“Why?” I asked.
“Because I like science,” she said, “and I want kids who feel different to see someone like me and know they’re not broken.”
She studied hard and got into college, then medical school. It was a long and difficult road, but our girl never gave up despite setbacks.
By the tiome she graduated, we were slowing down. More pills on the counter.
More naps. More doctor appointments of our own. Lily called daily, visited weekly, and lectured me about salt like I was one of her patients.
We thought we knew her whole story.
Then the letter came.
Plain white envelope. No stamp. No return address.
Just “Margaret” written neatly on the front. Someone had put it in our mailbox by hand.
Inside were three pages.
“Dear Margaret,” it began. “My name is Emily.
I am Lily’s biological mother.”
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