As a little girl, Diane clung to the hope that her mother would return soon. She had been left in the care of her aunt and uncle, with promises of postcards and gifts from Europe. Her mother was off on an adventure, traveling through Paris, Rome, and Barcelona, meeting strangers and chasing experiences.
At first, Diane counted the days. She imagined her mother bringing back souvenirs, stories, and, most of all, love. But as weeks turned into months and months into years, the letters became sparse, then stopped altogether. Her absence became permanent.
Diane grew up feeling like an afterthought, watching other children with their mothers, wondering what she had done wrong. Why wasn’t she enough? Why had her mother chosen a life of wandering over her own daughter?
Then, after years of silence, her mother reappeared—older, radiant, and seemingly unchanged. Diane, now an adult, no longer sought comfort in her mother’s embrace. Instead, she saw the truth in her mother’s carefree smile and distant eyes. She had never been lost or searching—she had simply chosen a different life.
Their reunion was not filled with warmth or apologies. Instead, it was a revelation. Diane realized that she had been waiting for someone who had never intended to come back. And in that moment, she let go—not just of her mother, but of the longing that had shaped her childhood.
Sometimes, the hardest truth is accepting that the people who leave don’t always regret it.
