For two years, Karen hadn’t spoken to her mother—not a call, not a text. On her 47th birthday, the mother set the table for three, leaving Karen’s seat untouched. That night, aching from the silence, she rummaged through an old drawer and found an unsent birthday card. It was from Karen.
Inside were words that shattered her assumptions: “I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry.” Karen had written the card a year earlier, revealing her pain over her mother’s decision to leave her father, Nigel. The mother had never explained why, trying to protect Karen—but that silence had turned her into the villain. Nigel, quietly reinforcing that narrative, had kept the card hidden.
The next morning, the mother and her partner Brad visited Nigel. He confirmed Karen had moved to Canada—and then handed her the card. It had sat in a drawer while she cried herself to sleep, believing her daughter hated her.
She booked a flight to Ontario the next day. When she arrived, Karen opened the door before she could knock. No words. Just a long, silent hug. No blame. Just love—finally returned.
