“Why didn’t she tell me?”
I asked. “Why did she keep it from her own mother?”
And Margaret handed me the envelope, and said, “She explains it herself. Read it. She wrote it near the end of her pregnancy. She made me promise, if anything happened to her, to make sure you got it — and to give you time, and space, and to only come when the boy was old enough to understand. I waited too long. I was afraid. But she’s been waiting ten years to tell you this herself. Read it, Diane.”
PART 3
I opened the envelope with hands that wouldn’t stay still, and there was my daughter’s handwriting, the handwriting from grocery lists and birthday cards and notes left on the fridge, and my whole chest caved in.
“Mom,
If you’re reading this, then something went wrong, and I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for all of it — for the secret, for
