In a farmhouse in Vermont.
With a daughter who would never know what it felt like to be unloved.
With a life so full it sometimes took my breath away.
I’d spent so long being afraid.
Afraid I wasn’t enough.
Afraid I’d fail.
Afraid I’d end up alone.
But I wasn’t alone.
I was exactly where I was meant to be.
The sun rose higher, painting the room in gold.
Sophie stirred and smiled in her sleep.
And I held her close, grateful for every single moment.
Every hard-won, beautiful, impossible moment.
This was the ending I’d fought for.
Not perfect.
Not without scars.
But ours.
And it was enough.
Later that morning, after breakfast, Sophie and I walked down to the pond at the edge of our property.
The water was still, reflecting the blue sky like glass.
Sophie picked up a smooth stone and handed it to me.
“Make a wish, Mama.”
I took the stone, warm from her small hand.
For a long time, I just held it.
Then I closed my eyes and made my wish.
Not for wealth. Not for revenge. Not even for safety.
Just this:
Let her know, always, that she is loved.
I opened my eyes and tossed the stone into the water.
It skipped once, twice, three times before sinking.
