On the morning my mom was supposed to marry my stepdad, Richard, she disappeared without a trace. I grew up resenting

her for abandoning me, while Richard became the father figure I needed. Years later, as I planned my own wedding,

I longed for her presence but believed I’d never know why she left. Then, at a garage sale in a nearby town,

I froze—hanging there was her wedding dress, the very one she vanished in, with her name stitched inside.

The seller, a man my age, explained the dress had belonged to his family. When I shared my mom’s story,

he was stunned and handed me an old letter with a return address. The next morning, I followed it and met

someone I never expected—my half-brother. He revealed our mom and his father, Charles, were now living in a nursing home.

There, I found her by a window, hand in hand with Charles. Though her memory was fading, she recognized my name.

Among her belongings was a letter for me, explaining she couldn’t marry Richard because she didn’t love him.

She had tried to return, but my grandmother told her I hated her. Mom wrote she regretted leaving every day and begged me to live for love, not duty.

With tears streaming, I forgave her. When she asked softly, “Lisa, is that you?” I clasped her hand and whispered,

“Yes, Mom, it’s me.” At last, I understood her choice—and promised myself never to marry without true love.