PART 5 – The First Thing I Saw Inside the Envelope Was My Mother’s Handwriting, and Suddenly I Was Twelve Years Old Again

I didn't know what to do with my hands.

The envelope was open, but I hadn't yet looked properly at what was inside.

I was afraid of what I might find.

Lucas stood nearby.

He didn't say anything.

I reached inside carefully and pulled out the contents.

There was a folded letter.

An old photograph.

And a smaller envelope.

I stopped when I saw the handwriting on that little envelope.

My name.

Written by my mother.

I knew those letters immediately.

I had spent years trying not to forget how she wrote them.

The way she shaped certain letters.

The slight curve at the end of her name.

The familiar pressure of her pen.

I ran my fingers over the writing.

My knees felt weak.

For a moment, the wedding reception disappeared from my mind.

I wasn't a married woman anymore.

I was twelve years old again, sitting in Grandma Ruth's house, waiting for the telephone to ring.

I wanted to hear Mom.

I wanted to ask her why she had written my name on something I was only supposed to receive years later.

I looked at Lucas.

"How long have you had this?"

He lowered his eyes.

"Since before I came back."

I looked down again.

The paper was old.

The photograph had slightly faded edges.

Everything looked as though it had been protected carefully rather than simply forgotten in a drawer.

"Did she tell you what was inside?"

Lucas nodded.

"She told me enough to understand how important it was. But she wanted you to read it yourself."

I swallowed.

"Why didn't you give it to me before?"

He took a moment before answering.

"Because she asked me to wait until your wedding day."

I looked at the crimson dress he was still wearing.

He had already kept one promise to her.

Now I understood that he had come carrying another.

I unfolded the first letter.

The paper made a soft cracking sound.

I recognized my mother's handwriting again.

My eyes filled before I had read a single complete sentence.

I sat down.

Lucas moved a chair closer.

I placed the photograph beside the letter and tried to steady my breathing.

I didn't want to rush.

This was the closest thing I had to hearing from her again.

I wanted to take my time.

The letter had been folded several times.

There were creases running through the middle.

I smoothed them gently with my palm.

Then I looked at the photograph.

It showed my mother in her Army uniform.

She was smiling.

I stared at her face.

I had seen photographs of her many times, but this one felt different.

It was old enough that I couldn't remember ever seeing it before.

I turned it over.

There was writing on the back.

I recognized the same familiar handwriting.

I didn't read it immediately.

Instead, I looked at her smile.

I wondered what she had been thinking when the photograph was taken.

Had she known Lucas would keep it?

Had she imagined that one day I would be sitting with it in my hands?

I wiped my cheek.

Lucas remained quiet.

He seemed to understand that I needed a little time.

I finally picked up the letter again.

The first words were addressed to me.

Not to Grandma Ruth.

Not to Lucas.

To me.

My mother had written it for her daughter.

And she had trusted someone else to make sure it reached me.

I began reading.

I had no idea how many times I would wish afterward that I could have asked her what she meant by certain words.

But that evening, I was grateful for every line.

I read slowly.

Sometimes I stopped because my eyes became too blurry.

Sometimes I had to begin a sentence again.

Lucas didn't interrupt.

He simply sat beside me.

When I reached the bottom of the first page, I noticed that there was more writing on the other side.

I turned it over.

The letter wasn't finished.

Not even close.

I took another breath.

Then I continued.

Click here to continue reading: PART 6: I Read the Letter Twice Because I Couldn’t Believe My Mother Had Planned for This Day Without Knowing If She Would See It