I am certain it’s hard to justify the decades of silence to those who would ask you, ” Why do you never hear from him after all you did?”