Sixteen years ago, my son, Tom, had a daughter named Ava with his now-ex-wife, Mia. My husband and I chose to help raise our granddaughter after her father disowned her.
But we didn’t anticipate him wanting paternity when he discovered how we wanted to provide for her future.
From the moment I met her, I adored Mia like she was my own. She had this spark, was clever, kind, and a little chaotic in her youth, earning the title “party girl.” But how she behaved was nothing I hadn’t been myself once.
She and Tom met during their junior year of college when she’d settled down more, and honestly, I thought they’d found something real.
Ava came into the picture not long after they married, and for a while, life seemed beautiful. I believed they’d grow old together.