“We should’ve given you this two years ago,” Piper said, finally breaking down.
“Mom sent it the week we turned eighteen.” “We hid it,” Wren admitted quietly, “because we were scared you’d look at us differently once you knew the truth.”
I had no idea what could possibly mean that much to them. Then they handed me an old envelope in our mother’s unmistakable handwriting, and the second I opened it, the very first line hit me harder than anything had in twenty years.
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