Ethan and I planned to move out. On the morning we left, the housemaid handed me an envelope.
Inside was a short note in Margaret’s handwriting:
“Claire, forgive me. The accident long ago wasn’t my doing — but I didn’t stop it. I wanted to keep him with me. I thought love meant never losing him. I see now that I was wrong. Let my son be free.”
When Ethan read it, tears filled his eyes.
From the window upstairs, we saw Margaret watching us go — her face pale, but peaceful.
Learning to Let Go
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