I was twenty -two years old when I became a mother. < img src = "https://zycie.news/crrops/aae0d1/620x0/1/0/2025/04/06/3v6nxryjqzqzqzqzqzp0exekokoimfad6eqcn6dvmke1ssdja.jpg" alt = "old lady @pexels" styles = "background-color: rgba (55.53.46.1)" > < p > and twenty -three when I was alone. My child's father disappeared as soon as & ndash appeared; He left me with a baby carrier, bills and sleepless night. But I didn't complain. I didn't have time. I had a mission.

< p > I raised him as best I could. Without help, without maintenance & alimony & oacute; without a word of support. I worked for two jobs & ndash; In the morning in the store, in the evening I cleaned offices. There was no vacation, new shoes for me, about going to the cinema. But he had everything. The best I could afford.

< p > I remember how he was hugging me when he was afraid of a storm. As he brought me drawings with my hearts. Like m & oacute; & mummy, if I am big, I will buy you a house! I believed. Because the child's love is eternal, truth ?

< p > until Dor & oacute; words

< p > first studies. Then work. Girl, apartment, new life. I enjoyed his successes & ndash; from afar. He called less and less often. He wrote back. For my suggestions for meetings m & oacute; wił: & I don't have time, mom & rdquo;.

< p > but the worst came suddenly. I met him by accident on the street. He walked with his friends. I called him & ndash; My heart killed my heart. I smiled, reached out. And he looked and said:

< p > & ndash; Sorry & Hellip; You probably were wrong. I don't know you.

< p > I froze.

< p > It wasn't a joke. It was cold. Indifferent. As if he threw me out of memory, from my heart, from life.

< p > I stood on the pavement when he went away, laughing with his friends. And I & Hellip; I felt something dying in me.

< p > because how can you not know the mother who did not sleep for you, did not eat, she did not live with her life, but your ?

< p > I live alone today. I have photos left. So much. I'm not waiting for the phone anymore. But I still leave light in the kitchen at night. Just like when he was ten years old and was afraid of darkness.

< p > because despite everything & hellip; I still love him. Even if he doesn't know me.

Natasha Kumar

By Natasha Kumar

Natasha Kumar has been a reporter on the news desk since 2018. Before that she wrote about young adolescence and family dynamics for Styles and was the legal affairs correspondent for the Metro desk. Before joining The Times Hub, Natasha Kumar worked as a staff writer at the Village Voice and a freelancer for Newsday, The Wall Street Journal, GQ and Mirabella. To get in touch, contact me through my natasha@thetimeshub.in 1-800-268-7116