Page 88 of I’d Be Honored

Far across the distance

And spaces between us

You have come to show you go on.”

Maddie sank into the cushions, feeling sucker punched. Of all the songs in the world that could have played in that moment, right when she was just beginning to stand on her own two feet again, it had to be this one.

Titanic was one of the few movies that she and Hayley both loved, one of the rare places where their tastes had actually aligned. They had belted it out together at the top of their lungs on the drive to the Hamptons, alternating choruses and laughing between breaths. Hayley had told her then that Céline Dion had been her mother’s favorite artist, a voice she still listened to whenever she wanted to feel close to her.

Maddie closed her eyes, letting the memory envelop her. She could hear Hayley’s voice now, rising over the music. She could smell the salty ocean air, sweeping over her like a ghost’s touch. She could feel the way Hayley’s fingers entwined with her own, and the soft brush of Hayley’s lips against her knuckles, just as the song faded.

Maddie’s eyes snapped open. She forced the vision of the Hamptons from her mind and skipped to the next song. She may have left New York behind her, but it was obvious she couldn’t say the same about Hayley—not yet, at least. Cured or not, Maddie didn’t want to spend another minute wallowing in her own misery.

She steadied herself with a deep breath and made a silent, private vow to finish the night without a single tear. It wasn’t much—a small victory—but for the first time, a bitter trace of hope lingered on her tongue. For now, that would be enough.

TWENTY-FIVE

HAYLEY SAT IN HER APARTMENT ALONE with her mother’s faded letters, her hands trembling. The moment she’d found them, the truth of Hayley’s loss had risen up and swallowed her all over again. The knot in her chest only tightened as she stared at the familiar script, unable to bring herself to break the envelopes’ seals. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face her mother’s voice again, laid out in ink as it was. Tearing them open now, after all these years, felt like exposing an old wound, one she feared she might not be able to heal from a second time.

The city outside lay silent in the dead of night. A single lamp in the corner cast a soft, lonely glow over her living room. Hayley’s thoughts spun with mounting anxiety as she delicately unfolded the first letter. The parchment in her hands felt impossibly fragile, as if her mother had left behind one final whisper for her to hold.

September 13, 1993

My Darling Hayley,

I’m so glad you’re finally here.

I wish I had the words to describe what I felt this morning when the doctor placed you in my arms for the very first time. It was like holding my own heart outside my body, terrifying and exhilarating all at once. I hope you are blessed enough one day to hold a child of your own. Only then, I think, would you understand how deep my love for you already goes.

I hope this letter is the first of many, so that one day you might look back over the years of your life and see them through my eyes. Since you have only been in this world with us for a handful of hours, this one will be brief.

You’re sleeping soundly beside me now, peaceful and warm, your tiny toes already running in your dreams. I keep waiting for you to open those bold, bright eyes again, to let loose your powerful little voice and wake up the whole hospital.

The truth, Hayley, is this—you are perfect. You, my fierce, precious babygirl, are a storm gathering strength, a force that will move mountains. I saw the fire in your eyes from your very first breath.

You’re stirring now, and I find myself reaching for you. So I will end my first letter with this…

I love you so much, my beautiful daughter. You and your brother will forever be my greatest treasures, my entire universe.

All my love,

Mom

Hayley’s limbs felt heavy, as if she had turned to stone. She couldn’t manage to lift her hands or wipe the tears that now dotted the page. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to feel the sharp, jagged edge of the hole her mom had left behind. She tried not to collapse under the crushing weight of an entire life spent balancing grief with survival. She had clung instead to only the soft, golden details—her mom’s beauty, her voice, her gentle touch—fearing that if she indulged in the sadness too much, it would wash out all the joy.

Now, after only one letter, all of Hayley’s scars had reopened. It hurt in a way she could barely breathe through, but there was no stopping now. She had to keep going.

September 13, 1994

My Darling Hayley,

How are you already one?

This letter listed Hayley’s early milestones. Her mother wrote about them in a way that made even the smallest accomplishments sound outlandishly impressive. Every tiny victory had been celebrated with the gusto of the Olympic Games.

Hayley traced the ink with her finger as she read about the day she’d learned to clap her hands, her first perfect utterance of the word “mama,” and the quiet afternoon when she had wobbled her way through her first steps. An entire page had been dedicated to a story about a trip to a grocery store with her older brother. Apparently, Jonathan, only a toddler at the time, had gotten a little overprotective when a stranger got too close to Hayley’s stroller, letting out a bloodcurdling war cry that had alerted every person in the store. The “stranger” had turned out to be their dad, the first—and only—time he ever shaved his mustache. Reading it, Hayley could almost hear her mom’s faint, warm laughter echoing through the room.

Each year brought a new installment, every letter filled with new firsts—her first friend, her first lost tooth, each first day of school. She collected the memories like pieces of a past she had misplaced, laughing and crying alongside her mother. Just as her dad had said, there was a letter for every year of Hayley’s life without fail, right up until her fifteenth birthday.