When Ivy’s art career suddenly takes off, her parents, who once abandoned her, return, full of smiles and hidden agendas. But Ivy has a plan of her own. This is a story of betrayal, belonging, and the family we choose, in which one woman finds her voice to rewrite an ending they never expected.
My parents didn’t die. They just left.
Not right away; not with packed suitcases and slamming doors like in the movies. No, Tanya and Charlie disappeared bit by bit, arguing over who should take me that week, as if I were a stray cat that had been forgotten.
I was 10 when I realised they didn’t want me anymore. Not because I did anything wrong, not even because they were having a hard time, but because they moved on with their lives without me.
My parents didn’t die. They just left.
My father, Charlie, married Kristen, his long-time ‘friend’ who always wore heavy perfume and smiled as if she had secrets she wouldn’t let me in on. She had a son named Travis, just a year younger than me, and soon after the wedding she gave birth to a daughter with honey-coloured curls.
‘Our little sunshine.’
They became my father’s family, his real family, the one he showed off at barbecues and put on Christmas cards.
And me? Oh. I was the unwanted child.
They became my father’s family.
My mother, Tanya, married Donnie. He had powerful forearms and a voice that never rose above a grumble, but for some reason he still scared me more than screams. He didn’t like disturbances, especially children who cried during films or demanded help with maths.
When my stepsister, Rosie, was born, my mother’s world shrunk to a schedule of bottles and sleep training apps.
Her hugs became one-armed pats, and her conversations shorter and thinner.
‘Ivy, you need to be quiet. Donnie just worked a double shift,’ she said once when I tried to show her a sketch of our backyard.
I remember the night they stopped pretending. I heard them arguing behind the closed bedroom door.
‘She’s not my daughter, Tanya. Seriously. I didn’t want kids. Rosie is different because she’s my blood,’ Donnie grumbled.
‘She’s not my daughter, Tanya. Seriously. I didn’t want kids.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘She’s not his either. Charlie doesn’t even call anymore, Don,’ my mother hissed.
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘She’s not coming in here,’ Donnie said.
Late that night, Mum sat me down at the kitchen table, her warm hands wrapped around a cup of tea.
‘Darling… it might be better if you stayed with Aunt Carol for a while. Just until we sort things out.’
‘She doesn’t fit in here.’
The next morning, my father came, and they packed my life into three bin bags.
They didn’t even bother to take suitcases and cardboard boxes; bin bags were good enough.
When we arrived at Aunt Carol’s tiny house, she opened the door, still drying her hands with a towel. Her eyebrows furrowed when she saw me standing between my parents, a couple who preferred not to be seen together.
‘Hello, Ivy, baby,’ she said, smiling at me.
And then she noticed the bags.
” Why does she have… luggage?” she asked, looking at me and my mother.
Tanya laughed too loudly and smoothed her blouse, as if we had just stopped by for tea.
‘You two will have so much fun together!’ she said. ‘We’ll pick her up later, Carol! Thank you!’
My aunt’s face changed. She wasn’t angry or upset, just stunned. And I saw it then, in that moment, when I realised they weren’t coming back.
Nevertheless, she didn’t ask any more questions. She crouched down slightly and opened her arms to me.
She wasn’t angry or upset, just stunned.
‘Come inside, dear,’ she said. ‘Let’s get the guest room ready for you.’
My parents were gone before I could look back.
Aunt Carol didn’t ask any questions for several evenings. At least she didn’t ask what I was afraid she would ask. She hugged me like someone who really meant it, made us cheese toasties, and put me up in her guest room with a blanket that smelled of fabric softener and old books.
I haven’t felt so cared for in a long time. I remember wanting to cry as I fell asleep.
My parents disappeared before I could look back.
But just as I was about to do so, my aunt sat down on the edge of the bed, gently brushing the hair from my face.
‘You’re not a burden, Ivy,’ she whispered. ‘You’re a blessing. And I mean that, my little love.’
Something in my heart broke, not from pain this time, but from relief.
In the weeks that followed, she gave me my own key so I could come in after school and let me paint my bedroom walls sky blue.
When I changed my mind, she brought a new pack of paint rollers and white paint.
‘You’re a blessing. And I mean that.’
‘Let’s start over, then, Miss Van Gogh,’ she said, smiling. ‘Even the most beautiful flowers need to be replanted sometimes.’
She never called me stubborn, emotional, or messy. She always said I was growing.
‘Blooming takes a little work, my Ivy,’ she said. ‘And I’m always here when you need me.’
Aunt Carol worked long hours at the pharmacy, but she always came home in time to help me finish science project displays or rewrite essays when I doubted every word.
‘Even the most beautiful flowers need to be replanted sometimes
Once she drove me across town to find a specific shade of green paint for a school project, even though we had money neatly tucked away in envelopes labelled “groceries” and “emergencies”.
She never made me feel guilty about the expense. She just smiled and kissed the tip of my nose.
‘Art is sometimes an emergency, Ivy,’ she said.
She framed or carefully stored every sketch I ever made, even the crumpled ones I tried to hide in the rubbish bin.
She never made me feel guilty…
By the age of fourteen, my art corner had spilled into the hallway. By sixteen, I was winning local art competitions. And by twenty, I was taking buses to fairs in other states, carrying a worn portfolio and a thermos of Aunt Carol’s homemade lemon tea and freshly baked lemon scones.
As for Tanya and Charlie? They became shadows.
They didn’t come to birthdays or school plays; there wasn’t even a message after graduation.
But several times over the years, I received a card with my name spelled ‘Ivy’ and only a grand signature from my mother.
They became shadows.
When I turned 22, I entered an international art competition. My work, Legacy, was raw and personal. It depicted a girl building a staircase out of scraps, with two faceless figures watching from the edges.
Overnight, it went viral.
And, of course, I won. The prize?
A nice amount of bragging rights and $250,000.
She went viral overnight.
The local press called me ‘the artist who blossomed through abandono’ after an interview in which I decided to be completely honest about my circumstances.
Three days later, my parents showed up.
I was wiping tables in the café when Ern, my colleague, caught my attention.
‘Ivy,’ he said. ‘There’s a couple waiting outside, asking for you. And just so you know, they look emotional, girl.’
I stepped outside and froze.
‘The artist who blossomed through abandonment…’
There they were, the people who had left me years ago, as if I were nothing more than a nuisance they needed to find a new home for.
Tanya had smudged pencil makeup, and Charlie was holding a bouquet of nearly wilted flowers from a petrol station.
‘Darling! My darling Ivy! Look how you’ve grown. You’re gorgeous,’ Tanya exclaimed, stepping forward to grab my hands.
‘Damn, I’m proud of you, baby,’ Charlie said with a smile. ‘I always knew you had it in you.’
I just stared at them. I wasn’t angry, really. I was just waiting for the makeup to wear off.
Here they were, the people who had abandoned me years ago.
They insisted on dinner.
‘Like a family,’ my mother said.
I agreed not because I hoped for a reunion, but because I wanted to see what scenario they had prepared for the return trip.
If anything, one thing could be said about my parents: there was always a certain pattern.
They chose a local diner from my childhood. Of all the places, they chose this one. The side seats were smaller than I remembered, and the menu hadn’t changed much.
‘Like family,’ my mother said.
It was like stepping into a time capsule that never asked me to open it again.
Tanya ordered a salad she didn’t eat. Charlie got a burger and fries and barely touched them. And I picked at my plate of soggy potatoes that smelled more like vinegar than potatoes.
Across the table, I watched my mother fold her napkin neatly.
‘I’ve been praying for this moment,’ she said, blinking too much. ‘I want us to be a family again. I know nothing was and will be perfect, but what is it? And I think we can… heal together.’
It was as if I had stepped into a time capsule that had never asked me to open it again.
I almost choked on my laughter.
‘Reuniting is important, Ivy,’ my father said, nodding in agreement as if delivering a press statement. ‘Especially now.’
And then their masks began to slip.
‘Carol meant well,’ my mother said, leaning forward. ‘But she twisted things. She filled your head with poison. She always wanted a child, and then she saw how she could get us back through you… my girl.’
‘She used you, baby. She didn’t give us a chance to come back,’ Charlie added.
‘But she twisted things. She filled your head with poison.’
I didn’t say a word. My silence was louder than anything I could have said.
Then came the main point.
‘My car broke down,’ said Tanya. ‘It’s really dangerous. I’m scared every time I drive.’
‘We’re trying to move, actually, Ivy,’ said Charlie. ‘Your little sister is growing up! We just need a little help.’
And there it was: the truth.
They weren’t here for me. Of course. They were here for the money.
‘Okay,’ I said calmly. ‘I’ll help you, but on one condition.’
‘Of course!’ Tanya exclaimed, her eyes shining.
‘Everything, Ivy. Everything,’ said Charlie, finally taking a bite of his burger.
‘There’s an event this Saturday,’ I said, folding my napkin. ‘It’s at the community centre and starts at 7 p.m. I want you both to be there.’
They weren’t here for me. Of course not. They came for the money.
‘Of course, dear,’ my mother repeated. ‘Is it some kind of gala? What should I wear?’
‘I’ll give you a chance to decide that,’ I said.
I knew they were already planning their outfits by the time we reached the car park.
Saturday arrived.
The centre was full of people, other artists, the press, teachers, former classmates and their families, as well as strangers who had been following my work online. Most of Aunt Carol’s neighbours were there too.
‘Is this some kind of gala? What should I wear?’
The walls were decorated with prints from my early collections, and a banner stretched across the stage:
‘In honour of the woman who made the artist.’
Tanya and Charlie arrived ten minutes before the start. My mother wore a pearl necklace and a light pink blouse that I vaguely remembered from an old Instagram post. My father looked uncomfortable in a jacket that was a size too big.
They both smiled as I led them to the front row.
‘Looks like we’ve got a big night, Ivy,’ Charlie whispered. ‘Good crowd.’
‘In honour of the woman who built the artist.’
‘It’s a big night,’ I agreed. ‘I’ve worked hard to be here. Enjoy the presentation.’
Just before the lights went down, the side doors opened with a soft creak.
Aunt Carol entered quietly, a bouquet of red and white roses in both hands. Her eyes scanned the crowd until they reached me, and then them.
Her face flushed, just for a moment, her expression frozen between bewilderment and disbelief.
‘Enjoy the presentation.’
I saw the question on her lips: ‘What are they doing here?’
I said nothing. I didn’t need to. I reached out and gently squeezed her hand, giving her confidence in that moment. My fingers wrapped around her hand, a silent promise and answer veiled together. Aunt Carol’s eyes softened.
My aunt’s eyes softened.
Then the lights went out.
A slideshow appeared on the projector; one photo after another lit up the screen.
Aunt Carol at the sixth-grade art fair, sitting next to me, holding my sketchbook.
Aunt Carol in the kitchen, wiping paint off my nose — our neighbour, Elena, took this photo.
Aunt Carol signing the papers for my guardianship when I turned 14.
Carol, tired but proud, hugging me after the winner of the competition was announced….
one photo after another lit up the screen.
The audience began to whisper. Tanya clutched her bag tightly. Charlie stared at his shoes.
When it was my turn to speak, I walked onto the stage and picked up the microphone.
‘Tonight is for the only parent I’ve ever had,’ I said.
I saw my mother’s head snap up.
‘To the woman who didn’t walk away when things got tough. To the woman who didn’t give up on me as too much of a challenge. And to the woman who never asked me to shrink myself as if I were too much…’
The audience began to whisper.
I froze; the silence was tense.
‘To Aunt Carol, who is the reason I am here and the reason I am whole.’
Applause erupted.
‘You said you needed to get your car fixed,’ I said to my mother.
‘Yes, well, I—’ she began.
‘And you wanted money for the flat?’ I said to my father.
…the silence was tense.
‘We just thought—’ he said, clearing his throat.
‘My condition was that you be here tonight,’ I said. ‘So you could hear this.’
I moved closer to the microphone.
‘You get nothing. Not a penny. You lost the right to ask me for anything the day you packed my life into bin bags and left me on someone else’s doorstep.’
‘You’re not getting anything. Not a penny.’
There was a murmur among the audience. Someone applauded. Then the whole crowd stood up.
‘But you said…’ Tanya’s voice broke.
‘No, I offered you a lesson,’ I said simply. ‘And now you have it. Please leave us alone.’
That night, we walked home under the stars, holding Aunt Carol’s roses in our arms, and never looked back.
‘Please leave us alone.’
