…because she was my best friend.”
The words didn’t land right away. They just hung there between us, heavy and strange.
I blinked. “What?”
Janet swallowed, her hand trembling as she picked up the photo. “Your mom and I… we grew up together. We were inseparable. When she got sick, I was there—every hospital visit, every bad day. I promised her I’d look after you.”
My chest tightened. “Then why didn’t anyone ever tell me?”
“Your dad thought it would confuse you,” she said softly. “And after she passed… you were hurting. I didn’t want to force myself into your life as anything more than someone who cared.”
I felt the anger draining out of me, replaced by something uncomfortable—guilt.
“All this time,” she continued, eyes glossy, “I kept that photo because it reminds me of her… and of the promise I made.”
I looked at the picture again. My mom was laughing, her arm wrapped around a younger Janet. They looked… happy. Real.
“I thought you were trying to replace her,” I admitted quietly.
Janet shook her head. “No one could ever replace your mom.”
Silence filled the room, but it felt different now—not sharp, not angry.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
She gave a small, sad smile. “Me too.”
For the first time since she came into my life, I didn’t see her as someone who took something away from me.
I saw her as someone who had been holding on to it all along.
