I looked at all nine of them. Women now.
Strong. Independent. Different in their own ways.
And still… mine.
“We keep going,” I said.
That was it. No big speech.
No dramatic moment. Just the truth.
I looked at all nine of them.
Later that night, after most of them had settled in or started heading out, I found myself back at the kitchen table. Charlotte’s letter was still sitting where I left it. I picked it up again. Ran my fingers over her handwriting.
For years, I thought our story had ended without closure.
But this made me realize that we had just taken different paths.
One of them led right back here.
I smiled to myself. “You always did things your own way.”
I thought our story had ended without closure.
“Talking to Mom again?” a voice said behind me.
I turned. Mia stood there, leaning against the doorway.
“Something like that,” I said.
She walked over and sat across from me. “You know, she used to talk about you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yep. She’d say you were the only person who ever made her feel completely understood.”
