As long as I remembered my neighbor Rebecca was a constant in my life.
The second woman who always had fresh cookies for children of the neighborhood, the one who watched us when we played on the street, and the silent protector who seemed to need anything in return.
But there was something about Rebection – the quiet intensity of her presence – which always left me with questions. Her life looked too perfect, too tucked in her own small world. And yet, behind every act of kindness, there was a secret, an unspoken story that I could never quite fit my finger.
My neighbor, Rebecca, has always been constant in my life. She was a kind, caring woman who baked cookies for every child in the neighborhood and became a character like a family, even though she had never married or had her own children. I made sure she would take care of her – I covered with food, kept her lawn tidy, and simply spent time with her when she needed society.
A few months ago I began to notice Rebecca, which grows fragile and weaker.
“Rebecca, you have to see a doctor,” I urged one evening when we were preparing dinner together.
“Oh, gold, it’s just the age that was catching up,” she said. In the end, however, she agreed to see a doctor and the diagnosis was devastating: terminal tumor and only weeks to live.
The news hit hard.
One Saturday morning, when I water my garden, my phone rang. It was Rebecca. Her voice was weak, almost whisper.
“Maggie … Please come.
When I arrived, she lay in bed and her health was getting worse. “Rebecca, I’m here,” I said, sitting next to her, holding her cold hands. “What do you need? Do you want me to call someone?”
She shook her head. “No, dear. I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything,” I promised.
She showed her fingers on the bedside table. “Open the drawer … remove the wooden box,” she ordered.
I watched her words and opened a box with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. What I found out took my breath – a small bracelet from the hospital, yellowed with age, a kind that put on the newborn. I involved the edge of the Rebecca bed for support.
“What … what is it, Rebecca?” I could hardly talk.
She exhaled weakly. “Read a letter, sweetheart.”
When I started reading, he filled my tears, my voice resists every word.
“My most expensive Maggie,
If you read it, then I came to me to share my deepest secrets, the one I held for many years close to my heart. I know that this revelation can shock and hurt you, but I hope you understand the love that led to this decision.
Years ago, when I was young and myself, pregnant with a child and without means to provide the future, I chose the hardest choice of my life. I was frightened, but I decided that my love for you, my only daughter, leads me to make the right decision. ”
I stopped, impressed by the word “daughter”. I looked at Rebecca, her eyes filled with intensity, love and something else I couldn’t quite understand.
“Your Parents, The Wonderful People You’V Known All Your Life, Were Unable to Have Children of Their Own. They Longed to Share Their Lives With and Child. When I APPROACHED THEY With My Proposal Agreed, Promising to Give You The Life I Couldn’t, Full of Opportunities and Love.
When I read, my mind raced with memories, some of the unclear and others alive, but now they are starting to combine a new reality.
“When my time is approaching my end, I want you to know the truth, understand where you come from, and that you were loved out of both sides of the door that divided our homes. Forgive me to keep this secret
Rebecca’s words broke me. The letter slipped out of my hand and shake on the floor. She was more than a neighbor; She was a guardian, a constant source of care and a quiet observer.
I looked at Rebecca, tears ran down my face and tried to work it all. “Was you my mom?” I whispered and my heart hurts me with a mixture of distrust and understanding.
Her eyes glittered with tears. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but I was afraid that you hated me, that you gave up to you, to keep this secret.”
“I hate you,” I suffocated. “Just … I wish I knew it before. We could have had …”
She smiled weakly and her voice barely over whisper. “I’ve always loved you, Maggie. Since I held you for the first time.”
“I also love you,” I whispered, holding her fragile hands tightly.
Later that evening, I sat with my parents in the living room, the same place I played as a child, while Rebecca watched me out the window.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked quietly.
“Rebecca promised us,” my mom said quietly. “She wanted you to have a normal childhood, without confusion. She loved you more than you could know, Maggie. She wanted you to have everything – a stable home, devoted parents and her alert love from next door.”
“Sometimes she would come after he went to sleep just to check you,” my dad added. “She never wanted to intervene, never wanted to complicate your life, but she never stopped loving you.”
In the weeks following Rebecca, I tried to understand everything. But then I had a deep realization.
I had two mothers who loved me all my life – one who gave me life and the one who gave me home. And even though I wanted me to know the truth earlier, now I understood that Rebecca had never really left me.
She was with me all the time.
In the end, Rebecca’s mystery was not only motherhood, but unconditional love, sacrifice and non -generality. Her decision to let me go and entrust me with life filled with love and stability was the greatest act of love I’ve ever imagined. Although the truth came too late, it changed it all for me. I realized that I was loved all the time from two different places by two incredible women who shaped my life in different but equally meaningful ways.
Rebecca has left the emptiness, but I was also left by the inheritance of love and a deeper understanding of the importance of the family, although it is not traditional or expected. I will forever be wearing her love in my heart and I am grateful for the life that helped me build, how for a mother who raised me and who watched me quietly. It is a beautiful reminder that love does not always follow the conventional path, but it is no less real, no less strong.