I was heading to the office. My mom was making coffee. I grabbed my bag, opened the front door—and froze. A woman stood on the porch, hand lifted to knock. She looked late forties, maybe early fifties. Nice coat. Styled hair. Light makeup. She stared at my face like she knew it.
“Isabel?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. “Can I help you?” She smiled, soft and practiced. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said. “I know you don’t remember me, but I’m your biological mother. I’m the one who gave birth to you.”
My stomach dropped. I stepped outside and pulled the door mostly closed behind me. “What are you doing here?” I asked. She sighed, as if this was hard for her. “My name is Karen,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you. It wasn’t easy. But I heard about your brand—Doorstep, right? You’re very successful. I always knew you would be.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s my company.” She nodded like she deserved credit. “I made sure this would happen,” she said. “How?” I asked. She straightened.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
