I was seven years old the final time I laid eyes on my mom.

It started as a normal morning. Rose was tying my twin sister Lucy’s hair in braids at the dining table while I struggled with my shoelaces on the floor.

She gave us both a kiss on the forehead before we got into the car.

“I will get you girls after classes,” she told us. “I care about you both more than the entire sky.”

Those were the final words she ever spoke to us.

Later that day, Dad was the one standing by the school gate. His eyes looked bloodshot, and his hands kept trembling.

“Where is Mom?” Lucy asked.

“Your mother… is not showing up, honey,” he said quietly.

“When will she return?” I pulled on his shirt. “Dad, when?”

“I have no idea, sweetie. I really do not know.”

We stayed up waiting that evening. And the following one. And the one after that.

But Mom had vanished.

Three months later, Amber stepped into our living room carrying presents, a casserole, and a smile that made me uneasy, even though I was too young to understand why.

“Kids, meet Amber, my close friend from the office,” Dad said gently. “She is going to help us for a bit.”

“Hello, darlings,” Amber greeted, kneeling down. “I have heard so many things about you both. Are you not the most beautiful little girls?”

Lucy tucked herself behind me. I just stared at her.

Barely four weeks after that first introduction, Amber became our stepmom.

In the beginning, Amber packed our school lunches and told us bedtime stories in silly voices. She did Lucy’s hair in pretty styles every morning and helped me pull weeds from my little garden outside.

It felt as if her kindness might somehow repair what had broken in our home when Mom left, yet Amber’s friendliness had an expiration date.

By the time we turned nine, her attitude had twisted into something completely different.

“Could we buy those new shoes all the kids are wearing?” Lucy asked one morning.

“Be thankful for the things you own,” Amber snapped. “Your real mom left you behind. I am the one who stayed.”

“I apologize,” Lucy murmured.

“Do not apologize. Just show some gratitude.”

That response became the theme song of our childhood. We heard those words whenever we asked about school trips or new winter coats.

“Cash is tight, kids,” Amber would sigh. “You know your dad works so hard.”

So we made do with secondhand clothes, cheap meals, no birthday parties, and no holiday trips.

Meanwhile, Amber’s closet filled with expensive jackets. She bought a new cell phone every year and visited the salon roughly every four weeks.

“How come Amber gets new stuff while we get nothing?” I asked Lucy one night under the blankets.

“Quiet,” Lucy hushed me. “Do not make her angry. She could leave too.”

That became the fear that shaped us: the idea that mothers leave, and love had to be earned by always staying small, quiet, and grateful.

We believed we were the kind of children a mother would easily abandon. It had happened once before, and we were terrified it might happen again.

We had no idea that everything we believed about our mother’s disappearance was completely false.

The drive over to Amber’s house felt strange this Mother’s Day.

Lucy had texted me earlier: “I am unable to go. I tried to get off, but I am working back-to-back shifts. Please tell Amber I care for her deeply, and I will make it up to her very soon.”

“I will handle this for you,” I replied. “Do not stress! I will buy a large bouquet of flowers for both of us.”

I bought pink stargazer lilies on the way, since they were Amber’s favorite. The purchase cost $30 I could barely spare, but Amber had stayed with us — and that mattered. Plus, the gift needed to look nice enough so Lucy would not get any backlash.

The front door was unlocked when I arrived.

I almost called out a greeting, but I heard her talking in the kitchen in that cheerful voice she only used when she thought no one was around to listen.

I stopped in the hallway because I did not want to interrupt her.

A moment later, I heard my own name. I glanced into the kitchen and saw her on the phone with her back to me.

“… just Stella. The second one sent me a weak text about how she could not show up.” She laughed. “I taught them perfectly, I promise you. They are so desperate for approval, they would burn alive just to give me heat.”

A moment of silence passed. Barely enough time for me to stop myself from yelling. Then came more laughter.

“Oh goodness,” she sighed. “I truly cannot process how in fifteen years, those twin idiots never guessed a single detail. I constantly wonder — why are they so gullible? Plus I tricked their sad mother too. She has no idea that—”

She paused abruptly and looked around the room. I quickly pressed myself back against the hallway wall.

“… that she has been yelling into an empty space for a decade and a half,” Amber finished. “I made sure neither of those kids ever saw those notes.”

Notes? Our mom had sent us messages?

“She simply needed to act stubborn,” Amber said with a breath. “It was quite simple to trick her into believing James intended to make her poor and take away her custody during their split. James mentioned at the office one time that she had dealt with deep sadness in the past, so I warned her he meant to lock her up in a mental hospital.”

I covered my mouth with my hand. Did those words mean what I thought they did? Had Amber planned my mother’s disappearance?

“Those mobile texts you helped me forge looked super believable. She fled, exactly as I expected she might, yet the mail began arriving twelve months afterward.”

I felt the urge to vomit.

But the most important thing was that I needed to find that mail!

“Sweetie, I need to hang up,” Amber said suddenly. “Yeah, it is Mother’s Day with my loyal kid. Wish me luck.”

I stared at the flowers in my hands. Then I glanced toward the kitchen doorway, watching Amber’s dark silhouette move across the tiles, humming a quiet tune.

And I realized, with complete calm, that this morning would not turn out to be the holiday she expected.

My knees nearly gave out, but I forced myself forward.

I walked straight into the kitchen wearing the biggest smile I could manage.

“Have a wonderful Mother’s Day, Amber!”

She turned quickly, looking startled. For a brief moment her expression twitched, then settled back into a friendly look.

“Oh, honey! I missed the sound of you coming in.”

“The door was unlocked. I brought your favorites. From Lucy and me.”

She took the bouquet directly from my hands.

“Where is Lucy? She is supposed to be here.”

“She is working back-to-back shifts and could not get away. She sends her love and promised she will make it up to you.”

“Well… okay. Have a seat. Your dad is going to be back shortly, and the quiche is almost ready.”

“Actually, may I use the restroom first?”

“Of course, sweetie. You know where it is.”

I walked down the hallway slowly, acting as if my heart was not breaking. I passed the bathroom door. I kept going.

A long time ago, Amber had declared the hallway closet strictly off-limits. She claimed she stored her private things inside, yet I guessed that would be exactly where I might find Mom’s letters.

I gently pulled the closet door open.

It was packed with Amber’s belongings — mostly older designer jackets and expensive purses.

Right on the floor, three stacked shoeboxes caught my eye.

My heart pounded as I dropped to my knees.

I lifted the lid of the first box.

It was jammed with envelopes addressed to Lucy and me.

I picked up one envelope. It was still sealed and bore a postmark from twelve years ago.

A second one. Still sealed.

A third one, though this one was open. It was a birthday card.

Have a wonderful birthday, my gorgeous kids! I pray to meet you both again shortly.