Losing Hope

out what happened to me. She was afraid of what it would do to you. We both saw how much you blamed yourself for what happened to Hope and she didn’t want to see you hurt any more.
    I didn’t want to see that, either.
    Now comes the most difficult part of this letter. This is so hard for me to say, because I’ve held so much guilt over it. Every day that I saw the pain in your eyes, I knew that if I just confessed to you what I’m about to tell you, it would have relieved you of so much agony.
    But I couldn’t. I couldn’t find a way to tell you that Hope was alive. That she was okay and that Mom and I saw her once, about three years ago.
    I was fourteen and we were eating at a restaurant, just Mom and me. I was taking a drink when I looked up and saw her walking through the door.
    I turned to Mom and I know I had to be as pale as a ghost, because she reached across the table and grabbed my hand.
    “Lesslie, what’s wrong, sweetie?”
    I couldn’t talk. All I could do was stare at Hope. Mom turned around and the second she laid eyes on her, she knew it was her. We were both stunned silent.
    The waitress led them to a table right next to ours. Mom and I were both just sitting there, staring at her. Hope glanced at me when she took her seat, then looked away like she didn’t even recognize me. It broke my heart that she didn’t recognize me. I think I started crying at that point. I was just so emotionally overwhelmed and I didn’t know what to do. I fingered the bracelet on my wrist and whispered her name, just to see if she would hear me and turn around again.
    She didn’t hear me, but the woman who was with her did. She darted her head in our direction with sheer panic in her eyes. It confused me. It confused Mom.
    The woman looked at Hope. “I think I left the stove on,” she said, standing up. “We need to leave.” Hope looked confused, but she stood up, too. Her mother ushered her toward the exit to the restaurant. That’s when Mom stood up and rushed after them. I did, too.
    When we were all outside, the woman rushed Hope to the car, then immediately shut her door. Mom and I walked up behind her and as soon as the woman turned around and faced Mom, tears welled in her eyes.
    “Please,” the woman begged. She didn’t say anything after that. Mom stared at her for a while without saying anything in return. I just stood there, trying to understand what was happening.
    “Why did you take her?” Mom finally asked her.
    The woman began to cry and she kept shaking her head. “Please,” she cried. “She can’t go back to him. Please don’t do that to her. Please, please, please.”
    My mother nodded. She stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Don’t worry,” Mom said. “Don’t worry.” Mom glanced at me and tears filled her eyes, then she glanced back to the woman. “I would do whatever it took to keep my daughter safe, too.”
    The woman looked at Mom in confusion. I know she didn’t understand exactly just how much Mom knew, but she understood Mom’s honesty. She tilted her head and exhaled. “Thank you,” she said, backing away from us. “Thank you.” She opened her door and climbed into her car, then they drove away.
    I don’t know where she lives. We never found out the woman’s name and we never found out the name Hope goes by now. I also stopped wearing the bracelet after that day because I knew in my heart that she didn’t need to be found. But I needed you to know, Holder. I just need you to know that she’s alive and she’s okay and you walking away from her that day was the best thing you could have done for her.
    As far as me, well . . . I’m a lost cause. I’ve spent the last eight or so years existing in this constant nightmare and I’m just tired. The therapy and medication help numb the pain, but it’s the numbness I don’t want to endure, Holder. That’s why I plan to do what I need to do, and that’s what led to your reading this letter. I’m tired and exhausted and sick of living a life that I don’t really want to live anymore. I’m tired of pretending to be happy for you, because I’m not happy. Every single time I smile, I feel like I’m lying to you, but I don’t know how to live any other way. And I know when I do it, it’ll break your heart. I know it’ll devastate Mom and Dad. And I know that you’ll hate me.
    But knowing all of that can’t change my mind. I’ve lost the ability to care