"Where did you find that?"
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"My sweet girl, if you're old enough to read this on your own, then you're old enough to know where you came from. I don't ever want your story to live only in my memory. Memories fade. Paper doesn't.
The day you were born was the most beautiful and the hardest day of my life. Your mom — your biological one — was braver than I've ever been. She held you for just a minute.
She kissed your forehead and said, 'She has your eyes.'
I didn't understand then that I would have to be enough for both of us.
She held you for just a minute.
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For a long time, it was just you and me, and I worried every day that I wasn't doing it right.
Then Meredith walked into our lives. I wonder if you remember that first drawing you made for her. I hope so. She kept it in her purse for weeks. She still has it today.
If there ever comes a time when you feel caught between loving your first mom and loving Meredith, don't. Hearts don't split. They grow."
I took a deep breath. The next part was the hardest because it contained the truth about Dad's death.
I worried every day that I wasn't doing it right.
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"Lately, I've been working too much. You've noticed. You asked me last week why I'm always tired. That question has been sitting heavily on my chest."
I pressed my fingers to my lips, steadying myself before I read the next words.
"So tomorrow I'm leaving early. No excuses. We're making pancakes for dinner like we used to, and I'm letting you put too many chocolate chips in them.
I'm going to try harder to show up the way you deserve. And one day, when you're grown, I plan to give you a stack of letters — one for every stage of your life — so you'll never have to wonder how much you were loved."
Tomorrow I'm leaving early. No excuses.
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I broke down then. Meredith hurried toward me, but I held up my hand.
"Is it true?" I sobbed. "Was he driving home early because of me?"
Meredith pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit. I didn't.
"It rained heavily that day. The roads were slick. He called me from the office. He was so excited. He said, 'Don't tell her. I'm going to surprise her.'"
My stomach did a slow, painful flip.
"Is it true?"
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"And you never told me? You let me believe it was just… random?"
Meredith looked at me with fear in her eyes.
"You were six. You'd already lost one parent. What was I supposed to do? Tell you your dad died because he couldn't wait to get home to you? You would've carried that guilt like a stone for the rest of your life."
The words hung in the air.
