For years, Maggie thought she knew everything about her quiet suburban life – the friendly neighbour who baked biscuits, the parents who raised her, and the ordinary routines of home. But her world was turned upside down when her dying neighbour showed her a mysterious wooden box that revealed a secret kept for decades.
I still remember the morning sun warming my skin as I watered my petunias, not even realising my life was about to change forever.
Sometimes I wonder if I could have spotted the signs sooner. But how could I have known? How could anyone have even guessed?
Rebecca had been my neighbour for as long as I could remember. She was the sweet woman who baked biscuits for all the kids in the neighbourhood, never forgot birthdays, and always found a kind word for everyone.
Even as I grew up, went off to college, and then moved back to my home with my family, Rebecca remained an integral part of my life.
‘Maggie, honey!’ – she called out to me when she saw me in the yard. “Come try these snickerdoodles! I think I’ve finally perfected the recipe!”
She never married or had children, but she was almost family to me. I helped her with her shopping, mowed the lawn, and visited her so she didn’t feel lonely.
Two months ago, I noticed she was weakening. Her energetic greetings from the porch had turned into tired gestures, and her cooking marathons were over.
‘Rebecca, you need to see a doctor,’ I insisted one evening as I helped her make dinner. ‘This isn’t like you.’
‘Oh, honey, it’s probably just age,’ she brushed it off, but I could see the fear in her eyes.
When she finally agreed to be examined, the diagnosis was scary. She had been diagnosed with an incurable tumour and had only weeks to live.
It was unbearable.
She had been there for me my whole life, and now all I could do was be there for her. I spent every spare moment reading books to her, sharing memories, or just sitting next to her in silence.
And then, one Saturday morning as I was watering the flowers, my phone rang.
Rebecca.
Her voice was barely audible.
“Maggie…please come over. It’s urgent.”
Something in her tone made my heart clench.
In fifteen years of living in the neighbourhood, she’d never called me with such a request. I dropped the watering can and ran to her house.
When I entered, she was lying in bed, looking weaker than ever. Her eyes had dimmed, but she smiled weakly at the sight of me.
‘Rebecca, I’m here,’ I said, sitting down next to her and taking her cold hands. “What do you need? Shall I call someone?”
She shook her head.
“No, honey. I need you to do something.”
‘Anything.’
Her hand shook as she pointed to the nightstand.
‘Open the drawer…pull out the wooden box.’
I obeyed.
The box was small, intricately carved, heavier than I’d expected. Something in the way Rebecca looked at me made my heart beat faster.
‘Now open it,’ she whispered.
I ran my fingers over the threads and lifted the lid.
Inside lay an old black and white photograph of a young woman, late in her pregnancy.
I looked closer – and froze.
It was Rebecca. Young, but without a doubt it was her.
Beneath the photo was a tiny hospital bracelet, yellowed with time.
My fingers trembled as I picked it up.
And then my heart stopped.
My name was written on it. My date of birth.
I clutched at the bed to keep from falling.
‘What… Rebecca, what is it?’ – I whispered.
She exhaled in a shaky voice:
‘Read the letter, sweetheart.’
I unfolded the old, wrinkled from repeated folds of the piece of paper.
‘I can’t…’
‘Please,’ she begged.
I blinked, chasing away the tears, and began to read.
“My dear Maggie,
If you’re reading this letter, it means it’s time for me to reveal my deepest secret. I know it will be hard for you to hear. But perhaps realising the love behind this choice will bring you comfort.
Many years ago, I made the hardest choice of my life. I was young and lonely, carrying a child under my heart, but I could not give him a decent future. Then I met some wonderful people– your parents. They were desperate for a child. So I offered to become your family. All I asked in return was to stay close to you, to be a part of your life.”
The words blurred before my eyes.
“I’ve loved you all my life. I watched you grow up, rejoiced in your successes. Your every laugh was a treasure to me.
Forgive me for my silence. I hope you can understand: everything I did – I did out of love.”
The letter fell out of my hands.
I looked at Rebecca, tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘All this time… you’ve been my mum?’
She nodded.
‘I was afraid to tell you…afraid you’d hate me.’
I grabbed her hand.
‘I don’t hate you… I just… wish I’d known sooner.’
She smiled through her tears.
“I love you, Maggie. I always have.”
‘I love you too,’ I whispered.
She exhaled one last time.
And she was gone.
At the funeral, I stood between my parents-the ones who had raised me-and said goodbye to the woman who had given me life.
Later, going through her things, I found dozens of letters.
In each one of them was my life, captured through her eyes.
Then I realised:
I was loved by two mothers.
And one of them was always there for me.
