I’m aching to open it. It’s been sitting there for a year, untouched. Waiting for the rightmoment.
Which isn’t when you’re pissed at theworld.
But I’m too worked up to denymyself.
Ripping at the seal makes me feel like I’ve crossed another point of no return, and my hands shake as I unfold thepaper.
DearestAnnie,
Your father wants you to believe I didn’t care about you. Idid.
I told him immediately I was pregnant. It took me two months to get through his people and get tohim.
He came to see me and told me he didn’t care. He looked me in the eyes and said it wasn’t hisproblem.
You weren’t hisproblem.
Eighteen months after you were born, a lawyer showed up with adoptionpaperwork.
He promised if I didn’t sign it, he’d get me fired from myjob.
I hated it, but I signed it. I wasafraid.
What I didn’t fully understand was the NDA, which meant I couldn’t talk about any of this or I’d be suedbankrupt.
If you want to reach out to me, I’ve included my email address and mailing address. It would mean the world to me to seeyou.
Lovealways,
Fiona
Yourmother
It’s not a long letter,but my breath hitches as I struggle to get through the entirething.
I’ve always intuited on some level that I didn’t fit in, that my dad didn’t want me, but I told myself it wasbullshit.
If this istrue…
It’sevidencehe didn’t wantme.
I pace my room, up and down the line of music boxes on thewall.
It’s me. There’s something wrong about me, something that makes it impossible to loveme.
Wow, that’sheavy.
But I need to get these feelings out, replace them with somethingbetter.
If I can just get the right words, the right phrase, on my skin, it’ll remind me I can handlethis.
But the words don’t come, and the emotions claw at me, scrambling to getout.
I take my notebook and a pen over to my bed, and Iwrite.
I don’tstop.
All of it poursout.