For the second time in a decade, I had to travel to the cemetery to bury a family member. Mom was laid to rest next to Kayla. Mother and daughter together for eternity.
Jenna, Lynne, and several of Mom’s friends and co-workers attended the service. Once again, Dad did not show up–one of the few good things he had ever done for me in my life.
My bosses at Jackson were very understanding, telling me to take as much time off as I needed to get Mom’s affairs in order. Jenna stayed with me for a few days before heading back to Pittsburgh to check on our house, leaving Lynne and me to sort through everything.
That was when the bombshell dropped.
Mom had left me the house I grew up in, along with her bank and retirement accounts. Between painting a few rooms to prep the house for renters and cutting through endless financial red tape, I started cleaning out Mom’s bedroom closet. Tucked in the back was a heavy box filled with letters.
Skimming through them, I noticed almost all carried the same return address: K. Winters, Denver, Colorado. I assumed it was just an old friend, until I pulled out a larger envelope dated twelve years ago, stamped “Photo enclosed, do not fold.”
Inside was a sonogram and a brief note written in a handwriting that shouldn't exist:
Mom, you’re going to be a grandmother. It’s a boy! – K
My lungs seized. Sliding my fingers deeper into the envelope, I pulled out a second photo—and the world tilted on its axis.
Even though she looked more than ten years older than the day she vanished, there was no mistaking the face staring back at me.
It was Kayla.
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