But I remembered what it was like to be tired.
To be overwhelmed.
Standing in a store holding a $5 one-piece jumpsuit and wondering if you can afford it.
So I sealed the box.
Shipping has been paid for.
And I sent it out into the world—with no expectations.
Only hope.
đź“… Months have passed. I almost forgot.
Life went on.
My daughter has grown up.
The box disappeared into memory.
A quiet part of me asked myself:
Did she get it?
Was this even true?Â
But I said to myself:
Even if not, those clothes are now with someone. Maybe they provided warmth. Maybe they provided solace.Â
And that was enough.
Then – almost a year later – the doorbell rang.
No note.
No tracking number.
Small package at my door.
I opened it.
There was a letter inside.
And photos.
A girl—radiant, smiling, twirling—wearing the same dress I had put together myself.
Her mother wrote:
