“Our biological mother died a few years ago.
I’m sorry if this is how you’re finding out, in case no one told you.”
I already knew, but seeing “our biological mother” on the page hit differently.
“I didn’t know how to approach you,” she went on. “I found where you worked, but I was scared to walk in and say, ‘Hi, I think we’re related.’ I kept putting it off.
Yesterday, I came in to buy formula. I was exhausted.
I wasn’t thinking about anything except getting through the night.
Then I saw your name tag. Laura. I realized the woman ringing me up was the person from the records.
The one connected to Mary.”
I stared at that word until my vision blurred. She continued:
“I really was short on money. I didn’t plan that.
When I told you to cancel the formula, I felt like a failure. And then you reached for your own money.
You didn’t know who I was. You didn’t know we might share a mother.
But you still helped. In that moment, I knew something about you that no file could tell me.”
The last lines were short:
“I don’t expect anything. You don’t owe me a relationship.
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