I stared at the handwriting I thought I’d never see again.
Mrs. Langston explained that she had stayed in quiet contact with my parents all these years. She never pushed. She waited.
“They never stopped loving you,” she said. “They just made a terrible mistake.”
The letter was soaked with apologies. Regret. Grief. Promises. My mother wrote that not a single day had passed without her wishing she’d opened the door instead of closing it.
That was the moment I understood the full scope of what this woman had done.
