My mom had me at 17 and gave me up.
At 20, I found her, but she said, “Forget about me! My husband is powerful, and he’d leave me if he knew about you.”
A year later, her husband tracked me down and showed up at my door with teary eyes. I froze in total shock as he handed me a small, worn-out shoebox.
Inside were letters — dozens of them — all addressed to me.
Each one was dated from every birthday I had ever lived through, written by my mother.
In every letter, she poured her heart out, apologizing, explaining, dreaming of a day she could hold me again.
She wrote about how she would sit by the window on my birthday, wondering if I was safe, happy, and loved.
She described how she kept my baby picture tucked into her wallet all these years, even after building a new life.
The man — her husband — wiped his eyes and said, “She never stopped loving you. She was just scared. But when she told me everything recently, I realized… love doesn’t abandon. Family doesn’t abandon.”
He hugged me tightly, as if trying to make up for all the lost years.
In that moment, I realized: forgiveness doesn’t erase pain, but it opens a door to something even greater — a second chance.🎀