I spent my whole life mailing letters to the address tied to my missing mother, always clinging to hope—until I finally received a reply that devastated me.
“Any proof this wasn’t just guilt?”
She nodded, went to the hall, and brought back a cloth bag full of cheap notebooks.
Liza lost her first tooth this week.
I opened the first one.
On the inside cover she had written, For Liza. Not to send. Just to keep telling the truth.
The pages were full of entries after my letters.
Liza lost her first tooth this week. I hope the tooth fairy left two coins.
Liza finished school today. I read that line five times before I could see straight.
She got married. I sat at my kitchen table and tried to picture the dress.
