That's What She Said

It's my daughter's 18th birthday. We are blessed to mention she is the princess who brought light into our lives. We aren't inviting any of our family and friends, it is often us three. Though she was grown up into a beautiful and kind woman. She will always be my little baby. But there's more thereto. She might leave for university, and then I and my husband will have to spend the rest of our lives together without her. There'll be a void which no one can replace. I remember the First time I held her; she was tiny and smiling at me, or a minimum of I thought she did. We asked our daughter what she needed for her birthday. Mostly it will be something materialistic, but this time she surprised us by asking for permission to join university in abroad. I'm too shocked to say anything, as I've never been away from my daughter, not even for an evening. One thing I do know about my daughter for sure, she is extremely adamant, and she is not going to back down from her decision. At the top of the day, everything that matters are how happy she is. I was getting ready to pick up some groceries so I can prepare her favorite meal on her birthday. I opened the lock to urge some cash and left.

Once I came back home, I saw her lying on the ground and weeping. I checked out the open lock; she saw everything, and now she knows everything. That secret I do not want to say to her until I die—the secret for which I disconnected my family and friends—it's all gone. What is she going to do? Leave me. I'm not prepared for this, and I will never be. Did I betray her? Will she forgive me? I gathered myself to talk to her. Before I opened my mouth, she said she didn't want to go abroad; she wanted to be with us and take up day college. I'm too stunned to speak. She went on to mention that no one could have given her a better life than I and her father did. She said I'm glad I had you both, and that we will always be together no matter what. I can see someone standing behind me; it's my husband. He was taking note of all this and was too shocked to speak. She said she loved me with all her heart and called her father for a family hug. My daughter was in between our hands, her head on our shoulder. I picked up the paper—the one that I've been protecting for years. The adoption certificate makes no sense anymore She is the daughter from my heart.