They found photos she’d included—pictures of her, pictures of them from a distance, pictures she’d been sent by relatives. They found drawings and poems she’d written for them.
They were quiet for a long time afterward.
When they came downstairs, Maya’s eyes were red.
“I don’t forgive her,” she said. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”
Lila nodded. “But I think… I think we understand a little more.”
They didn’t call her. They didn’t reach out. But they didn’t throw the journals away either.
The Letter
A few days later, Maya handed me a letter.
“Dad,” she said. “I need you to read this.”
It was from Karen.
Dear John,
I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve theirs. But I need you to know that leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done—and staying away was even harder.
I was broken, John. I was broken before I met you, and I was broken when I left. I had no idea how to be a mother, and I was terrified that I would damage them the way my mother damaged me.
I thought I was protecting them. I thought I was protecting you.
I was wrong. I know that now.
I don’t expect anything from you or from them. I just want you to know that I’m different now. I’ve been in therapy for years. I’ve worked on myself. I’ve learned to forgive the person I used to be.
And I need you to know that I’m grateful to you. You gave them the life I couldn’t give them. You were the parent they deserved.
Thank you.
Karen
I read it three times. Then I folded it and put it in my pocket.
I didn’t call her either.
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