On my 47th birthday, I set the table for three—one seat left quietly waiting.
Two years had passed since my daughter, Karen, stopped speaking to me.
Every year, I still placed her plate at the table, holding on to a little hope. My husband, Brad, noticed but didn’t say much.
That night, I wished for one thing—to see my daughter again.
After dinner, I found an old card tucked inside a drawer. It was a birthday card from
Karen that I had never received. My hands trembled as I read her words—apologies
, love, and an address in Canada. She hadn’t abandoned me; the card had simply never reached me
. For the first time in years, I felt a spark of hope.
The next morning, I told Brad I needed to see her. Together, we visited my ex-husband,
Nigel, who admitted he had forgotten to give me the card
. My heart sank, but the message
inside gave me strength. Karen had written that she missed me and wanted me to visit
. I packed my bag that night, ready to make things right.
When I arrived at her home, the door opened before I could knock.
There she was—older, beautiful, and still my little girl
. Without a word, she ran into my arms
, and I held her close, feeling the years of distance melt away.
That day, I didn’t just find my daughter again
I found forgiveness, love, and a piece of myself I thought was gone.