Chapter 8: Full Circle—A Mother's Gift

"Why hide? Just because people found out your mom sells breakfast burritos?"

She handed me a carton of chocolate milk, but I didn’t want to take it. She nudged it closer, her eyes kind. "Come on, it’s just milk."

"She’s not my mom. She’s my stepmom, married in when I was ten."

I didn’t know why I was so awkward, but I just didn’t want people to associate me with the breakfast burrito lady. My voice was small, defensive. I waited for her to laugh, to judge. My heart hammered in my chest.

"Then you should be happy. She cares so much about you. My dad has plenty of girlfriends. If my mom’s oxygen tube hadn’t been unplugged, I’d have had a stepmom long ago."

She wore an Apple Watch and limited-edition sneakers, but now she looked sad. Her voice was soft, almost wistful. I realized everyone had their own pain. I felt a flicker of empathy.

"My dad acts in front of me, then goes out partying. Jamie, the ones who treat you sincerely are family. Sometimes, looking at the heart is more reliable than a blood test."

I couldn’t offer comfort, but the stone in my heart felt lighter. I sipped the chocolate milk, letting her words sink in. Maybe she was right.

That night, when I got home, Linda was rarely not working. The kitchen was quiet, the lights low. She sat at the table, hands folded, waiting for me.

"I don’t want to say much. You’re grown up and know more than I do. Jamie, I know what you’re thinking."

Her voice was tired, but honest. She looked me in the eye, not judging. I didn’t dare reply, feeling guilty. My chest tightened.

"But remember, if you really want to leave this family, do it on your own merit! Work hard, get into a good school, and stay in the big city with your head held high."

Her words were a challenge, a blessing, and a warning all at once. I felt a surge of determination. I wanted to prove her wrong—and right—all at once.

That night, I rarely heard Linda snore. Maybe she was truly tired. The house was silent. I lay awake, thinking about everything I’d taken for granted.

After that, my desk mate prepared to go abroad, and I focused on studying. As for others’ mockery, once I ignored it, it faded fast. I buried myself in textbooks, letting the world shrink to equations and essays—SAT prep, AP Chem, college essays. The noise faded, replaced by a quiet determination.

Sure enough, youth is a circus made of noisy moments. Some people take the stage, some leave. I thought I was the star, but I was just a bit player. I watched friends come and go, dramas flare up and die down. I realized my story was just one of many. I felt small, but not alone.

As summer heat arrived, I finally handed in a perfect answer sheet. My only regret was never openly eating Linda’s breakfast burritos as a student. I finished the first exam, and she closed her truck. Not only that, she hurriedly left, saying she had to deal with something at home.

I watched her pack up the truck, wiping sweat from her brow. I wanted to say thank you, but the words stuck in my throat. I stood in the parking lot, watching her drive away, heart full of gratitude.

Luckily, my desk mate took care of my meals. When I left the exam room, no one was waiting for me. Just as I was about to go home and share the good news, I finally got her call. My phone buzzed, Linda’s name lighting up the screen. My heart skipped a beat.

"Jamie, come back and see your dad one last time."

Her voice was quiet, broken. I knew, before she said it, that something was wrong. My knees went weak.

In the empty living room, our family of four was now three. Dad’s smile was forever frozen in his portrait. The house was filled with lilies and white roses, the air heavy with grief. I sat on the couch, staring at Dad’s picture, unable to cry.

"This Linda Harper is afraid people don’t know she’s a stepwife. Who lets someone go so poorly?"

"Yeah, I heard she didn’t even buy a proper grave, just took the ashes home from the funeral parlor... Aren’t you afraid Joe’s spirit will come back and haunt her!"

"I heard the driver who caused it had the highest insurance. This woman really made a fortune. Poor Jamie, just got into college—what’ll she do now?"

The mourners all had their own motives, whispering but not avoiding Linda. Some distant relatives wanted to discuss compensation with her, but she sent them away. She stood her ground, refusing to let anyone push her around. I watched, a surge of pride swelling in my chest.

"Looks like she’s planning to keep it all. Poor Jamie."

My tears had dried up. On the application form, I could no longer fill in Dad’s name as guardian. The reality hit me—I was truly on my own now. My hands shook as I filled out the forms, fear gnawing at my insides.

At night, Linda knocked on my door. Her knock was soft, hesitant. I let her in, unsure what to expect.

"Jamie, let’s talk."

She sat beside me, hands folded in her lap.

"The one who hit your dad was a small business owner. With insurance and his own compensation, there’s $130,000."

Unexpectedly, Linda was open about the money. She handed me a folder, the numbers neatly written out. I stared at it, shocked by how real it all was.

"Your dad’s accident happened on your exam day..."

As I suspected. My heart clenched. I’d wondered, but hearing it out loud made it real.

"He wasn’t drunk, just speeding from fatigue. He’s still in the hospital."

"Your dad... he didn’t suffer much. He was already in shock when they brought him in."

Linda’s voice trembled. This was her first time telling me about Dad’s last moments. She wiped her eyes, voice breaking. I reached for her hand, surprised by my own comfort. For a moment, I was the strong one.

"I thought he’d make it, just until you finished your exams... He must have heard me. He really held on for two days."

"Jamie, do well, don’t let your dad down."

At that moment, I forgot all past grievances and hugged Linda. Our faces were streaked with tears, impossible to tell whose were whose. We clung to each other, two women bound by loss and love. For the first time, I called her Mom, and it felt right. Relief washed over me.

After Dad’s funeral, I went to school to check my score. The teacher estimated I’d get a 1500—a very safe score. With the recommended college list, I went home, half happy, half sad. Even with good grades, I was still a kid with no clue about the real world. Maybe student loans were my best option. But would Linda be my guarantor?

I stared at the acceptance letter, heart pounding. I wondered if I’d have to give up my dream, if Linda would stand by me. Hope and fear tangled in my chest.

Nervous, I came home late at night. The porch light was on. Linda sat at the kitchen table, waiting up for me.

"Why are you back so late? Ben’s already sleepy."

Linda pulled me to sit, taking my score sheet. She scanned it, her eyes lighting up. She hugged me tight, tears streaming down her face.

"So high, that’s great. Your dad can rest in peace."

Seeing the teacher’s notes, Linda was truly happy. Then, she pushed a blue folder to me. She slid it across the table, her hands shaking just a little.

"There’s $100,000 here, some in savings, some in investments. You can only get it after you graduate."

She gave me $100,000, keeping only $30,000 for herself. She insisted I take it, her voice firm. I realized she’d been saving for me all along. Gratitude and shame warred inside me.

Thinking of all the years I fought her, only to get her repaying evil with kindness, I lowered my head in shame. Tears pricked my eyes. I wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in my throat.

"Aunt Linda, I don’t need that much. Just give me my tuition."

"Nonsense. This is what your dad left. It should be yours."

This time, I finally understood and stubbornly refused. I pushed the folder back, but she pushed it right back at me.

"No, Ben is also Dad’s kid, and he’s a boy. He’ll need money to get married. You should keep the most!"

But Linda was even more determined. She shook her head, her jaw set. “I’m still able-bodied. I’ll earn his wedding money.”

"I’m still able-bodied. I’ll earn his wedding money."

She stuffed the things into my hands, and I couldn’t push them away. Her grip was strong, her eyes shining with pride. I hugged her, sobbing, finally letting go of years of hurt. I felt her arms around me, and for the first time, I truly felt like her daughter.

Since then, I had no more worries and applied to my dream university. I mailed off the application with Linda by my side, her arm around my shoulders. For the first time, I felt hopeful. My heart soared as we walked to the mailbox together.

After leaving home, because of the distance, I always missed Linda’s birthday. But every year, I arranged for a local bakery to deliver a cake. The cake was different each year, but the card always said:

"Mom, happy birthday."

I’d call her, laughing as she described the cake. Sometimes she’d send me a picture, her smile wide, her eyes crinkled with happiness.

With Dad’s compensation and Linda’s support, I finished my studies and stayed in Chicago. The city I once dreamed of soon became just another city. Because I chose a popular major, my work life went smoothly. I landed a job at a consulting firm, the kind with long hours and coffee runs.

I rented a tiny apartment, learned to ride the L, made friends from all over. The skyline became familiar, the city lights a comfort.

"Jamie, you’re 27. Stop focusing only on work—it’s time to think about your own life."

Linda called, complaining about Ben’s first crush, then nagging me to get married. She’d tease me about my long hours, threaten to set me up with her friends’ sons at the grocery store. I laughed, promising to visit soon.

After nine years, Linda was no longer the fiery woman she once was. After closing her food truck, she rented a small grocery store and hired a helper. She’d send me photos of new products—seasonal apples, a new brand of chips—tell stories about regular customers like Mr. Patel who always bought pickles for his grandkids. Her hair was streaked with gray, but her spirit was the same.

"Aunt Linda, you talk about me? I’ve told you so many times—come to Chicago when you have time and get your back checked. But you just won’t come."

I tried to guilt her into visiting, but she always made excuses. I knew she was stubborn, just like me.

"I’ll come when things settle down."

She laughed, a little shy. I knew her well—she couldn’t be forced.

Sometimes, I thought we were really alike. Like now, even though I was in a relationship, I hadn’t told her. I’d stare at my phone, drafting a message, then deleting it. I wanted her approval, even now. My thumb hovered over "send" more times than I could count.

Fate is strange. The man I like is just like my dad back then.

He was gentle, patient, good with kids. I saw so much of Dad in him, it made my heart ache. Sometimes, I wondered if I was searching for a father figure, or just someone who made me feel safe.

"Babe, have you decided when to tell your family?"

He helped dry my hair, gently probing. He handed me a towel, his eyes kind. I knew he wanted to meet Linda, to be part of my world.

"Let’s wait a bit. I’ll tell them when I have time."

I comforted him, but wondered how to tell Linda. I rehearsed the conversation in my head, worrying over every word. What if she didn’t approve?

Now, I had money and a future, with many choices. But I just wanted to marry a divorced man with a child. Sigh, I really wished I could ask her advice back then. I wondered if she’d understand, if she’d see the love I saw.

As expected, my relationship met with strong opposition from Linda. But times had changed. She couldn’t subdue me by force anymore. Seeing she couldn’t persuade me, she angrily went to her mom’s house. She called me, voice sharp, then hung up. I knew she was hurt, but I couldn’t change my heart. The guilt sat heavy in my chest.

"Sis, what do you see in him?"

Ben asked while eating the feast I’d made. He poked at his mashed potatoes, frowning. He’d grown up so much, but he was still my little brother. I felt a wave of affection for him.

"What, I can’t marry a divorced man with a kid?"

I teased him, watching his face turn red.

"If Mom had thought like you back then, where would you be?"

I used facts to refute him. He shrugged, conceding the point. “I guess you’re right.”

"That’s true, but we still think it’s a shame."

He sighed, looking down. I ruffled his hair, laughing.

"Let me ask you, what do your girlfriends like about you?"

"I don’t have a girlfriend! Sis, don’t talk nonsense!"

Ben got anxious, his face turning red. Seeing him flustered, I ruffled his hair. He swatted my hand away, but he was smiling now.

"Ben, love is unreasonable. Who you like is fate."

He half understood. But after dinner, he still couldn’t help asking, lingering in the doorway, voice soft. “Aren’t you afraid of regretting it?”

"Aren’t you afraid of regretting it?"

"Of course I’m afraid... but I’m more afraid of missing out."

I looked out the window, watching the city lights. I realized I was braver than I thought. I let the fear settle, but didn’t let it stop me.

Maybe it was his words, or maybe fate. After I got married, trouble came fast. The man I once loved wasn’t as kind as Dad had been after remarrying. He only wanted me to give in. And my stepson was a nightmare. The fights started small, then grew. My stepson glared at me, my husband grew distant. I felt trapped, just like Linda must have once felt. My frustration built until I could barely breathe.

Soon, my insomnia turned into full-on anxiety. After another fight, I thought of divorce. I lay awake at night, counting cracks in the ceiling, wondering if I’d made a mistake.

"Jamie, Ben wants to switch to art, but I don’t get it. If you have time, come home."

Just then, Linda called for help. Like grabbing a lifeline, I took the next flight home. Ben’s issue was quickly solved, but I was reluctant to return. The house smelled like cookies and fresh laundry. I lingered, savoring the peace I’d missed.

"Jamie, are you mad at your husband?"

At first, Linda asked, but her tone was certain. I tried to hold it in, but couldn’t. After hearing me out, Linda was silent. She didn’t say "I told you so," just gently voiced the thought in my heart. She made tea, listening without judgment. I felt seen, understood.

"If you really can’t go on, just separate peacefully."

Actually, on the way here, I already wanted to break up. But thinking of the ties, public opinion, and years of feelings, I hesitated. Her words gave me permission to choose myself, to let go of guilt. I felt a wave of relief, like a burden had lifted.

"Times have changed. Marriage or divorce is just a step in your life. Back then, I didn’t want you to marry him, partly because I thought it was unfair, partly because I thought he wasn’t good enough."

Turns out, Linda had foreseen my situation. She smiled sadly, patting my hand. “Sometimes, you have to learn the hard way.” I nodded, regret burning in my chest.

"Back then, everyone thought I married your dad for his job, but I really liked him as a person."

She looked out the window, lost in memory. “He made me laugh, even on the worst days.”

"Marry a man, not for riches, just for food and comfort."

"But whether he’ll put a coat on you when it’s cold, or cook for you when you’re sick—that’s what matters."

Her words sounded simple, but they revealed the heart of marriage. I thought of all the little things, the ways love shows up when you least expect it. The realization hit me hard.

After much thought, I filed for divorce. But maybe out of pride, my husband wouldn’t separate peacefully. He slammed doors, sent angry texts, refused to sign the papers. I felt trapped, but determined. Exhaustion washed over me.

"I’ve already been divorced once! Now you want to leave too? Jamie, you’re too selfish."

He yelled—not to keep me, but to save face. That was enough to end my last bit of affection. His words echoed in my head, but I knew I was making the right choice.

"Jamie, I can give you time to cool off or live separately, but divorce is out of the question."

The man I once shared a bed with ended up like this after court mediation. I sat in the waiting room, heart pounding, praying for it to be over.

When I was at a loss, Linda showed up unexpectedly. She’d come with Ben to check out colleges, but found out about my divorce trouble. She marched into my apartment, sleeves rolled up, ready to fight for me. Relief flooded me as soon as I saw her.

A few days later, I got a call from my ex-mother-in-law. The elegant Chicago lady tried hard to speak standard English, telling me she’d convinced her son, and they’d go sign the divorce papers that afternoon. She apologized, her voice trembling. I realized she was just as tired as I was.

Half believing, I took leave. From afar, I saw my ex, bruised and miserable. He avoided my gaze, shuffling his feet. I almost felt sorry for him.

"Jamie, if I’d known you had such a fierce stepmom, I’d have caved sooner."

Turns out Linda had gone to see them. Not only did she ignore my ex-mother-in-law’s sharp tongue, she even decked my ex. She told him off in front of everyone, her voice ringing through the apartment. I heard later she’d threatened to call his boss if he didn’t sign. Pride swelled in my chest.

"She also said... even if my daughter becomes your son’s stepmom, she’s my real daughter, and I won’t let you bully her."

My ex imitated Linda, retelling her words. He tried to sound tough, but I could tell he was scared of her. It made me laugh. In the mediation room, I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. The tension broke, replaced by joy.

"First time I’ve seen someone so happy to divorce."

The court staff looked at me in disbelief, then at my ex. They shook their heads, smiling. I felt lighter than I had in months. Joy bubbled up inside me.

"Sir, this is your second time... maybe reflect and learn a lesson."

That night, I booked a private room at Chicago’s fanciest restaurant—right by Navy Pier. Linda, who couldn’t handle king crab, got pinched, but it was me, reborn, who burst into tears. The waiter brought champagne, the city lights glittering outside. I toasted Linda, my voice shaking with gratitude.

"Mom, this toast is for you..."

Before Linda could react, Ben downed his juice. He grinned, wiping his mouth. “I’ll drink for you, Mom!”

"Alright, I’ll drink!"

Linda laughed, raising her glass. For the first time, we felt like a real family.

"Mom, drink! Sis is tired of holding the glass."

Only when Ben put the glass in her hand did she come to her senses. She blinked, then smiled, her eyes shining with pride. I saw myself reflected there, and I felt whole.

"Hey!"

In 2020, we faced a rare pandemic, but in this disaster, I entered my second marriage. Because of the times, we didn’t make a big deal of it. But I was sure I was the happiest. We had a small ceremony in the backyard, just family and a few friends. It was spring—tulips blooming, birds singing. Linda wore a blue dress, Ben filmed everything on his phone. It was perfect.

Ten months later, I gave birth to my honeymoon baby—a healthy, lovely little girl. Her cries filled the apartment, her tiny fingers curling around mine. I felt awe, a love I’d never known before.

Life couldn’t be better. I swore to give her all my love. I sang her to sleep, rocked her through the night, promised her the world.

My mom finally began to show her age, endlessly doting on her granddaughter. She’d knit tiny sweaters, bake chocolate chip cookies, tell stories about Dad—like the time he tried to build a treehouse and fell off the ladder. I watched them together, my heart full.

"Sis, my status dropped again."

While rocking my daughter, Ben complained. He pouted, but I could see the pride in his eyes. He loved being an uncle. I laughed, amused by his jealousy.

"You jealous of a baby? Want to wear a little girl’s dress too?"

Mom teased Ben and held up a red dress to him. She waved it in front of him, grinning. Ben backed away, hands up in surrender.

"Mom, are you kidding? That’s for a ten-year-old."

Ben looked at the dress in horror, totally baffled. He made a face, then laughed, shaking his head.

Looking at the familiar red dress, I was reminded of my childhood. I looked at my mom tentatively, and she nodded. Her eyes softened. She handed me the dress, her hands trembling just a little.

"Mom, why do you still keep it?"

Thinking of how I acted back then, I felt ashamed. People shouldn’t be too stubborn. The ‘fragrant truth’ spares no one. I ran my fingers over the fabric, remembering all the fights, the tears, the love that grew in between. Forgiveness washed over me.

"Hah, they wouldn’t let me return it, and I couldn’t bear to give it away. I bought it for my own daughter, so I kept it."

My eyes filled with tears again. I hugged her, the dress pressed between us. For the first time, I understood everything she’d done for me.

"Why cry? You shouldn’t during recovery—it’s bad for your health."

Mom hurried over to wipe my tears, just like when I was little. She dabbed my cheeks with a tissue, her touch gentle as ever. I felt comforted, safe in her arms.

"Mom."

"Mm, what’s up?"

She looked at me lovingly, thinking I had something to say. I hesitated, then smiled. Sometimes, there are no words—just love. Peace settled over me.

"Nothing, I just wanted to call you."

"Mom."

"Mom."

"Mom!"

All the calls I missed in childhood, I want to make up for in the days to come. I hugged her tight, promising myself I’d never let another day go by without telling her how much she meant to me.

This ordinary yet extraordinary woman is the best gift my father left me.

I looked at my daughter, sleeping in her crib, and whispered a silent thank you to Dad—for bringing Linda into our lives. Gratitude welled up inside me, overflowing into the quiet night.

Looking at the two lines on the pregnancy test, I frowned, anxious. It was already early autumn, but my mind was troubled by this accident. My husband would listen to me, so I didn’t want to tell him before I decided. The timeline felt like it was speeding up, and I was stuck in slow motion.

I sat on the edge of the tub, the test shaking in my hands. The leaves outside were turning gold, but I felt lost, unsure what to do next.

In the afternoon, Mom came as usual to see her granddaughter. Last year, I helped Mom buy a house. Ben was studying in Chicago, so Mom stayed too. My husband and I were happy, my daughter healthy—honestly, that’s enough. As for a new baby, I really wasn’t ready.

She breezed in with groceries—bags full of apples and Goldfish crackers—humming to herself. I watched her play with my daughter, feeling both grateful and overwhelmed.

While tidying up, Mom noticed my mood. Unable to avoid her questions, I told her. She sat beside me on the couch, her hand warm on my knee. “What’s wrong, Jamie?” I felt comforted just by her touch.

"You don’t want it."

No one knows a daughter like a mother—she guessed at once. Her eyes were kind, understanding. She didn’t judge, just waited for me to speak.

"Mm, I’m just not ready."

I bit my lip, looking away. I felt like a little kid again, scared of disappointing her. Vulnerability prickled at my skin.

"I’m not like you. With a second child, there are too many worries. I really can’t balance it."

Whenever I thought of my own feelings back then, I had no courage for a second child. I remembered the long nights, the loneliness, the fear. I didn’t want that for my daughter—or myself. My resolve hardened.

"Nonsense, how are we different? From the day I married your dad, I considered you my first child!"

Mom spoke of her feelings back then, easing my mind. She squeezed my hand, her voice steady. “Love doesn’t split—it grows.”

"Tch, I know what you all think of me—having a son to secure my place, so the mother is honored by her son!"

"Mom, where’d you learn that? Watching too many soap operas?"

Seeing Mom’s exaggerated face, I couldn’t help but laugh. She grinned, winking. “Maybe I have!” My amusement bubbled up, lightening the mood.

"I didn’t have those thoughts. At first, I didn’t want another. I just hoped one day you’d get close to me. Later, I heard you cry at night, saying Dad was taken away, Mom didn’t want you, you had no family, too lonely..."

Her words brought back memories I’d buried. I realized how much she’d wanted to make things right. Gratitude filled my heart.

"Did I really say that? I don’t remember."

The blurry memories came back, but I, still prideful, wouldn’t admit it. I wiped my eyes, embarrassed. She hugged me, rocking me like a child. I let myself be comforted.

"I thought, having one more is fine. At least it’s your real sibling. When your dad and I are gone, you won’t be alone, with no one to help with the funeral."

Mom was open-minded, but I couldn’t listen to such words. Denial rose up inside me, stubborn and strong.

"Mom, you’ll live a long life. Don’t say that."

I truly hoped she’d be well, since I want to be good to her all my life. She smiled, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I’ll stick around as long as you need me.”

"I’m not a demon. Why live so long... Besides, people are like that—one leaves, another comes."

She held my daughter’s hand with one, and mine with the other. I felt the warmth of her love, steady and unwavering.

"Your mom left, so I made up for it. Your dad’s gone, so Ben makes up for it. Our family of three will always be whole."

Mom smiled, sharing her philosophy of life. But in her slightly clouded eyes, I saw my younger self. If I could travel through time, I’d tell my past self:

I imagined hugging that little girl, telling her she’d be okay, that family can be found in unexpected places. Hope blossomed in my chest.

"You little fool, do you know how lucky you are?"