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A faint breeze blew through the cracked window, brushing away the dust of the empty room. The sunlight struggled to break through the thick curtains, casting a soft glow on the untouched furniture.
Lila sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the pile of letters scattered before her. She had found them just days after her mother’s funeral, tucked away in a drawer that she’d never dared open before.
Each letter, tied with a ribbon and written in her mother’s elegant, looping handwriting, was dated. They weren’t just any letters—these were letters her mother had written to her, letters she had never shown her daughter in life.
Lila had never known her mother to be sentimental. She had always been a woman of strength, stern and quiet, focused more on providing than on sharing feelings. There was a deep reserve in her, one that Lila had often resented. As a child, she had longed for her mother’s warmth, her affection, but it was always out of reach. Her mother’s love was always there, but in a silent, unspoken way.
The first letter she opened was dated two months before her mother’s death.
My Dearest Lila,
I know you won’t understand now, but one day you will. Every decision I’ve made, every sacrifice, was for you. I’ve always hoped you’d find a way to see it, even when I couldn’t express it the way you needed. I wanted to be the mother you deserved, but I fear I never truly gave you that.
You’ve always been so strong, and I wish I could tell you how proud I am of you, even though I don’t always show it. When I’m gone, I want you to know that I have always loved you, with all of me. It may not have been the way you expected, but it was there, quietly, beneath the surface.
I hope you’ll forgive me for the things I never said. I hope you’ll know that everything I did was because I loved you more than words could ever express.
Yours,
Mom
The tears fell before she could even finish the letter. Lila had always felt neglected by her mother, convinced that she had been abandoned emotionally. But now, reading these words, the realization hit her like a tidal wave. Her mother had loved her, but had always kept it inside, behind her walls of strength. She had loved her in the only way she knew how, even if it wasn’t the way Lila had needed.
Lila continued reading through the letters, each one a testament to her mother’s quiet love and fear for her. Each letter spoke of her mother’s concern for the future, for the girl Lila would grow into after she was gone. Her mother had written about the possibility of death long before it came, as though she knew she wouldn’t be around for much longer.
My Dearest Lila,
I’ve been thinking a lot about what will happen when I’m gone. I won’t be there to see you grow, to guide you through the hard times. I wish I could be there to tell you what I should’ve told you all along: that you are more capable than you think. That you are stronger than you realize.
I know you are scared of being alone, and I wish I could promise you that you won’t be. But you will be okay, darling. I have seen you fight through life, and I know you will continue to do so with the same strength you’ve always had. I know you will make mistakes, but I also know that you will learn from them and become someone even better than I could ever hope to be.
I only hope that you’ll learn to forgive yourself, the way I’ve learned to forgive myself. Life is too short to carry regret. Don’t hold on to it, my love. Please. Live your life fully and without the weight of what-ifs.
I will always be with you, in the things you do, the way you love, and the choices you make. I hope you remember that.
Love always,
Mom
The words felt like a heavy weight in Lila’s chest, suffocating her. She had never thought of her mother as someone who worried about the future, especially her own death. And yet, there it was, in her mother’s own handwriting—her fears, her love, and her wishes for Lila after she was gone.
Lila’s thoughts turned to the years she had spent resenting her mother, to the countless arguments and moments of silence between them. How many times had she wished her mother would just show a little emotion, would tell her that she was proud of her, that she loved her? But now, in death, her mother had written it all down, a final testament of care, wrapped in words she had never said aloud.
She flipped through the rest of the letters, reading them in a haze, each one more heartbreaking than the last. Her mother had poured everything into these letters, everything she couldn’t say in life.
My Dearest Lila,
I know this will be the hardest thing you will ever have to go through. You will feel the weight of my absence, and you will wonder how to continue on without me. But I promise you, you are not alone. You have the strength to get through this, even when it feels like the world is falling apart. I will be with you, in every step you take.
When the time comes, I hope you will find peace. Don’t be angry with me for leaving. I did everything I could to prepare you, to give you the tools you need. But know this: you are everything I ever wanted you to be. Strong, kind, and capable of great love. Never forget that.
I love you, more than you will ever know.
Yours forever,
Mom
Lila’s chest tightened, and the tears flowed freely now. She had been angry for so long. Angry at her mother for not being the type of mother she had wanted, angry at her for leaving so suddenly, leaving her with nothing but questions. But now, reading these letters, all that anger melted into something else—something deeper, more painful.
Regret.
She had taken so much for granted. The love her mother had quietly offered, the sacrifices her mother had made for her—how could she not have seen it? How could she have been so blind to the love that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface?
Lila suddenly realized that her mother had never been perfect. She had been flawed, just like everyone else. But she had tried her best. She had loved her the only way she knew how, even when it didn’t look the way Lila had wanted it to. And now, her mother was gone, and there was nothing left but memories and letters—words that could never replace the warmth of her presence.
Lila’s heart shattered with the weight of it all. She had lost so much more than just her mother. She had lost the chance to truly understand her, to apologize, to make things right.
In that moment, Lila struck a painful realization: she was the same age her mother had been when she had written these letters. The thought of one day leaving her own children with only words and regrets consumed her, and the sorrow of it all felt unbearable.
How would her daughter feel when she was gone? Would she feel the same regrets, the same pain of never fully understanding her mother? Would she mourn the things left unsaid?
Lila clutched the letters to her chest, overwhelmed by grief, and for the first time since her mother’s death, she allowed herself to mourn again. This time, with an understanding she had never had before.
Her mother’s love had always been there, quietly, in the things she did, the way she cared. But now, it was too late to say the words that should have been said.
And so, Lila cried—not just for the mother she had lost, but for the mother she had never fully known.
The End
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