Max had spent the night reading through Asher's words, uncovering truths he never knew about his father. But it wasn't until the next morning—when he returned to the desk, heart still heavy with memories—that he found *hers*.
It was tucked inside a small wooden box hidden in the back of the drawer—a box labeled simply: "For My Children"
Inside were four envelopes.
Each addressed in Emma's handwriting.
One for June.
One for Maggie.
One for Jack.
And one for him.
Max stared at his name on the front, written in soft cursive like she had written it just yesterday. His hands trembled slightly as he opened it, careful not to tear the delicate paper.
He unfolded the letter and began to read.
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*My Dearest Max,
If you're reading this, then I'm no longer there to say these words out loud. And if I did what I hoped to do, then I got to hold your hand, kiss your cheek, and tell you I loved you one last time before I went ahead.
I don't write this to make you sad. I write it because there are things I want you to always remember—about me, about us, about how deeply proud I am of the man you've become.
You were my first.
Not by birth, but by choice. You were the first child I ever held knowing they would call me Mom. And I'll never forget how long it took for that word to come from your lips. Or how it felt when it finally did.
You didn't have to love me.
I didn't earn it right away.
But somehow, you gave it to me anyway.
Do you know what I see when I look at you? Not just the boy who grew into a man, but the little boy who taught me how to be a mother. You showed me that love doesn't always come easy. That sometimes, it takes time. Sometimes, it takes patience. And sometimes, it takes someone brave enough to open their heart again and again—even when it's been broken before.
You were that brave boy.
And now, you're that brave man.
I hope you know how much joy you brought into my life. The way you used to chase fireflies in the summer. How you'd sneak cookies before dinner and try to hide the crumbs. The way you protected your sisters, even when you acted like they annoyed you. All of it—it made me so proud.
Asher once told me something beautiful: "Max didn't need me to be perfect. He needed me to stay." And sweetheart, I stayed too. Through every scraped knee, every bedtime story, every quiet moment when you thought no one noticed how much you hurt—I stayed.
Because I chose you.
Every single day.
And I would choose you again, a thousand times over.
Now it's your turn to carry our story forward. To raise your own children with love and kindness. To teach them about where they came from—not just the facts, but the feelings. The laughter. The lullabies. The garden we planted together.
Tell them about me.
Tell them about Asher.
Tell them about the porch swing and the stars and the way we believed in second chances.
And most of all… tell them about love.
Real love. The kind that shows up, even when it's hard. The kind that stays, even when it could walk away.
I will always love you, Max. Not just because you were mine—but because I was yours.
Forever yours,
Mom
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Max sat in silence for a long time after finishing the letter.
Tears fell without shame, landing softly on the page like raindrops on petals.
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of lavender and rosemary—the same plants Emma had chosen for her garden.
He stood slowly, folding the letter carefully and holding it close to his chest.
That afternoon, he walked to *Emma & Asher's Garden*, the sky above painted in gentle hues of blue and gold.
He placed Emma's letter beside the others between their gravestones.
"I'm still choosing you," he whispered. "Every day."
And as the eternal flame flickered gently beside them, it felt like an answer.
A warm breeze brushed past him, familiar and full of love.
She had stayed.
Forever.