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.
Then I said, “There’s a park near my house. Saturday morning. Emma likes the swings.”
Her eyes filled with tears at once.
“I’ll be there.”
That night, after Emma was asleep, I opened the delayed letter.
Then I took out paper and wrote.
It was short.
My little daughter, there has not been a year of my life when I did not hope for the chance to tell you I read every word. I know silence can look like indifference. It was never that. It was fear, and shame, and time passing until I became a person who no longer knew how to knock on your door. I am knocking now. Whether you open it a little or a lot is yours to decide. I will be grateful for either. Love, Your mother.
