For ten years, I raised my grandson believing his father had simply walked away.

Then one afternoon, a woman from my 48 daughter’s past appeared beside her grave holding a sealed envelope.

What she told chafar me forced me to question everything I thought I knew about my daughter’s final months.

And what I eventually uncovered didn’t just change the way I remembered Teagan.

It changed the future I had built for her son.

“I made your daughter a promise,” the woman said.

“Now it’s time you knew the truth.”

She held out an envelope.

My name was written across the front.

In Teagan’s handwriting.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

My daughter had been gone for ten years.

“Where did you get that?”

“She gave it to me.”

“When?”

“The day Lucas was born.”

My fingers tightened around the flowers I was carrying.

“You’ve had a letter from my daughter for ten years?”

The woman lowered her eyes.

“Yes.”

Before I could answer, I heard Lucas calling from the bottom of the hill.

“Grandma! I found it!”

He was running toward us from the car, waving the birthday card he had made for his mother.

The woman looked at him.

“Don’t open that envelope in front of him.”

I stared at her.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Trudy.”

“That tells me nothing.”

She took a breath.

“I was one of Teagan’s nurses.”

My stomach dropped.

Lucas was almost beside us now.

Trudy pressed the envelope into my hand.

“My number is on the back.”

Then she walked away.

Teagan had been eighteen when she told me she was pregnant.

I asked about the father more times than I could count.

“Does he know?”

“Mom, please.”