I raised my stepson from age 4. At his high school graduation, he thanked “his parents” and his dad’s new wife of two years. He didn’t mention me. I clapped and smiled. But then everyone went silent when I stood up and walked to the stage.
I hadn’t planned to do anything dramatic. I was there just to support him, like I always had. But something in me cracked. Maybe it was the 14 years of bedtime stories, soccer games, doctor’s visits, and school projects I’d helped with. Or maybe it was just the sound of my own heart dropping when he skipped over me like I’d never existed.