She called me an "old hag" after I won the lottery, but she never read the name on the ticket.

Forgotten by the one I raised

As the days passed, she became unreachable. Her old phone number was disconnected. Her children, left with their father, were ignored while she lived in luxury. The girl I once rocked to sleep had become a stranger.

Not a daughter. Not even a family. Just a woman drained by greed.

I remained silent.

The call that changed everything

A week later, the phone rang. The voice on the other end was calm, professional, and unmistakable.

"Ms. Delgado, we have confirmed that the winning ticket is in your name. We ask that you come in for verification."

I gasped. For a moment, I thought it was a cruel joke. But no. It was real.

The next morning, it rained again—a habit, almost poetic. I wore my old brown coat, the one my daughter had mocked as "too old-fashioned." And I walked into the state office with the dignity she had tried to strip me of.

Inside, the oversized check awaited me. My name shone in gold letters:  $10,000,000.

For the first time in years, I felt valued. Not as a burden. Not as an "old hag." But as a woman who still mattered.

The Fall of Pride

She burst in a few minutes later, her voice echoing down the hallway.

"There's been a mistake! It's my money!"

But the lawyers were firm. The ticket was signed, and legally, the name was mine. The cameras captured everything: her anger, her tears, the disbelief on her face.

Justice, finally, did not need my words.

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