My name is Jasmine, and I had my daughter Lily when I was only 15. It was a scandal that shook our small Southern community. My family shunned me, so I had to drop out of high school to care for her. My high school sweetheart’s father abandoned us both after learning that I had battled for years, working many jobs simply to have a roof over our heads.

Now, at 31, I’ve finally begun to establish a life for myself. I own a tiny but successful beauty salon and have been dating Derek for a year. We were even discussing marriage. But then, history repeated itself most brutally. Lily, aged 15, came home one day and dropped the bombshell: she was pregnant. What about the father? A 25-year-old construction worker had already left town. I was devastated. My aspirations for Lily’s future seemed to shatter before my eyes.

Lily urged me to let her keep the baby, saying we could raise it together. But I couldn’t bear the idea of putting my life on hold again. In a moment of desperation, I packed up all of her belongings and put them on the porch, intending to scare her into changing her mind. I never intended to kick her out; I simply wanted her to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

When I got home that evening, I was shocked to find Lily had broken back in and ransacked the place. She seized everything of worth, including my beloved antique jewelry collection, the emergency funds I’d been saving for years, and the exquisite kitchen appliances Derek had given me for my birthday. On the kitchen counter, I discovered a note written in Lily’s script. “You discarded your own flesh and blood. Now I’m taking what I need to begin my new life. Do not try to find me.

It’s been a week and I’m exhausted with concern. Lily’s best friend hesitantly told me she had rented a shady apartment on the bad side of town, but refused to share the address. Derek is outraged about the stolen stuff and has threatened to call the police. I’m split between maternal instinct and seething resentment. Should I find Lily and try to make amends?

Or should she face the terrible reality of being a teenage mother on her own, like I did? The notion of my grandson being born into such precarious circumstances aches my heart, but I’m not sure I have the stamina to go through it all again. Please, I need some advice. I feel as if I am losing all I have fought so hard for.