She was haunted by ghosts that didn’t exist. Her head struggled with words that couldn’t be written, while her heart longed to speak what couldn’t be spoken.
It had been years since she’d seen Mabel. The last time was at a family picnic when Mabel was just twelve years old. The picnic had been pleasant enough. That is, until Mabel’s parents expressly told her she was not to speak to her Godmother.
Reflecting back, I never understood why. Had I said or done something wrong?
As the years passed I tried to find out what could possibly have created the rift between me and Mabel’s parents. But to this day, I just don’t know.
I’ve written a postcard to Mabel on her birthday every year since then.
Each one has remained unanswered.
I hope one day to hear from her.
Until then, I write for the ninth time: To Mabel, from your Godmother.
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