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After a week of searching through community pages, obituaries, and social media groups, I found her: Anna Collins, late thirties, living just across town.
“Anna?” I asked softly.
She hesitated. “Who’s asking?”
Her breath caught. She took the paper in shaking hands and sank against the doorframe. “I wrote this when I thought I couldn’t keep living,” she whispered.
Without thinking, I reached for her hand. “But you did. You’re still here. And that matters.”
Two Mothers, One Healing
We became friends.