Another.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong…”
Margaret’s vision blurred with tears.
“No… no, this isn’t right…”
Her hands moved faster, opening letter after letter.
They told the same story.
Calls unanswered.
Messages ignored.
A son trying, desperately, to reach his mother.
---
And then—
One final letter.
Different from the others.
She opened it slowly, her heart pounding.
“Mom… I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. But I can’t keep trying if you don’t want me in your life. I love you. I always will. But I have to let go.”
The date was from five years ago.
---
Margaret collapsed onto the floor, the letters scattered around her.
Memories began to surface.
Fragmented. Distorted. But real.
The arguments.
The anger.
The day she had told him not to call anymore.
The day she had chosen silence.
---
“I did this…” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Not distance.
Not time.
Not him.
Her.
---
Back in the kitchen, the tape recorder sat silently on the table.
Margaret walked toward it slowly, as if drawn by something she couldn’t explain.
She pressed “play” again.
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