Page 61 of When You're Gone
She had a lot to work through. She was frustrated she hadn’t recognized her struggles earlier, that she hadn’t setup a counseling appointment months ago. But she also was trying to be kinder to herself this week: to have grace and to tread gently from day to day. She kept reminding herself of what selling the house meant for her dad’s future: for his financial stability, for his relationship and his overall quality of life. He was happy with Tricia—she could clearly see that now. After spending years in the shadows of grief, he deserved to be happy.
Her latest project had taken up most of the week, but she was grateful for the distraction. She was nearly done cleaning out the attic. Most of what had been up here was important: these boxes needed to be taken to the cabin or put in storage.
She’d found her old American Girl doll and all the accessories, which she was determined to save and pass along someday. Maybe to a daughter. Or maybe to a niece. She smirked at the idea of Maddie as a mom or Jake as a dad.
There were also mementos from her childhood, including a box of pictures that looked like it had been sorted and organized by someone other than her. SheknewRhett had done some digging to pull off her birthday slideshow. Now she had evidence of just how far he’d gone to surprise her.
She sighed when she thought about her husband. She’d been sighing a lot this week. Once she’d gotten over the initial shock of his departure, she was almost embarrassed to admit that his actions hurt worse than anything had hurt in a very long time. As much as she hated the state of things, his words had been the push she needed to snap out of her funk and seek help.
She had finally taken the initiative to schedule a therapy appointment. She had apologized and fixed things with her dad. But she still had a long way to go before she could actually move forward.
She shifted the picture box closer to the steps, intent to carry it down when she was done for the day. When she lifted the box, an envelope was left lying beneath it on the attic floor. She squatted in slow motion, her fingers tingling with anticipation as she tried not to get her hopes too high.
There was something familiar about the envelope. Something promising. It looked identical to the two she had received at her wedding last year…
The paper felt weathered and thin when she gingerly peeled it off the attic floor. A layer of dust had settled into the fibers and discolored it yellow; it had obviously been up here a very long time.
Tears blurred her vision as she opened it. She had felt it the moment she spotted the letter just lying there, but the visual confirmation thrummed against her heartstrings with such ferocity she was afraid they might snap.
It was a letter. From her mom. The first words at the top of the page read “To my darling daughter.” It was a letter for her.
A letter she didn’t know existed, had never expected, and desperately needed to read. She had to remind herself to breathe as she scanned the single page of her mother’s handwriting.
To my darling daughter—
I’ve just bawled my eyes out writing letters I hope you’ll receive and cherish someday. But for some reason, I feel compelled to write one more.
I don’t know when or if this letter will ever find you. I’m not giving it to your dad for safekeeping like the others. I’m just sticking it in a box of unmarked memories and putting my faith in the Universe that it’ll find its way to you someday when you least expect it or need it most.
Tori smirked at the timing of her discovery. Her mom had to be laughing, too. It was kismet.
I’m watching you play in the backyard right now. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you who you’re playing with or how your eyes light up with unbridled joy when you’re with him. Whatever it is between you—whatever it transforms into as you grow up—I hope you hold on to that forever.
It’s hard to describe what it’s like, knowing I’m leaving you soon with a mountain of grief you’ll carry around for a lifetime. It feels like I’m already burdening you in the very worst ways a parent could burden a child.
But I have dreams for you. I know, I know. It’s not fair for parents to project their aspirations on to their kids. But oh sweet girl—do I have dreams. I hope you do something with your art. I hope you do something that allows you to help others every day. I hope that you let yourself feel it all.
You’re so strong, Victoria. You’re resilient and vivacious and just so full of life. I know even in the darkest of times, you’ll find something worth fighting for and follow that beacon home. You will be okay.
Promise me you’ll always chase the light. Turn your face to the sun. Bask in its warmth when it’s shining down on you. Take heart in its perpetuity on the cloudiest of days. You might not always see it, but it’s there. You might not always feel it, but it’s there. That light is my love. I’m with you, always.
Love,
Mom
She read the letter a dozen times, until the tears in her eyes and the dust from the attic became too much to bear. She eventually pulled herself together and carried down the last few boxes.
Done.
The attic was cleaned out. She could cross that off her to-do list.
She meandered to her bedroom, still reeling from the discovery of the letter, completely distracted by the serendipitous timing of her mother’s words. She slumped down onto the edge of her bed, then startled a moment later when her phone vibrated next to her.
Three separate texts from Fielding greeted her when she looked at the notifications. She scowled as she read through the messages, each one sent about an hour after the last. She had been purposely ignoring him all week. But it seemed like he’d grown tired of waiting for her to reach out to him and had taken matters into his own hands.
Fielding: Victoria Thompson! What are your plans for tonight? I’m off, and we need to get caught up on camp stuff. Let’s hang out.
Fielding: Can I come over? Which house are you at? I miss you, and I’m worried everything’s fucked after what happened on Saturday.
