Back in September she could’ve died, falling from that ladder. If she had, she never would’ve had the chance to find out why her mother had abandoned her. Never would’ve had the chance to confront the woman. Because she’d been too scared even to read the rest of the letter. Too scared to face the woman who’d caused her deepest wound.
But she wasn’t too scared now. She wanted answers.
She jogged up the stairs, her thoughts spinning at these revelations.
She tried to remember more—like telling Jonah she wanted to stay in Pinehaven. But try as she might, she couldn’t budge the cement wall that guarded the rest of her memories.
Moments later she let herself into her apartment. Graham ran to her greet her, happy and excited to have her home. She ruffled his fur. “Hey, boy. How you doing, huh?” She was glad the dog-sitting service had let him out only two hours ago because now she was in a big rush.
After giving him some affection and checking to make sure he had water, she strode to her bedroom. Once there she whipped open the closet door and grabbed her computer bag. The letter was just where she’d shoved it after she’d retrieved it from the woods—deep inside apocket she never used. She perched on the bed and smoothed out the creases. Then she began reading where she’d left off two weeks before her accident.
I don’t know how much you remember about our life before I left. You were so young. When you were three I had an accident at work involving a forklift. It resulted in a broken tibia and a lot of pain. And prescription pills.
Over the course of months I became terribly addicted to them, and before I knew it I was getting pills wherever I could. I became a drug addict. I was a terrible wreck, Lauren. I don’t remember much of those years. I left you for a man who was little more than a promise of my next high. And you, my sweet baby girl, deserved so much more.
By the time I finally got help, I was alone and you were twelve. According to Social Services, you were being cared for by a nice couple that had children of their own. You had two parents and a brother and sister. You were attending a good school and lived in a nice suburban neighborhood.
I wanted to demand you back. I wanted to show up at that undisclosed location and haul you out of there, beg your forgiveness, and keep you with me forever. When I settled down I realized my foolishness. Instead I decided to start the long process of going through the system to regain custody of you.
But one day I took a hard look in the mirror. When I was at my lowest, I abandoned you. Even as far as I’d climbed from that pit, I only had a minimum-wage job at a car wash. I lived in an apartment in a rough area of town and had to have two roommates to make that financially feasible. I had no degree and a criminal record associated with the drug use. What could I possibly offer my darling girl?
For once it was time to think of what was best for you—and I was not it.
It ached to the marrow of my bones to realize that. To know you were better off with someone else. Better off without me in your life. But I was determined to put you first this time.
And so I did.
I hope that was the right decision. Every day I pictured you growing up in that happy family. Having your first date. Getting your driver’s license. Going to prom. While you celebrated all those firsts with your new family, I celebrated them from afar, with tears in my eyes but hope in my heart that, for once, I’d done right by you.
I almost reached out on your eighteenth birthday. But I figured you probably didn’t even remember me by then. You were so young. I didn’t second-guess that decision until last summer when a coworker of mine (I work at an insurance company now) confided in me about the birth father who’d abandoned her. It had left her with insecurities and deeply rooted anger, and for the first time I feared my decision to stay out of your life had been a mistake.
I pray my terrible choices haven’t caused you irreparable harm, Lauren. You don’t deserve that. You were always such a sweet, open child with a warm, tender heart. I’m sorry for not loving you the way you deserved to be loved. I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m so deeply sorry, my sweet girl.
I’m here if you ever need me for anything. Even if you only want to unleash some justified anger or ask me hard questions. But I also understand completely if you want nothing to do with me at all. All I want is for you to be well and happy.
I love you,
Mom
Lauren didn’t realize tears were streaming down her face until she set the letter aside. She had a good cry, then dashed the tears away and went for the tissues in the bathroom.
The woman has no right to profess her love. Parents who love their children don’t abandon them. They don’t track them down years later only to desert them again.
The family she’d described in the letter had been the Warrens, and yes, they were great. Lauren was happily ensconced in their family for over a year. And then Greg Warren’s job had transferred him to California. At first Lauren thought she would go with them. But apparently Social Services didn’t work that way. And the Warrens, for whatever reason, had never offered to adopt her.
So Lauren had been moved into another home in a different part of town, a different school. New friends. New foster parents. This one with a man who leered at her whenever his wife was absent.
She hadn’t had the happy childhood her so-called mom had imagined. And she wasn’t sure she could forgive the woman for the choices she’d made and the repercussions they’d had on Lauren’s life.
She returned to her room, stuffed the letter back into her laptop case, the heavy weight of her past riding her shoulders like a freight train.
She didn’t know what to do with all this new information. But she knew one thing. She was finished running from her past.
Chapter 36
For the next week Lauren was on autopilot. The content of that letter had shaken her world. She had few memories of her mother or her life before foster care. She only remembered feeling safe and loved, and then that terrible sense of the rug being pulled from beneath her.
She didn’t remember her mother’s work-related accident. Knew nothing of her addiction. Just that one day she was there and the next she was gone.
