As my only legacy, I ask this of you. I ask that you keep this letter safe, tucked away in the confines of your bedside drawer until you are old enough to understand what I am about to express. Do not open it, until you come of age.
Ava. You are my only treasure. My only daughter. My only child.
An inquisitive little girl who will one day develop yourself, both physically and emotionally, into a beautiful, studious young woman with a keen thirst for adventure and knowledge. My intentions were to teach you young, Ava, to teach you how to read and write - your most basic skills in the process of unearthing your own creativity and vitality. You were born in the comfort of your original family home, long before your second family prised you away.
On a humid Summer's eve, beside the fiery blaze of a setting sun and bathed in the kindness of flickering candles, your cries intermingled with my own, wrapping your small, delicate body into a cocoon of crocheted blanket. I gave birth to you alone, for your father did not want to see your reddened, tear-soaked face and he refrained from allowing me to have a midwife at my side. I cut your cord myself and held you to my clammy chest, glancing down into mossy green eyes which reflected my own so similarly. Your cries in response to the brightness of the light and the coolness of the air dimmed to simple sweet coos, eventually lulling yourself to sleep with the rhythm of my heartbeat, your head resting against my sweat-strewn skin.
I kissed you a thousand times before I let you go.
You were barely a year old before you were taken from me. Only now will you understand that I would never bring you to harm. And though, despite the man who aided in your dismissal was indeed your father, he was never the fathering sort. And for your own sake, I am glad that you cannot seek him out now.
You remember our time together, don't you? During the short periods I could see you: chasing each other in the fields, laying strewn across grassy terrain and observing unusual shapes in the clouds as they lazily floated across the sky. Reading in the morning, daisy-chains in the afternoon. Your dark hair braided into two waist-length plaits, your shoes scuffed and your face distraught because of this. The enjoyment you expressed as you thrashed around in the bubbles of the wooden tub, clapping your hands together to spray the water in my direction as you sat between my thighs, allowing me to check again that you had washed behind your ears. How'd you whine and complain when I brushed through your hair, tackling the knots with determination and chuckling when you'd shake your head away from me in protest.
The sight of your unamused pout every time I'd bid you a goodbye, knelt upon the ground to match your height and ushering you away to your second mother and father. But not before I had squeezed you tight, holding you as if the world could shatter around us without batting an eyelid in response, protective of the precious gem you were. I let you run back to your other mother after I stole your nose, watching her scoop you up into her arms. The way you were grew swiftly accustomed to her much more familiar presence made my smile falter and my spirit decline.
My heart gained a new crack every time you waved at me from over the shoulder of your second mother, cheeks rosy and nose dappled in a thousand freckles. How I'd kiss my fingers and silently hold out my hand for you. For the rest of my days, I'll remember that yours was the hardest farewell.
And the gentlest hello.
