I was only ten when my mother decided I didn’t belong. After marrying Charlie and having their “perfect” son Jason, she handed me over to Grandma like I was an inconvenience. “I have a real family now,” she said, without a flicker of guilt. Grandma Brooke became my everything — my safe place, my real parent. She tucked me in at night, loved me fiercely, and promised never to leave me. And she didn’t… until the day I buried her at 32.

At the funeral, my mother stood under an umbrella with her picture-perfect family. She didn’t shed a real tear, didn’t speak to me, just like 22 years ago. A few days later, she…