Dearest Mary,

I hope you are in good health when this letter reaches you. You must be a young woman by now; I wished I could have seen you grow up to be the fine lady you have turned out to be. Unfortunately, the worst of circumstances had hindered me and my only regret now was that I never tried harder, fought harder, to have been able to see you.

You were young when I left—no—when I had been forced out from our home and I can only beg your forgiveness now. You did not understand but know that throughout all these years, I have never stopped loving you. 

I have tried hard to survive these past years, the everyday monotonous hum, stuck in the same house, the same room, the same bed, hoping that one day, I'd be able to feel your warmth and brush your brown curls again. I wish I could have been stronger, but I now know that I will never be able to leave this place in body, and so I must do so in spirit.

Though he may not be the best husband, or even the best man out there, continue to love your father and care for him in his older years, do not let my letter—or my actions—stain your thoughts of him.

And so, sweet Mary, I must conclude—live well, love generously and never, ever let anyone stop you from following your dreams.

Your loving mother,

Elizabeth May Harper