I was ashamed that my mom was a cleaner. At my law school graduation, I told her she didn’t belong there, and she walked away. We never reconnected. Years later, she died at work.
After her funeral, I found her journals and learned the truth: she had come to this country illegally, trapped in lifelong debt to the man who smuggled her out of a war-torn region. Most of her wages went to him. Everything I thought I earned alone—tuition, books, unexpected financial “help”—had actually come from her secret sacrifices.
Just before my graduation, she finally paid off her debt. She came that day because she was finally free, and I rejected her.
Her journals also revealed she’d uncovered evidence linking her handler to a criminal network and secretly helped expose it. Her actions led to a major crackdown and even inspired a legal aid fund created in her name.
I quit my corporate law job, moved back home, and dedicated my career to helping people like her. I named my firm “Clean Slate Legal.”
I once thought my mother was my shame. She was the foundation of everything I became.
