Then Mrs. Bell spoke.
“Victor is your mother’s brother.”
I couldn’t breathe.
For illustrative purposes only
The Letter My Mother Left Behind
I ran inside and found the blue box hidden in her closet.
Inside were photographs, letters, and memories from a life she had never shared with me.
At the top sat an envelope with my name.
My hands shook as I opened it.
“Fiona,
If you’re reading this, I wasn’t brave enough to tell you when I was alive.
First and foremost, Victor was my brother. He packed my lunch, walked me to school, and handed me the best blanket when there was only one.
When we were kids, he tried to sell our mother’s bracelet. Not for candies. For blankets, because the pipes had frozen and we were cold.
They never forgave him. Not Mark. Not our parents.
Mark told that story for years. “Victor steals,” he’d say, even though Victor had kept me warm.
Then Victor became ill, and our family punished him for becoming the person they already wanted to discard.
Mark claimed Victor was dangerous. He claimed I was too poor to understand risk. When you were younger, he warned me that if I let
Victor, near you, people would question whether I was fit to be your mother.
I thought he could take you from me.
