I became my grandson’s guardian when he was barely two years old.

She barely glanced past me to where my grandson stood in the hallway.

“Thanks for your services,” she said coolly. “I’ll take it from here.”

For a second, I couldn’t even process the words.

Then the lawyer began explaining custody rights and documentation. Somewhere in all the legal language was the devastating truth: she was his biological mother, and she now had the means and legal standing to claim him.

I tried to argue. I tried to reason. I begged her to at least let him choose.

But the law was not on my side.

I will never forget the sound of his crying as they led him to the car. His face pressed against the window, his hand raised toward me, tears streaking down his cheeks.

I stood on the porch long after the car disappeared.

And then they were gone.