Hello, I’m Patty, a 90-year-old who has lived a blessed and joyous life. My dear husband passed a few years back, leaving just my daughter, Angie, and me.

I was thrilled at the thought of celebrating my 90th birthday. Angie assured me she’d come along with my grandchildren to mark the day.

The presence of my grandchildren fills me with immense joy, taking me back to the days when my husband and I raised Angie. It’s incredible how much they remind me of her.

Interestingly enough, they also take after their father, John, Angie’s ex-husband. I’ve always held John in high regard, so learning about their divorce truly pained me.

To me, John was the closest I had to a son — caring with a heart of gold. He still remembers to send me Christmas cards. How I wish those two had resolved their differences, but life’s complexity often stands in the way.

The much-anticipated day of my birthday finally dawned, filling me with excitement. However, as the hours slipped by, worry crept in. It was nearly noon, and I hadn’t heard a peep from Angie. Repeated calls went unanswered.

Hopeful yet anxious, I dialed Angie once more. This time, it immediately switched to voicemail. “Perhaps she’s driving,” I thought. Yet, with time passing, I reluctantly faced the prospect of another solitary birthday.

Then, at last, the doorbell chimed. Despite my aching knees, joy bubbled inside. I hadn’t seen Angie and the kids for what felt like ages, making their visit an exhilarating birthday gift.

However, as I approached the glass door, my heart dropped — a male silhouette greeted me instead. I opened it to find John, clutching flowers and gifts.

“Happy Birthday, Mom!” John greeted with the warmest smile.

“John?! Oh, my! You shouldn’t have,” I replied, delightedly.

“Just a little something to honor this special day,” John explained.

“Are those my favorite chocolates? Oh, my goodness! You remembered?” I said, feeling the warmth flood my cheeks.

“How could I forget? They were your go-to!” John chuckled.

“You’re too kind. Will you join me for dinner?” I asked, welcoming him inside.

John has always been a superb cook — quite reminiscent of my late husband. Together, we crafted a hearty meal. During dinner, Angie and the kids became our focal point.

“Angie, her new beau, and the kids are off on a vacation,” John disclosed, his disappointment evident.

“Vacation? Without a word? Why would she do that?” I wondered aloud.

John vented his frustrations, and I became engulfed in sadness. How could I trust Angie again after this?

Angie later promised to visit with the children at the earliest. Yet, the hurt lingered. My heart still holds motherly love for her, but the pain she caused remains tangible.

Despite it all, I’m grateful for John’s presence that day. But I’m left contemplating my next steps.

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