Dear daughter,

My name is Maria Alvarez Desunda. And I am your mother.

My mother used to tell me a certain phrase.

"Be a good person, daughter. Even if you are nothing else, be good."

I would tell you that daughter. But, I am lying on a hospital bed a thousand miles away from you and your father, connected to a slowly drooping heart monitor. I am almost dead, daughter.

And I wish I could be with you. Wear matching outfits (even though it's so uncool.) Help with those hard maths problems. Watch you walk down the aisle, my little daughter all grown up.

But, I am a bad mother. I left you. I should have never left you, daughter.

The next few days will be strange. Father will be upset and tired. And mother will not come home. Father may shout. He may cry. You must be strong, daughter. You are a strong and brave woman now.

I remember when you were born. You were a small little thing, red and soft. To me, you were a little china doll. I was always so terrified you'd break. Your father was elated, he'd always wanted a little girl.

I'd wanted a boy. But, daughter, when you were born and I held you to my chest I realised that I'd only wanted a beautiful healthy child. You were just that, daughter. Just that. In your soft warm blanket, wrapped up in my chest. I never wanted to let you go, or give you to your father. I just wanted to hold you.

I remember bringing you home, to our small little apartment. I was scared, daughter. What if I did something wrong? What if I broke you? What if I was a bad mother? When you cried, I'd break down. When you smiled, the whole world seemed a little brighter. You were my everything, daughter.

I remember your first day of school, you were a bit of a perfectionist, daughter. Like me. You wanted your hair in two separate braids in a new style. I watched half a dozen YouTube videos that night and went to bed at 2am, dreaming of your silky brown hair in those gleaming braids, daughter. Even I wanted everything to be perfect for you.

When you came back from school bawling your eyes out, I was scared. I didn't know what to do. Your hair was ruffled and messy. I demanded to know what was going on and I threatened to march to the school and find out. I knew it was wrong, daughter. But, I couldn't stand to see you upset.

After confessing that you were being bullied, I mentally broke down and cursed myself. Somehow, I felt like it was all my fault. I remember imagining that kid in my head, screaming and slapping him, because he hurt you.

And nobody. Nobody, hurts my daughter.

I apologise for getting you kicked out of that school and going hugely coo-coo on that kid. But, I don't regret it. Nope. Not one bit.

Middle school was harder for me. Seeing you walk through those gates, masked with little self-confidence and esteem. I couldn't see you for most of the day.

As I get upset, I try to keep myself busy. That day, I cleaned the entire house twice and did grocery-shopping for the entire year. And, I cried. In the middle of Walmart.

I was overjoyed when you found Melissa. She was a sassy spunky little blonde girl, I was sure would have a good influence on you. You became increasingly confident, daughter.

Of course I was upset when you spent all night out with her and when we started talking less often. But, you were confident, talkative and smart. Everything I ever wanted you to be, daughter.

But, when curfews were stretched and broken like rubber bands, I had to check on you. Most girls were at home by two, you were still out.

I'm sorry I lashed out, daughter. It was wrong of me. But, you'd lied.

Melissa was a freckled girl that was home by 7. Then, who were you with, daughter?

When I found out, you'd been hanging out with highschool-dropout boys, almost five years older than you, I was angry. What had I done wrong? Was I a terrible mother? Had I given you too much freedom?

We fell apart, daughter. Like shattered pieces of mirror. You stopped talking to me. I stopped talking to you. It broke my heart. I missed you like crazy, daughter. I wanted to talk to you so badly. But, I was just as stubborn as you, daughter. You had to apologise first.

Years flew by like passing storms. Hair was cropped. Skirts were cropped. Our relationship was cropped. You didn't feel like my daughter anymore. I missed that feeling.

We became enemies. Fighting about you not having breakfast or those way-too-short skirts. How your grades were slowly withering.

I was definitely an over-protective mother. But, I couldn't help it. You weren't choosing good, daughter. And, I wanted to bring up a good person.

More years sailed by. We forgot eachother, daughter. I tried to convince myself that our relationship was on the mend. But, the seams had already been ripped out.

So, when the offer to temporarily relocate to the Middle East for work, came around. I thought it would do us both good. A little space. Then, everything would go back to normal, we'd have a perfect mother-daughter relationship again.

But life isn't perfect. When the universe knocks you down, it doesn't offer you a hand back up. It keeps punching.

Which is why I'm in a hospital bed, connected to a heart monitor, with a bullet wound that's punctured my heart. The bad people did this. This is why you should always choose good.

The nurse says I have about 5 minutes left. That, I should say my goodbyes and wrap up. But, I have so much more to say. I could keep writing forever. I'll try and hold on for you, daughter. Try and escape death's clutch. But no promises.

Hopefully, I'll still be awake tomorrow. See you beautiful face, brown wavy hair, the cute little freckles dotted along your nose. I'll really miss you, daughter.

2 minutes left. The line that measures my heart rate has fallen to an all time low. Millimetres from the equilibrium. I'll keep writing, daughter.

Daughter, please remember I'm always with you. I'll be standing by your side. Forever.

1 minute. The line is dancing dangerously close to the equilibrium.

Remember, daughter. Just remember one last thing.

10.

Be a good person.

9.

Nothing else. Just good.

8.

And.

7.

Please.

6.

Remember.

5.

Your.

4.

Loving.

3.

Caring.

2.

Mother.

1.

Goodbye, daughter.