The Choice She Made”

My hands trembled as I unfolded the yellowed letter. My heart pounded as I read Linda’s words, each one unraveling a past I had long buried.

**”Dear Carol,
By the time you read this, I hope you’ll understand the choice I made.
I was not the stepmother you deserved. I see that now—too late.

When I married your father, I was blinded by my love for my own daughters. I thought protecting them meant keeping you at arm’s length. I let them believe they were more important, that their needs came first, and in doing so, I failed you.

After your father passed, I had every opportunity to mend things between us. But I didn’t. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was pride, or maybe I didn’t know how to bridge the distance I had created.

Then, something changed. I got sick. And in my final months, I had time to reflect, to regret, to understand. I watched Amanda and Becca grow into the very people I raised them to be—selfish, entitled, and unwilling to care for anyone but themselves. They only called when they needed something. They never visited unless I had money to give.

But you, Carol… you lived your life without asking me for a thing. You made your own way. And despite how I treated you, you never wished me harm.

That house—this house—was the one place your father and I ever truly found happiness together. And I want you to have it. Not as an apology, because I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but as a reminder that you were never ‘just baggage.’ You were stronger than all of us.

I hope this house brings you the happiness I never gave you.

Linda.”**

I let out a shaky breath, staring at the letter through blurred tears.

She had never said these words to me in life. Never once hinted at regret. But here it was, written in ink, proof that she knew—**she knew.**

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like an outsider anymore. I had a piece of my father back. I had closure.

And no matter what Amanda and Becca said, I would not be giving the house up.