When I noticed my daughter, Anna, and I weren’t talking as much, I decided to surprise her. I baked her favorite cinnamon buns, hopped on a train, and headed to her city. But when I knocked on her door, I never expected what came next.
My name is Ingrid, and for most of my life, Anna has been my world. I raised her as a single mother, working double shifts at a diner, where I’m now the manager.
Anna wasn’t planned, and when I realized I’d be raising her alone, I promised myself she’d never lack anything. We became incredibly close, like Lorelai and Rory from Gilmore Girls, but without the drama.
Anna married Jason and moved three hours away. At first, we talked every day, but soon, our conversations became shorter. She’d say she was “busy,” and I sensed something was off. Was I losing her?
Determined to find out, I decided to visit. Two weeks ago, I woke up early, baked cinnamon buns, and took a train to her city. When I knocked on her door, I was met with an unexpected response.
Anna opened the door, but her reaction wasn’t joyful. She stepped outside, as if to hide something, and shut the door behind her.
“Mom? What are you doing here?” she whispered, sounding almost angry.
“I just wanted to see you! I brought your favorite,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“You can’t be here. Just go, Mom,” she said, her voice sharp. I felt my heart sink.
“Is Jason okay?” I asked, desperate for answers.
“Go!” she snapped before slamming the door in my face.
Confused and worried, I couldn’t leave. I hid around the corner, waiting. Hours passed, and finally, Anna stepped out again, pale and tear-streaked. I rushed inside when she left the door unlocked.
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