Stephanie's room still looked exactly the same.
Nothing had moved.
The bed was neatly made, the curtains half drawn, and the faint scent of her perfume still lingered in the air.
Her mother stood at the doorway for a long moment before finally stepping inside.
For days she had avoided this room.
Something about it made her chest feel heavy… like the walls themselves were accusing her.
She slowly walked toward the bed and sat down.
"Stephanie…" she whispered softly.
But the room remained silent.
Her eyes drifted across the small desk near the window.
Stephanie used to sit there for hours.
Writing.
Drawing.
Sometimes just staring outside.
Her mother had never cared enough to ask what she was doing.
Now she wished she had.
She stood up and walked to the desk, opening the top drawer slowly.
Inside were scattered papers, old notebooks, and a few folded sheets.
One of them caught her attention.
It was carefully folded.
Her name was written on the front.
Mom.
Her hands suddenly felt cold.
She hesitated before opening it.
The handwriting inside was unmistakably Stephanie's.
The date written at the top made her heart stop.
Stephanie's 17th birthday.
Her eyes began to blur as she started reading.
Mom,
Today I turned seventeen.
I know you probably forgot… but that's okay. I'm used to it.
A tear rolled down her mother's cheek.
I've been thinking a lot today. About us. About why you hate me so much.
Her breathing became uneven.
I try really hard to understand what I did wrong. Maybe I'm not good enough. Maybe I remind you of someone you don't want to remember.
But even if you don't love me… I still love you.
Her mother covered her mouth as a quiet sob escaped her.
You're still my mom. And every time you shout at me or look at me like I'm nothing… it hurts, but I keep hoping one day you'll see me differently.
The paper trembled in her hands.
I just want one day where you smile at me and call me your daughter.
Tears now streamed down her face.
If I ever leave this house one day… please don't think it's because I hate you.
It's because staying here hurts too much.
The last line was written smaller, almost like Stephanie had struggled to finish it.
But I will always wish you loved me.
The letter slipped from her hands and fell to the floor.
A broken cry escaped her chest as she sank to her knees.
All those years.
All those moments she had pushed her daughter away.
And the girl had still loved her.
"Stephanie…" she sobbed.
But the only answer was the empty room.
And the terrible realization that the letter she needed to read the most…
had come far too late.