My boyfriend left me when I was pregnant because his mother didn’t like me. I’ve raised my son alone for 17 years. Today, I ran into his mother. She burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “I’ve been looking for you all these years.”

I froze. The bag of vegetables almost slipped from my hands. She stopped too, as if someone had pressed a button that froze the world. And then something happened that I never would have imagined: she placed a hand on her chest, moved toward me with unsteady steps, and before I could react, she hugged me.

Her voice trembled:

“Forgive me… I’ve been looking for you all these years.”

My stomach lurched. Not with emotion, but with rage. An old rage, but still raw. Forgiveness? Now? After shattering my life when I needed support the most. After convincing her son—my boyfriend at the time—that I was just “a mistake” and that fatherhood would ruin his future. Her, the woman who had treated me like a threat, like an intruder. The same one who pressured him until he abandoned me without looking back, leaving me pregnant, scared, and alone at nineteen.