The Face I Never Forgot

I froze.

The woman sitting on the street was filthy, wrapped in layers of tattered clothing. But her eyes—those deep, familiar brown eyes—locked onto mine, and my breath hitched.

It couldn’t be.

“Mom?” The word slipped out before I could stop it.

She flinched. Then she laughed—a hollow, broken sound. “Sorry, kid. You must have me confused with someone else.”

But I wasn’t confused.

I had spent years staring at the one photo I had of her. The woman in front of me had the same delicate nose, the same curve of her lips.

I knelt beside her. “It’s you. I know it’s you.”

Her expression wavered. Her lips parted slightly. And then—her eyes filled with tears.

“Josh?” she whispered.

The world spun.

My mother—the one my father swore was *dead*—was sitting in front of me, alive.

I should have felt joy. Relief. But instead, rage bubbled in my chest.

“Mom, what happened? Dad said—he *said* you died!”

She looked away, rubbing her arms. Her hands shook. “He told you that?” Her voice cracked.

I swallowed hard. “Yes. He never let me say goodbye. We moved away right after.”

She let out a bitter, shaky breath. “That bastard,” she muttered. Then, turning to me, she placed a trembling hand on mine.

“Josh, I didn’t die. He *made* me disappear.”

My stomach lurched. “What do you mean?”

She glanced around, paranoid, as if expecting my father to appear any second. “I was in the hospital… but I was getting better. Then one night, I woke up in a different place—a clinic for people with ‘mental struggles.’ I begged for someone to call you, but no one would. Your father put me there, told them I was unstable, and after a while… he just stopped paying. They kicked me out. And I’ve been on the streets ever since.”

I couldn’t breathe.

He had *lied.* My father had stolen her from me, erased her from my life as if she were nothing.

And then he replaced her.

Erika.

My fists clenched. My entire life had been built on a lie.

I met my mother’s gaze again, this time with determination.

“You’re coming with me,” I said firmly.

Her lip trembled. “Josh, I—”

“No. I’m not leaving you again.”

For the first time in years, I felt whole. And for the first time in her life, she had someone fighting for *her.*