“Open it,” he said softly.
Monica forced a smile, released the ribbon and lifted the lid.
As soon as he looked inside, his face turned white.
Inside the box were seventeen envelopes.
One for every year she had been absent.
In each there was a date.
Christmas mornings.
Visits to the hospital.
Graduations.
Mother’s Day Cards.
Little drawings of girls who once believed their mother could still come back.
Monica covered her mouth.
“Oh, my God…”
Natalie took the envelope that was on her.
“This one is today,” he said.
Monica opened it with trembling hands.
There was only one card inside.
He said:
“You wanted everyone to see you as my mother today. So I wanted everyone to see the years you chose not to be.”
A sigh went through the room.
Monica’s eyes were filled with rage.
“How dare you?” he whispered.
