My First-My Last

CHAPTER SEVEN: The Letter

The rain whispered gently against the windowpane, a soft, steady rhythm that filled the quiet of the living room. Avelon sat cross-legged on the rug, a worn shoebox open in front of her. The hospice nurse, Emma, had handed it to her earlier that day — a small container Kristen had left behind with a simple note taped to the lid: “For Avelon. When you’re ready.”

She wasn’t sure she was ready. Not really. But something about the morning—the stillness, the soft gray light—urged her to open it.

Inside were old photographs, a silver locket, and at the very bottom, a folded letter in Kristen’s graceful handwriting.

Avelon’s hands trembled as she unfolded the paper, her eyes already misting over.

---

My dearest Avelon,

If you’re reading this, I’m no longer in the room with you—but I’m still here. I always will be.

From the moment I first held you, I knew you’d be extraordinary. You were never just a child. You were a storm wrapped in warmth, full of feeling, questions, and a fierce love for the world. Even when I didn’t understand your pain, I saw your heart. And oh, how proud I’ve always been of that heart.

I know I haven’t always been the mother you needed. I know I failed in moments when you needed strength, and I see now that I often expected you to be strong for me. I’m sorry.

But if I leave you with anything, let it be this: You are worthy of love—not because you are perfect or selfless or composed, but because you are real. You feel deeply. You show up, even when you’re afraid. That’s love. That’s you.

Please don’t be afraid to love fully again. I saw it in your eyes every time you spoke about Damian—even when you were angry. That love deserves to grow. It’s okay to let it.

And when the world gets too loud, sit in the sun. Drink something warm. Find a quiet place where you can just breathe. You don’t have to have all the answers. Just keep going.

Love always,

Mom

---

Tears slipped down Avelon’s cheeks silently. She held the letter to her chest, breathing in the faint scent of her mother’s perfume that still lingered on the paper.

A knock at the door stirred her from the moment. She wiped her face and rose slowly, letter still in hand.

It was Damian.

He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at her, as if trying to read the state of her heart through her eyes.

“She left me a letter,” Avelon said softly.

He nodded, not asking for more. “I thought maybe you’d want company. Or quiet. I can do either.”

Avelon stepped aside and let him in.

They sat on the couch together, the box of memories between them. Avelon placed the letter down gently and leaned into Damian’s side, his arm wrapping around her like it had always belonged there.

“I think I’m going to be okay,” she whispered.

Damian pressed a kiss to her temple. “You are. And I’m here for every step of it.”

As the rain eased outside and light began to seep back through the clouds, Avelon let herself believe it. Not just in love, but in life after loss. In second chances. In healing.

In tomorrow.