I hope you are well, and I hope the blood transfusion helps and I’ll continue to wait for news.
Love,
Kelsey,
Your Mom
I can totally see Mom warning Kelsey away from me. She’s been overprotective forever. But, would it have been that big of a deal if I got to meet Kelsey?
Okay, maybe not then. I was really scared then, and sick, so that would have just confused me.
But, I did get better. And I’m not a kid anymore. I get the rules about 18, but I’m 17 now. What’s a year?
Was my mom even going to give them to me? Ever?
Brandy,
The Rattle Box is gone. That’s what I called the pink box. Alex took it and gave it to your mom without my permission.
That’s why Mom has the letters then. I still don’t understand why she didn’t give them to me.
He thought it would help convince her that I’m not a threat and that I only love you. I was pissed at him for days, and honestly, I was afraid she’d destroy them. I don’t exactly know your mom that well. I know I picked her and your dad out, but it’s not like we are friends. Even if she would have destroyed them, I’m still glad they have you. She loves you so much, and really, that’s all I ever wanted for you. To be loved and taken care of and never have to fear anything. They couldn’t protect you from the aplastic anemia, but I couldn’t either. No parent could. It’s just something that happens, but they made sure you had the best doctors at the best children’s hospital. I really can’t ask for anything more.
Your mom finally called me. She won’t destroy the letters and promised to give them to you when you are old enough. I’m so happy because I was sick over losing those letters. She also told me that you will be getting a bone marrow transplant, and I made her promise to update me on your medical condition. She doesn’t really want to because you aren’t mine. I get it, but she understands that I will continue to worry until I know that you’ve been cured. We’ve agreed that after you are done being treated, we won’t talk again. As much as it kills me, you do belong to her and not me. I won’t call her, and I won’t look for you. If we happen to cross paths in the future, I need to walk away. I have to honor that agreement, and I will.
Just know that I love you and look forward to the day we can meet. I hope you will want to meet me after reading these letters and don’t hate me for giving you up.
Love,
Kelsey,
Your Mom
Of course I won’t hate her. She loved me enough to give me up and continues to love me. Sure, I wish she would have kept me, but with everything I’ve read, who knows where I’d be. My mom and dad may aggravate me, but I’ve got it good. Better than most.
If anything, I’ll thank her, once we do meet.
Hate her? Impossible. There’s nothing she could ever do to make me resent or hate her.
Eighteen
I grab the next letter and it hits me.
Alex is Alex Douche Dosek.
Kelsey pays the piano.
Is Kelsey Mrs. Dosek?
The hair stands up on my neck and my pulse picks up.
If Kelsey is Mrs. Dosek, then why the hell didn’t she give me lessons?
To hell with the contract. She knows how important those lessons are to me. I’ve explained, in detail why I need them. I begged and told her of my dreams and she didn’t even bother to email me back.
It’s got to be her. Mom was adamant about me not contacting her. And Mom asks--a lot--if Mrs. Dosek got back to me.
I’m sure you play beautifully and if I had the time, I’d consider your application. I simply cannot at this time in your life.
“Your life.” That’s what she meant. Because I’m not 18!
Mom was pissed when she found out I talked to Mrs. Dosek at the competition and tense until I told her my request was shot down.
That’s because Mom knows damn well who Mrs. Dosek is. Worse, Mrs. Dosek knew damn well I was her daughter and still refused to help me.
I stop and take a breath. I could be jumping to conclusions. This could be a bunch of coincidences but my gut says it’s not.
Why the hell didn’t I ever learn Mrs. Dosek’s first name? She’s always been Mrs. Dosek. Nobody has called her anything else.
I’m sure if I could look her up on the internet I’d find out her first name, but I don’t have the luxury. I’m grounded!
I tear open the next letter, reading quickly, getting as much information as I can about this woman who is supposed to love me.
She married Alex when I was eight. Two years later she had a baby boy. Three years later, another boy and had her third son a year ago. I remember her being pregnant.
In every letter, she claims to love me and begs for forgiveness.
I may have forgiven her for giving me up, but I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to forgive her for not helping me.
What makes this even worse is that she wrote about first hearing me play. How she thinks I’m a wonderful pianist and remembers my long fingers when I was born. She explained why she leaves whenever I play at competitions. She can’t be in the same room with me and that she shouldn’t have stayed that first time, but when my name was announced, she couldn’t bring herself to leave.
She’s gotten my emails but can’t return them. It kills her not to be able to help, but she can’t break the contract and hopes I find
