Chapter 9: Proof in Her Handwriting
Some envelopes were still sealed.
One was a birthday card.
Happy birthday, my beautiful girls. I hope someday I can hold you again.
Love always, Mom.
A broken sound escaped my throat.
“Anna?” Jean called from the kitchen. “Everything okay?”
“Fine!” I shouted back desperately.
I dug faster.
The dates stretched across years. Every envelope felt like a missing piece of our childhood, every stamp like proof that our mother had never stopped reaching for us.
Then I found one postmarked only nine days earlier.
My vision blurred.
Mom had never stopped trying.
Footsteps approached quickly.
Then Jean appeared in the doorway.
The second she saw the letters, her face transformed completely.
No warmth. No softness. Only fury.
“Put those back right now,” she hissed. “Or I swear your father will never speak to you again.”… Continue Reading ⬇️
