(Present Day)

San Francisco, California

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COREY’S NAME CROSSED my phone’s screen on Saturday for the umpteenth time, but I still couldn’t bring myself to answer his call. Even though I’d squared things away with Jonathan—somewhat, I was pissed that Corey had chosen to throw away the start of what we had over a threat from my brother. That he’d once again denied our relationship a chance because of what someone else had said.

I would’ve picked us in that ultimatum scenario, Corey. YOU should’ve picked us.

My doorbell rang and I grabbed my scissors, ready to cut up another bouquet of his flowers, but when I opened the door, my mother was standing there.

Dressed in an off-white suit, her hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and her blue and grey irises were a carbon copy of mine.

“Is it National Mothers Who Abandoned Their Daughters for Dealing Meth Day?” I asked. “Or is it Mothers Who Missed Their Daughters Lives and Suddenly Want to be a Part of it Day? They’re so similar, you know?”

She sighed. “I know I’m the last person you want to talk to right now.”

“Actually, you’re the second to last. Someone else is currently sitting in your spot.”

A slight smile crossed her lips, but she didn’t let it stay. “I see you and Jonathan both got my sarcasm.”

“Too bad we didn’t get your time.”

“I’m so sorry, Hayley.”

I didn’t respond.

Frowning, she opened her purse and pulled out a huge manila folder. She unfastened the flap and pulled out a stack of worn envelopes.

“I want you to know that I wrote you back every single time,” she said, handing me the stack. “Sometimes I’d draft ten letters, but I just...” She sighed and wiped tears as they fell down her face. “Well, one, I honestly couldn’t afford the stamps to mail you any letters back. I went to prison with nothing but the clothes on my back and nothing in my commissary account. Two, I didn’t think you would believe that I was sorry, and at the time, I really wasn’t. I was embarrassed, but I hadn’t learned my lesson yet.” She looked into my eyes. “It took me six years to qualify for a prison job, and another full year after that to get one. But by the time I got enough to pay for the stamps, you’d stopped writing. And then Jonathan told me that you didn’t want to hear from me at all, that after you moved in with him, you refused to even come to the phone when I called.”

Warm tears fell down my face.

She looked at the scars that remained on my arms and her voice began to crack. “I know I’m responsible for those, for how they started. I’m sorry you were cutting yourself to deal with the pain of losing me and your dad to prison, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for everything I should’ve been there for regarding your dreams.”

I stood still and she stepped forward and rubbed her hand against my faded scars.

“I kept these letters all these years because I wanted you to know that I did write back, and I loved you despite not loving myself. I know you don’t owe me anything, but I would really appreciate it if you let me show you that I deserve a second chance.”

I stared at her, unable to get a word to fall from my lips.

“I want to be the mother you deserve, Hayley,” she said, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. “I hope I’m not too late.”

I still couldn’t speak. I stared at the letters I thought she’d ignored, letting teardrops fall against the envelopes.

She let go of my hand and moved closer, hugging me for the first time in years.

Unable to resist, I hugged her back—refusing to let go, refusing to go another day without knowing what a hug from my mom felt like.

She continued to apologize in soft words to me, and we remained entwined and in tears until the sun set.

When she finally pulled away from me, she kissed my forehead. “I know it’s going to take time for you to completely forgive me for making bad decisions with meth in the past, for choosing it over you again and again, and missing most of your life due to prison. But, I want you to know that I’m willing to work hard to regain your trust, and I would like to try to establish a fresh start whenever you’re ready.”

I nodded. “Okay. I can try.”

She kissed my forehead again. “I’ll see you at the wedding, okay? And I’ll still send flowers until you call and want to sit down, too.”

I smiled. “Okay.” I stepped forward and gave her one last hug, and then I watched her walk away and slip behind the wheel of her car.

Once she’d steered her car off my street, I walked inside and headed to the kitchen. Sitting at the breakfast bar, I opened the top envelope. It was a short letter from me in pink ink, and she’d enclosed her response in black.

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DEAR MOMMY,

I miss you. I hope you come home soon. I still don’t like my current foster dad. His house smells like cat piss and the basement gives me nightmares.

I’m praying you get to break out by Christmas so we can have hot chocolate together.

Okay.

Write me back.

Your daughter,

Hayley

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PS—CAN YOU KEEP A SECRET? Even though I hate all the boys at my school, I think I like Corey. He’s older, and he’s John’s best friend...But I really like him. A LOT.

PSS—Please write me back

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DEAR HAYLEY,

I miss you more. One day I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you, I promise.

I’m sorry you don’t like your foster family and the house smells like cat piss. If it makes you feel any better, my place always smells like dog poop. (Way worse than cat piss.) Be sure to tell the case worker you don’t like it, so she can move you.

I can’t break out by this Christmas, but we will finally spend a Christmas together when I get out. I promise. And I’ll make you all the hot chocolate you want.

Love,

Mommy

PS—Yes, I can keep a secret. I won’t tell anyone about your friend Corey. He sounds sweet and I can’t wait to meet him. Stay close to him so that can happen, okay?

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I READ THROUGH EACH of the letters I’d sent, crying and laughing my way through each of the one hundred and seventy-six responses I’d never received.

By the time I finished the last set, it was midnight and Corey’s name was calling my phone again.

Hitting ignore, I poured myself a cup of cranberry and vodka. I debated calling him back just to tell him about what had happened between me and my mom, but as I sipped the drink—the same drink I’d had all night at the rooftop party, I started remembering exactly what had happened after the moments he’d described in that email.