When I met my adoptive mother at twelve, I wasn’t looking for love — just a way out of the orphanage. She smiled warmly, treated me with kindness, and called me her daughter from day one. I pretended to love her back at first, unsure how to respond to affection I didn’t understand. Over the years, she gave me everything — comfort, safety, and a home — but I never truly thanked her.
As I grew older, we drifted apart. I focused on my own life, while she quietly supported me from a distance. Then, a year ago, she passed away. I attended her funeral with a heart full of guilt, realizing too late that I had never told her how much she meant to me. Before I left, a stranger approached and handed me a small porcelain figurine. “She wanted you to have this,” they said softly.....