She grew.

She watched me put on a good suit and go do something I was excellent at, and she stood a little taller for it.

She stopped seeing a woman who existed only in relation to other people’s needs, and started seeing a whole person, who loved her and also had a mind and a job and a self, and I understood that this — not the constant self-erasing hovering I’d mistaken for devotion — was the real gift.

I had thought, for years, that being a good mother meant showing Mia a woman who gave everything away.