I was told that you died.
I woke up in the hospital twenty-one days after the car accident. What I did first was ask for you. Your father took my hand and told me that you hadn't survived and that they had buried you eighteen days ago. I believed him. I had no reason not to. He was my husband, your father, and the love of my life. When he told me that you were gone, I held onto him and I cried. I thought he was crying with me but it turns out that he wasn't. He knew the truth.
I lived with the knowledge that I had lost you, my baby girl, for twenty-nine years. I thought of you every day and wondered who you would be. My dutiful husband kissed away my tears and assured me that he felt as broken as I did without you. That same dutiful husband died two and a half hours ago and on his death bed told me the truth. You are alive.
He was into illegal activities and you were being threatened. He 'killed' you so you could be safe. For twenty-nine years you have been living without me, too young when you were taken away to know who I am. I am determined to find you. I am determined to hold you in my arms again and to look into the eyes that used to mirror mine.
I will find you, no matter what it takes, I promise you.
© The Last Letter