Yesterday I mentioned a note I found on my desk five years ago that came back to me via Genevieve's toy basket. Today, G was sitting on my lap drawing pictures in a little notebook that was unearthed from the trunk that my childhood doll and her things were stored in. I glanced down as she was flipping through the pages and found this. A note in neat print from my pre-teen self:
Hello daughter,
You are in my imagination now. Your father is unknown, or maybe I already know him. I like loving someone who doesn't even exist. I'm cleaning this trunk out and making it neat. I will have it ready for you.
Andrea
It gave me goosebumps to read it, and embarrassed me just a little.
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