It was addressed to Ethan and me.
The handwriting shook slightly near the end.
Age had finally caught up with her.
But her words remained steady.
The final paragraph read:
“The world will tell you that my life was saved by evidence, judges, and investigations.
They are wrong.
My life was saved by love.
Love gave a frightened little boy the courage to speak.
Love gave a daughter the strength to stay.
Love gave me a reason to keep breathing when hope was almost gone.
If you remember anything about me, remember that.”
I still keep that letter.
The paper has yellowed with time.
The folds are worn.
But the words remain.
And every year, on the anniversary of the day everything changed, Ethan and I visit the tree in the backyard.
The tree planted where death once lived.
The tree that grew because someone chose life instead.
People still ask me what I learned from all of it.
