I had imagined a mother who didn’t care enough to stay.
Instead, there had been a woman quietly cleaning classrooms and emptying trash cans just to catch a glimpse of her child.
I didn’t know whether to feel angry, relieved, or heartbroken.
The next morning, I went looking for her.
I found Mrs. Jenkins at school, pushing her cleaning cart down the hallway.
When she saw me, she stopped immediately.
Her face turned pale.
“Are you angry with me?” she asked softly.
I shook my head.
Then I walked toward
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