The house was silent except for the rhythmic creak of the rocking chair while she breastfed Adriana.
It was 3 a.
M.
,
The hour when everything was still.
Lauren's body was tired,
But her mind was restless.
She stroked the downy curve of her daughter's head as if love was overflowing through her fingertips.
Lauren shifted Adriana gently,
Tucking a blanket around her tiny body.
She whispered in the dim room,
Not sure if she was speaking to her daughter or more to herself.
We're going to do this differently,
You and I.
I just don't know what that looks like yet.
Once Adriana had finally drifted into sleep,
Lauren placed her in her crib and sat down at the dresser.
She pulled out a sheet of thick paper,
Uncapped her pen,
And began to write.
Dear Adriana,
If you're reading this,
It means you're old enough to understand that families are complicated.
We love each other fiercely,
And sometimes we hurt each other deeply.
In our family,
There have been silences,
Gaps in the story,
Things nobody wanted to speak of.
I've learned that silence doesn't make them disappear.
That secrets don't vanish.
Instead,
They live inside of us,
Shaping how we love,
How we trust.
I want something different for you.
I want you to know what I know,
Even if it's hard,
Even if it's what most people don't speak about.
I want you to trust that you can ask me anything,
That there's no topic off limits.
Carrying the weight of what isn't spoken only teaches us to doubt our own heart,
The things we just seem to know without explanation,
Or believe that love requires some kind of pretending.
You deserve to be free of that.
You deserve the whole story,
Even the messy parts.
In my life,
I've learned that truth,
Even when it hurts,
Will always feel much lighter than secrets.
In my life,
I've experienced the truth that we can love two people at once,
And that sometimes we hurt the very person we love the most.
I've learned what's even stronger than forgiveness is understanding,
The kind that doesn't excuse what happened,
But finally makes sense of it.
Once you see why someone became who they are,
The need to forgive starts to dissolve.
My wish for you,
Adriana,
Is that you never feel you have to carry what isn't yours,
That you can love fully,
Without taking sides,
Without turning away from yourself,
That you grow into someone who trusts her own heart enough to tell the truth,
Even if your voice trembles as you share it.
She paused,
Staring at the ink blurring slightly where the tears had dotted the page.
I want you to know that you come from love,
Even if that love was sometimes tangled and complicated.
You don't have to fix what came before you.
Only live your life with open eyes,
And more importantly,
An open heart.
Let love be simple when it can be,
Honest when it can't,
And when you stand at your own crossroads someday,
Maybe you can choose truth over silence,
Understanding over resentment,
And yourself,
Always yourself,
Over everything that asks you to compromise who you are.
With all my love,
Mom.
She folded the letter carefully,
Smoothing the paper as though it were fragile,
Sliding it into an envelope she tucked in the bottom drawer beneath her scarves,
A letter for another time with a promise to break the silence.
As she slipped back to bed,
Lauren pressed her hand to her heart.
She didn't know what kind of woman her daughter would become.
She trusted that Adriana would not inherit the silence,
Or repeat the pain.
As she slipped back into bed,
Lauren pressed her hand to her heart.
She didn't know what kind of woman her daughter would become.
Somehow she trusted that Adriana would not inherit the silence,
Or repeat the pain.
She hoped that everything she had worked through with Nico and Nathan,
With her own family,
All the work she had been doing would protect her from that.
