My 47th birthday was a quiet echo of the past. Three plates were on the table, with one seat left untouched for my daughter, Karen—a silent ritual I’d kept since our falling out two years before. I still set a place for her, clinging to the fragile hope that the gesture might one day bring her home.
That evening, as I whispered a wish into the stillness, I had no idea the answer was already waiting, hidden in a forgotten drawer. While cleaning up, I discovered a birthday card I had never seen. It was from Karen, filled with heartfelt apologies and love, and it included her address in Canada. My hands trembled as I read her words. She hadn’t abandoned me—the message had simply never reached me. For the first time in years, a warm, living hope stirred inside me.
The next morning, I told my husband, Brad, that I had to find her. We went to see my ex-husband, Nigel, who confessed with visible regret that he had misplaced the card and forgotten to give it to me. Though the truth stung, Karen’s words gave me strength. She had wanted to reconnect, and I refused to let another moment be lost. That same evening, I packed my bag and set out to bridge the distance time had built.
When I finally reached her doorstep, the door opened before I could even knock. There she stood—older, more poised, yet unmistakably my little girl. Without a word, she rushed into my arms, and in that embrace, the lonely years dissolved. That day, I didn’t just reunite with my daughter; I rediscovered forgiveness, love, and the missing piece of my heart.
