The rain dripped down my windshield, blurring my view of the house—the house where I once tucked my daughter, Hazel, into bed, where we danced barefoot on the porch, where she ran into my arms every time I picked her up.
But now, I was a stranger. A visitor in my own child’s life.
Three years ago, I had no choice but to leave. Cancer had stolen my strength, my hair, and my ability to care for my child. Nathan, my ex-husband, had assured me it was only temporary. Hazel would stay with him until I got better.
I believed him. But as the months stretched into years, treatments drained me, and visits became harder.
The first time Hazel saw me after my surgery, she stared at me, confused.
“What happened to you?” she whispered, stepping back.
My heart ached, but I forced a smile. “I got sick, baby. But I’m better now.”
Nathan placed a hand on her shoulder and murmured, “It’s a lot for her. She just needs time.”
At first, Hazel sent letters, filled with crayon drawings of the sun and our cat, Mr. Whiskers.
“I love you, Mommy!” she scribbled in her little handwriting.
But then, the letters became fewer. The calls dwindled. The excuses piled up.
“She’s at practice.”
“She’s with her friends.”
“She’s busy with school.”
And then… nothing. The silence swallowed everything.
One day, an envelope arrived. No letter, no words of love—just legal documents.
Divorce papers. Custody arrangements.
Nathan had moved on. Found someone else.
And the worst part? The court granted him full custody. They believed Hazel needed stability, a home without the uncertainty of a sick mother.
I was too weak to fight then. But I swore, when I got better, I would find my way back to my daughter.
And now, I was here. I had beaten cancer, I had fought my battle, and I had returned.
I climbed the porch steps and raised my hand to knock, but before I could, the door swung open.
Sara, Nathan’s new wife, stood there. Perfect. Composed. The woman who had taken my place.
I steadied my voice. “I’m here to pick up Hazel.”
Sara tilted her head slightly, offering me a pitying smile. “Evelyn… I thought Nathan called you.”
A cold feeling crept into my stomach. “Called me about what?”
“He took Hazel to the fair.”
My pulse spiked. “But today is my day.”
Sara sighed, folding her arms. “She didn’t want to go with you.”
I stiffened. “That’s not true.”
“She doesn’t ask about you anymore. She calls me Mom now.”
My breath caught in my throat. No. My baby couldn’t have forgotten me.
Before Sara could say another word, I turned and rushed back to my car.
I had to find her. I had to remind her who I was.
The fair was alive with lights and laughter. The smell of caramel apples and roasted nuts filled the air, wrapping around me like a memory I couldn’t quite hold. Children shrieked, carousel lights flickered, music played. But I wasn’t here for any of that.
I was here for Hazel.
“Where is she?” I muttered, scanning the crowd.
Every little girl in a colorful jacket, every glimpse of light brown hair made my heart lurch.
Then, I saw her.
Hazel.
She stood just a short distance away, gripping Nathan’s hand.
“Hazel!” I called out, my voice shaking.
She looked up, her wide eyes locking onto mine.
“Baby, it’s me!” I stepped forward, ready to wrap her in my arms. But she didn’t move. She didn’t run to me. She just… stared.
A sudden gust of wind brushed against my head, and I realized—
Oh God. My wig was gone.
People were staring at me. Whispers rose around me. But none of that mattered. Only Hazel mattered.
I reached out. “Sweetheart, it’s okay…”
She flinched.
Then, in a small, trembling voice, she whispered, “You’re not my mom. You’re just a bald lady.”
Her words sliced through me like a knife. My breath hitched, but it wasn’t enough. My world tilted. My own daughter didn’t recognize me.
That night, I sat on the floor of my dimly lit apartment, clutching Hazel’s old teddy bear. My eyes burned as I rocked slightly, my mind replaying her words over and over.
You’re not my mom. You’re just a bald lady.
When had she stopped loving me? Had she ever?
I reached for a small shoebox, pulling out her old letters, running my fingers over her tiny, scribbled words.
“I love you, Mommy!”
“I can’t wait to see you!”
“You’re the best!”
Tears slipped down my cheeks. Then, I grabbed my laptop, scrolling aimlessly—until my breath caught.
A post from her school.
An art contest.
I clicked.
And there it was. Hazel’s submission. A sky full of stars.
My heart pounded. I knew this story. It was ours. The bedtime story I had told her a hundred times. A little girl lost her mother but found her way home by following the stars.
She hadn’t forgotten.
I grabbed my phone and dialed a number.
“I need your help,” I whispered. “We have two days to prepare.”
The school auditorium was packed. Parents whispered, students fidgeted. I stood at the back, my heart hammering.
Then, the screen flickered to life.
A video played.
Hazel, younger, sitting on the counter, flour dusting her cheeks.
“Mommy, look! I made a smiley face!”
My laughter filled the speakers. “It’s the cutest cookie I’ve ever seen!”
Clip after clip appeared. Us on the beach, autumn leaves crunching beneath our feet, letters I had written her, my voice reading them out loud.
Hazel’s breath hitched. She turned to Sara, eyes wide.
“Where are these letters?” she demanded.
Sara hesitated. “I… I didn’t want to upset you.”
Hazel’s voice trembled. “So you hid them?”
Sara stammered, but Hazel was already pulling away. She turned, scanning the crowd.
Then, she saw me.
For a moment, we both froze.
Then, she ran.
I barely had time to open my arms before she threw herself into them, gripping me tightly.
“Mom…” she whispered.
I held her close, tears streaming down my face. “I never stopped loving you, baby.”
She trembled in my arms. “I thought you forgot about me…”
I cupped her face, wiping her tears. “Never.”
The announcer’s voice rang out. “And the winner of this year’s art contest is Hazel, for ‘Following the Stars.’”
Hazel gasped. Then, she turned to me, eyes shining. “I did it, Mom.”
I smiled through my tears. “Yes, baby. You did.”
That night, she came home with me.
Because a mother’s love is like the stars.
Always there, even when unseen.
