I’m a single mom of an amazing kid, Owen, 8.
We aren’t on the poverty line but live paycheck to paycheck. Recently, he met and became friends with Charlie.
His parents were super kind to him, giving him presents and taking him on holidays I can’t afford.
Suddenly, they offered to adopt him. I banned them the same minute but had to tell my son everything to explain their absence. To my shock, he burst into tears.
He sat on the floor, his little face crumpled, sobbing uncontrollably. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces as I crouched down to hug him.
“Why can’t I see Charlie anymore? Why don’t they like us now?” he asked between gulps of air, his voice trembling.
I tried to steady myself, even though my hands were shaking. “Owen, it’s not that they don’t like us. They care about you, but they crossed a line. They asked to take you away from me, and I can’t let that happen. You’re my whole world.”
Owen looked up at me, his big brown eyes filled with confusion. “They wanted me to live with them? Why would they want that?”
I hesitated. How could I explain something so complicated to an eight-year-old? “They thought they could give you things I can’t—fancy holidays, big presents. But Owen, those things aren’t what make a family. A family is love, and no one in this world could ever love you more than I do.”
He wiped his nose on his sleeve, sniffling as he whispered, “I don’t care about the presents or the holidays, Mom. I just want us to be together.”
I hugged him tightly, tears streaming down my face now, too. “We’ll always be together, Owen. No one can change that.”
That night, after tucking Owen into bed, I sat on the couch and stared at the stack of bills on the coffee table. A wave of guilt washed over me. I hated that he had to live with the stress of our situation, even if I tried my best to shield him from it. He deserved to feel safe, secure, and carefree.
The next morning, as I packed his lunch, I noticed him quietly working on something at the kitchen table. He had a determined look on his face, his tongue sticking out slightly as he concentrated.
“What’re you working on, buddy?” I asked.
He held up a piece of paper with a drawing of the two of us. Above our heads, he had written in wobbly letters: “Best Team Ever.”
“It’s for you,” he said proudly. “So you remember we don’t need anyone else.”
I blinked back tears and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you, Owen. I’ll keep this forever.”
Life carried on, and while things were still tight financially, Owen and I found small ways to make our days brighter. We started a tradition of making “wish pancakes” every Sunday morning, where we’d each write down a wish on a piece of paper, fold it up, and slip it under our plates before eating. They weren’t always serious—sometimes Owen would wish for superpowers or a lifetime supply of gummy bears—but every now and then, he’d wish for things like a better job for me or a fun day out together.
One Sunday, his wish caught me off guard. “I wish Mom could do something she loves, just like Charlie’s mom,” he said casually, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
I smiled at him, but his words stuck with me. The truth was, I hadn’t thought about my own dreams in years. Between work and raising Owen, there wasn’t much time to think about anything else. But his wish planted a seed in my mind.
That night, after Owen went to bed, I sat down at my old laptop and started researching ways to make extra money doing something I enjoyed. I’d always loved baking, so I wondered if there was a way to turn that into something more.
Over the next few weeks, I started experimenting in the kitchen after work, testing out recipes for cookies, cupcakes, and pies. I brought some to my coworkers, who raved about them and encouraged me to sell them. With their support, I created a small online shop and began taking orders.
It wasn’t easy balancing my new side hustle with my full-time job and parenting, but seeing the joy on Owen’s face when I told him about my first order made it all worth it. “You’re amazing, Mom!” he said, throwing his arms around me.
Slowly but surely, the orders picked up. I started baking for local events and even got a spot at a community market on weekends. Owen became my little assistant, helping me decorate cupcakes and package orders. He loved being part of the process, and I loved the time we spent together.
One evening, as we sat at the kitchen table surrounded by frosting and sprinkles, Owen looked up at me with a grin. “Mom, we’re really the best team ever.”
I laughed and ruffled his hair. “We sure are, kiddo.”
Months passed, and our lives started to feel a little less stressful. I was able to cut back on hours at my day job, which meant I had more time to spend with Owen. We still couldn’t afford lavish holidays or expensive toys, but we didn’t need them. We found joy in the simple things—movie nights at home, picnics at the park, and our Sunday wish pancakes.
One day, as I was setting up my booth at the market, I noticed Charlie’s parents walking toward me. My heart raced, but I forced myself to stay calm.
“Hi,” his mom said hesitantly. “We just wanted to say we’re sorry for overstepping before. It was never our intention to hurt you or Owen.”
I studied their faces, and for the first time, I saw genuine remorse. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “It was hard, but I’m glad Owen and I have each other. We’ve been through a lot, but we’re stronger because of it.”
Charlie’s dad nodded. “You’re doing an incredible job, raising him. He’s a great kid.”
Hearing those words meant more to me than I expected. We talked for a few minutes before they walked away, and I realized I didn’t feel anger toward them anymore. Instead, I felt proud—proud of the life Owen and I had built together.
That night, as Owen and I made our wish pancakes, I wrote down a simple wish: “I wish Owen always knows how loved he is.”
As I slid the paper under my plate, I glanced at him, his face lit up with excitement as he scribbled his own wish. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I knew we’d face them together.
Because we really were the best team ever.
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