in my own way, or I wasn’t going to make it through the pregnancy at all. Keeping his name a secret was the only way I could keep breathing. I’m sorry. It was selfish and it was survival at the same time.
But there’s a reason I’m telling you now, in this letter, and it’s the most important thing.
Michael has a mother. Margaret. She lost her only son. She doesn’t have anyone left of him — except my baby. Our baby. Her grandchild.
If I don’t survive this, Mom, I need you to know that our son has another grandmother out there, one who’s grieving a boy she’ll never see again, and who doesn’t know that a piece of him is going to keep living. I found her. I told her. And I made her promise that if anything happened to me, she’d find you, and the two of you
