Updated Jan 26, 2026 • ~10 min read
The town council voted unanimously in our favor.
Frank’s lawyer looked furious. We looked victorious. Des assured us this was a major blow to Frank’s case—if the community supported us, judges tended to listen.
But Frank wasn’t done.
Two days later, Des called with bad news.
“Frank is escalating. He’s subpoenaed Juni’s parents.”
My blood went cold. “What?”
“He’s arguing that if Juni was truly Imogene’s heir in spirit, her biological parents would have maintained contact. He’s trying to prove that Imogene viewed you as temporary family, not permanent.”
“That’s insane.” Jaxon’s voice was hard. He’d been listening on speaker. “Juni’s parents abandoned her. Their presence or absence proves nothing.”
“I agree. But they’ve been served. They’ll have to appear for depositions next week.”
After hanging up, I couldn’t breathe. The room was tilting. Jaxon’s voice sounded distant, calling my name, but I was gone—back to being six years old, watching my parents drive away and not understanding why I wasn’t enough to make them stay.
“Juni. Juni, look at me.” Jaxon was in front of me, hands on my shoulders. “Breathe. You’re having a panic attack. Breathe with me.”
I couldn’t. My chest was too tight, my lungs refusing to cooperate.
“In for four, hold for four, out for four. Come on, with me.” He demonstrated, patient and steady until I could match his rhythm.
Slowly, the room stopped spinning. My breathing evened out. I sagged against him.
“They’re coming here,” I whispered. “After twenty-two years, they’re coming back. Not because they want to see me. Because they were legally forced to.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
“What if they—” I couldn’t finish. What if they confirmed every fear I’d ever had? What if they looked at me and I saw in their eyes that I really wasn’t worth staying for?
“Whatever happens, I’m with you. You don’t face them alone.”
“You can’t protect me from this.”
“No. But I can stand beside you while you face it. And I can remind you that their failure to love you says everything about them and nothing about you.”
I wanted to believe that. But twenty-two years of abandonment had carved deep grooves in my psyche. One pep talk wouldn’t erase them.
The next week was torture. I couldn’t write. Could barely eat. Spent hours in the writing studio staring at blank pages while my mind spun worst-case scenarios.
Jaxon was patient. Brought me food. Sat with me in silence. Didn’t try to fix what couldn’t be fixed.
Mars came over every day. “You don’t have to do this. You can refuse to be in the room when they’re deposed.”
“I need to see them. I need—” I struggled for words. “I need to look them in the eye and know, finally, why I wasn’t enough.”
“Baby, you were always enough. They were the ones who weren’t enough.”
Easy to say. Harder to believe.
The depositions were scheduled for Monday at 10 AM. I didn’t sleep Sunday night. Just lay in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to Jaxon move restlessly in his room across the hall.
At 3 AM, I gave up and knocked on his door.
He opened it immediately, like he’d been waiting. “Can’t sleep either?”
“No.”
“Want company?”
I nodded.
We went downstairs to the library. Sat on the window seat looking out at the November dark. He wrapped a blanket around us both and pulled me against his side.
“Tell me about them,” he said quietly. “Your parents. What do you remember?”
“Not much. Mom had dark hair. She smelled like cigarettes and vanilla. Dad was tall. He’d lift me onto his shoulders.” I paused. “They fought a lot. Mostly about money. About how they couldn’t afford me.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“My six-year-old brain didn’t understand that. All I understood was that I cost too much. That I was the problem.”
“You were never the problem.”
“Then why did they leave?”
“Because they were broken in ways that had nothing to do with you. Because addiction or mental illness or plain selfishness made them incapable of being parents. Because some people don’t know how to love even when they want to.”
I knew he was right. Intellectually, I knew. But the six-year-old in me still waited at the window, still believed that if I’d been better, they would have stayed.
“I don’t want to see them,” I admitted. “I don’t want to sit across a table and watch them not care about me.”
“Then don’t. I’ll go to the depositions. You stay home. We don’t let them hurt you more than they already have.”
“I can’t hide forever.”
“You’re not hiding. You’re protecting yourself. There’s a difference.”
Maybe he was right. Maybe facing them wouldn’t give me closure—just more pain.
But I’d spent twenty-two years wondering. Building narratives about why they’d left. Imagining tearful reunions where they’d apologize and explain and somehow make it okay.
I needed to know the truth. Even if the truth destroyed me.
“I’m going,” I said. “I need to see them.”
“Then I’m going with you. And if they say one thing—one single thing—that hurts you, I’m ending the deposition and getting you out of there.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.”
Monday morning arrived gray and cold. I dressed carefully—armor in the form of my best suit, makeup perfect, hair sleek. I looked successful. Put-together. Nothing like the abandoned six-year-old who’d cried herself to sleep for months.
Jaxon drove us to the lawyer’s office. Held my hand the entire way.
In the waiting room, I saw them.
My mother looked older than I remembered. Thin, worn, with the same dark hair now streaked with gray. My father was balding, wearing a suit that didn’t quite fit.
They looked like strangers.
They looked exactly like the people who’d left me.
Mom saw me first. Something flickered in her expression—recognition? Guilt? Then it was gone, replaced by careful blankness.
“Juniper,” she said. No warmth. Just a name.
“It’s Juni.” My voice was steady. I was proud of that. “No one’s called me Juniper in twenty-two years.”
“You look good.” Dad spoke for the first time. “All grown up.”
What did he expect? That I’d stayed six forever, frozen in the moment they’d abandoned me?
“We should get started,” Frank’s lawyer announced, ushering everyone into the conference room.
The deposition was clinical. Cold. Frank’s lawyer asked my parents about their relationship with Imogene, their reasons for leaving me, their contact over the years.
“Why did you leave your daughter with Imogene Ross?” the lawyer asked.
Mom shifted uncomfortably. “We were in a bad place. Financially, emotionally. We thought she’d be better off with her grandmother temporarily.”
“How temporary?”
“A few months. Until we got back on our feet.”
“But you never came back.”
Silence.
“Mrs. Chen. You never returned for your daughter. Why?”
“Life got complicated.” Mom’s voice was defensive. “We had problems. We couldn’t take care of a kid.”
“Did you maintain contact?”
“At first. But Imogene said it was better if we stayed away. That Juni was adjusting and our calls upset her.”
That was a lie. I’d waited for those calls. Begged Grammy to let me talk to them.
“That’s not true,” I said. Everyone turned to look at me. “Grammy never kept you from contacting me. I waited for your calls. You just stopped calling.”
“Juni—” Mom started.
“Don’t. Don’t rewrite history to make yourselves feel better.” My hands were shaking but my voice was strong. “You left. You chose not to come back. You chose not to call. And I spent twenty-two years believing it was my fault.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Dad said. “We just—we weren’t ready to be parents.”
“You had six years to get ready! Six years of being my parents. And then you decided it was too hard and left.”
“We thought you’d be better off—”
“Better off abandoned? Better off wondering every day why I wasn’t worth staying for? Better off crying myself to sleep asking what was wrong with me?”
Mom’s eyes were wet. “We’re sorry. We thought we were doing what was best.”
“No. You did what was easiest. For you.” I stood up. “And now you’re here, not because you want to see me, not because you care how I turned out, but because you were legally forced to show up. That tells me everything I need to know.”
“Juni, we do care—”
“You don’t. If you cared, you would have come back. Would have called. Would have tried.” Tears streamed down my face. “But you didn’t. So don’t sit there and pretend this is anything other than what it is: you protecting yourselves legally.”
I walked out. Jaxon followed immediately.
In the hallway, I collapsed against the wall, sobbing. All the grief I’d carried for twenty-two years poured out—the abandonment, the shame, the desperate hope that someday they’d want me back.
But they didn’t want me. They never had.
And now I knew for certain.
Jaxon held me while I fell apart. Didn’t try to fix it. Just held me.
“You’re right,” he said finally. “About all of it. They failed you. Completely.”
“Why wasn’t I enough?” The question I’d asked my whole life. “What was wrong with me that they couldn’t love me?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with you. They were the broken ones. They’re still the broken ones.”
“I wanted them to care. Even after everything, I wanted them to see me and realize they’d made a mistake. That I was worth coming back for.”
“I know. But Juni—” He tilted my face up to look at him. “Their inability to see your worth doesn’t diminish it. You’re incredible. You’re talented and brave and strong. And just because they couldn’t love you doesn’t mean you’re unlovable.”
“Then why does it hurt so much?”
“Because grief isn’t logical. Because six-year-old you is still in there, still waiting at the window. And she needed to hear them say they were wrong. But they won’t ever say that. They’re too broken themselves.”
He was right. They’d never give me what I needed. The apology, the acknowledgment, the explanation that made sense.
All I had was the truth: they’d left because they were incapable of being parents. Not because I was insufficient.
It should have felt like freedom.
Instead, it just felt like loss.
But Jaxon was there. Holding me while I grieved what I’d never have. And maybe that was enough.
Maybe being seen by someone who chose to stay mattered more than being abandoned by people who’d left.
Maybe love from the right person could heal wounds from the wrong ones.
Maybe I could finally stop waiting at the window.
Because the person I’d been waiting for wasn’t coming back.
But someone better had arrived instead.
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