When Amber, a devoted mom and corporate attorney, stumbles upon a drawing by her 7-year-old daughter, Mia, her entire world tilts. The picture depicts Mia’s teacher in Amber’s place with a caption that leaves her reeling. Suspecting betrayal, Amber confronts her husband, Jack, only to uncover something far deeper—Mia’s feelings of abandonment in the wake of Amber’s demanding life.
I never imagined I’d be in this place… but this has been my reality lately.
I’m Amber, thirty-four years old, married to my husband Jack for ten years, and the proud mom of my precious 7-year-old daughter, Mia. Lately, life has been more chaotic than I ever thought possible. And that says a lot, considering I work as a corporate attorney.
My mom’s health has been deteriorating over the past year. We’ve been juggling hospital visits, therapy appointments, and an overwhelming load of costly medications.
To cover it all, I’ve been clocking insane hours at work because, for my mom, I’d do absolutely anything.
Jack has been my rock through it all—the partner I didn’t even realize I needed so desperately. He’s taken over cooking, cleaning, helping Mia with her schoolwork, and managing all the little things I used to handle without a second thought.
He’s been holding everything together while I’ve been just trying to keep us afloat.
But last night, everything shifted.
I came home late, completely drained and starving, eager to grab a quick bite and collapse into bed. After wolfing down a bowl of salmon and rice while Mia took her bath, I tucked her in for the night. As she began to drift off, Mia mumbled something that caught me off guard.
“I didn’t know you could put your hand in a socket and it would turn into a puppet,” she said sleepily.
“A sock, sweetheart,” I chuckled. “Not a socket. Don’t you ever put your hand in a socket, Mia.”
She giggled, her eyes closing as she whispered, “Okay, Momma.”
After tidying up her dolls scattered across the carpet, I headed to the living room to clear away the crayons, paper, and coloring books strewn across the coffee table. That’s when I saw it.
A drawing.
At first glance, it seemed like a sweet, innocent sketch of a happy family—a man, a woman, and a little girl holding hands. But as I looked closer, my stomach churned.
The man was clearly Jack. The little girl was Mia. But the woman? It wasn’t me.
She had long brown hair and wore a flowing dress. Below the sketch, written in Mia’s small, uneven handwriting, were the words that broke my heart:
I can’t wait for you to be my mom!
I froze. The ground beneath me felt like it was falling away.
Clutching the drawing, I tiptoed back to Mia’s room and sat on her bed, gently shaking her awake.
“Sweetheart, can you tell me about this drawing?” I asked softly.
“What drawing, Momma?” she murmured, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
When Mia saw the picture, her face flushed red. She snatched it from my hands and pressed it to her chest.
“You weren’t supposed to see that! Daddy said to hide it better!” she blurted out.
Hide it better? Jack told her to hide it? My mind raced. Was he cheating? And worse—was Mia already imagining this woman as her mother?
I barely slept that night, my thoughts spiraling. By morning, I was brimming with questions.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I waited for Jack. As soon as he appeared, I thrust the drawing at him.
“What is this?” I demanded.
Jack’s face went pale.
“You told her to hide it?” I asked, my voice trembling. “You actually told Mia to hide it?”
“Amber, wait,” he stammered. “It’s not what you think. Let me explain.”
“You have five seconds, Jack.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Come with me,” he said.
“What? Where?”
“To Mia’s school. You need to see this.”
His urgency stopped me from arguing, and before I knew it, we were driving to the school in tense silence.
When we arrived, Jack led me to the reception desk and asked to speak with Mia’s teacher, Clara.
When Clara entered, my breath caught. She was stunning, with long brown hair and a warm, bubbly demeanor. She looked just like the woman in Mia’s drawing.
“Clara,” Jack began, “can you explain what’s been going on with Mia?”
Clara’s face softened as she glanced at me.
“Of course,” she said, leading us to a small room nearby.
She explained gently, “Mia’s been struggling lately. She’s mentioned feeling like her mom doesn’t have time for her anymore. She’s been expressing her feelings through drawings and has been staying after class to talk or help me clean up. I’m so sorry if I overstepped. I’d never want to interfere.”
She handed me a stack of Mia’s drawings. My heart sank as I flipped through them—happy family scenes with Clara in my place.
On the back of one, I read: Daddy and Clara.
I turned to Jack, my voice shaking. “And you? What did you say about this?”
Jack looked defeated. “I found that picture last week. I told Mia it wasn’t true—that you love her more than anything. But I didn’t know how to bring it up to you without making things worse.”
“You should’ve told me,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes.
That evening, I sat down with Mia over bowls of ice cream.
“Sweetheart,” I said, “I know I haven’t been around much, and I’m so, so sorry. But you need to know that I love you more than anything.”
Mia’s eyes welled up as she threw her arms around me. “I thought maybe you didn’t like me anymore.”
“Never,” I whispered. “You’re my everything.”
In the weeks that followed, I made real changes. I cut back my work hours and asked my siblings to share the responsibility of caring for Mom. Jack and I started weekly “Mom and Mia” nights—baking, building forts, or just spending time together.
I even thanked Clara for being a safe space for Mia during such a difficult time.
Life isn’t perfect, but it’s better. I’m learning to ask for help, and Mia knows she’ll always come first.
Now, every time she picks up her crayons, I make sure I’m right there beside her.
