“Loitering is unbecoming, Beth.” My father’s voice pulls me out of my memories. I step farther into his study, unsure of why I’ve been summoned. My father is sitting behind his desk, Mr. Phillips, our family attorney, in the chair facing him. I haven’t seen him since after Mother’s funeral. He came by with papers for Father to sign. When I introduced myself, he smiled, patted me on the head and gave me a candy. I was fifteen. It didn’t occur to me to be offended at the condescending gesture. I thought he was a sweet old man.

“Sit,” my father commands, gesturing to the seat next to Mr. Phillips. I do as I’m told, crossing my ankles and laying my hands in my lap, my shoulders back.

Mr. Phillips greets me with, “Good to see you again, Elizabeth. You have grown into a lovely young woman.” I give a demure smile and blush slightly. “I understand you’ve recently had a birthday.”

“Yes. I turned twenty-one last month.”

“Lovely. That is actually why I’m here. Do you recall after your mother’s passing, I mentioned a trust she left for you?” I nod, although I don’t particularly recall the conversation. “Now that you are twenty-one, you have full access to the trust. I just need you to sign a few papers.” He leans over and pulls out a folder. I don’t bother reading any of the documents he lays out in front of me before I sign them. “Oh, and your mother left this as well.” He hands me an envelope with my name written in Mother’s delicate scrawl.

She wrote me a letter? Mr. Phillips continues, explaining to me how much is in the trust, how I access it and a bunch of things I should care about but don’t. My mother took the time to sit down and write to me before she died. My hand is shaking and my eyes struggle to focus through the tears building in them. I clutch the letter to my chest, covering it with both hands, and stare up at the ceiling, willing away the emotion.

Mr. Phillips standing up beside me startles me back into the moment. We say pleasant goodbyes and I run up to my old childhood room, eager to be alone with my letter. I perch on the edge of the bed, wipe the stray tears out of my eyes and take a deep, calming breath. The anticipation of what my mother could have wanted to say to me before she died is causing my heart to race. I push down the nerves and peel open the back of the plain white envelope, being careful not to tear it. I pull out the single sheet of plain white paper folded into thirds and set the envelope down next to me on the bed. Opening the letter, I stare down at the beautiful, curling letters my mother’s hand formed for me so many years ago. My heart sings and my chest is full. I read slowly, savoring every word because they are the last I will ever have from her.