After clearing the table and washing the last dish, I wandered into the hallway, sorting through a stack of forgotten papers and birthday cards. That’s when I found it—an envelope I had never seen before. The handwriting stopped me in my tracks. It was Karen’s.
My heart began to race as I opened the card. Inside were words I had longed to hear: apologies, memories, love, and an address in Canada written carefully in blue ink.
Somehow, the message had never reached me. As I read each line, my hands shook and tears blurred the letters. For the first time in years, the emptiness in my chest softened. My daughter had tried to come back. I just hadn’t known.
A Painful Truth
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