The Return of Karen
I thought that was the emotional peak. Then one Tuesday morning, everything changed again.
I was heading out to the office. My mom was making coffee. I opened the front door—and froze.
A woman stood on the porch, hand raised to knock. Late forties or early fifties. Nice coat, styled hair, light makeup. She stared at my face like she recognized it.
“Isabel?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. “Can I help you?”
She smiled, soft and rehearsed. “Hi, sweetheart. I know you don’t remember me, but I’m your biological mother. I’m the one who gave birth to you.”
My stomach dropped.
She introduced herself as Karen. She said she’d been looking for me, that she’d heard about Doorstep. “You’re very successful. I always knew you would be.”
Then she straightened and said: “Sweetheart, you do realize that without me, you wouldn’t have any success, right? I’m the one who made sure you were raised by this woman so you’d turn out well. I only need half of your business. That’s fair.”
I wanted to shout. Instead, something cold and sharp slid into place.
“You know what?” I said. “You’re right.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “I knew you’d understand.”
“You are connected to my success,” I said. “If you hadn’t given birth to me, I wouldn’t exist. So yeah, I’ll give you something. I’ll write you a check. I’ll even give you my car.”
Her eyes went wide.
“There’s one condition,” I said. “We’re not doing this without my mom.”
