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.
She nodded as tears slipped down her face.
Every letter I had ever sent.
Every one.
I looked up.
“You got them.”
She nodded as tears slipped down her face.
“I got them all.”
“You never answered?”
My chair scraped back as I stood.
“All these years? You got them and said nothing?”
“Yes.”
“You read them?”
“Yes.”
“And you never answered?”
I laughed once, sharp and ugly.
Her hands tightened.
“I wrote replies. I just never sent them.”
I laughed once, sharp and ugly.
“Do you hear how that sounds?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I do.”
I asked the question that had lived in me for as long as I could remember.
