But I remembered what it was like to be tired.
To be overwhelmed.
To stand in a store holding a $5 one-piece jumpsuit and wondering if you could afford it.
So I sealed the box.
The shipping was paid.
And I sent it out into the worldâwithout any expectations.
Only hope.
đ Months passed. I almost forgot.
Life went on.
My daughter grew up.
The box faded into memory.
A quiet part of me wondered:
Did she get these?
Was that even true?
But I told myself:
Even if not, these clothes are with someone now. Maybe they provided warmth. Maybe they provided comfort.
And that was enough.
Thenâalmost a year laterâthe doorbell rang.
No note.
No tracking number.
A small package arrived at my door.
I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
And photos.
A girlâradiant, smiling, twirlingâwearing the same dress I’d folded myself.
Her mother wrote:
