She walked in slowly, her hands shoved deep in her hoodie pockets. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“I’m 18 now.”
“I know,” I said, smiling. “Old enough to vote. To buy lottery tickets. To legally ignore my advice.”
She didn’t smile.
“I got access to the money this week. From my mom, Lila. The insurance payout. Her savings account. Everything she left me.”
My heart raced. We’d never really talked about Lila’s money. I’d set up a trust when I adopted Miranda, made sure every penny went untouched until she was old enough to decide what to do with it. I’d even told her about it right from the start.
“That’s good,” I managed. “That’s your money, sweetheart. You can do whatever you want with it.”
She finally looked at me. Her eyes were bright, almost feverish.
“I know what I want to do with it.”
“Okay.”
She took a shaky breath. “You need to pack your things.”
The room tilted. The words bounced around in my head without landing anywhere.
“What?”
“You need to pack your things! I’m serious.”
I stood up. My legs felt weak. “Miranda, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I’m legally an adult. I can make my own decisions now.”
“Yes, of course you can, but…”
“So I’m making one.” Her voice was trembling but determined. “You need to pack your things. Soon.”
Every fear I’d carried since childhood came rushing back at once: the certainty that love was temporary, that people leave, that I’d always been one mistake away from losing everything.
“You want me to leave?” My voice cracked.
“Yes. No. I mean…” She fumbled with something in her pocket. “Just read this first.”
She pulled out an envelope. Her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped it.
I took it because I didn’t know what else to do. I opened it and pulled out a letter written in Miranda’s messy handwriting:
“Mom,
I’ve been planning this for six months. Since the day I realized I’d spent 13 years watching you give up everything for me.
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