She turns 18 today. My former foster daughter—my girl for a year that changed me in ways I’m still discovering. She came to me right before Christmas at 14, and what was supposed to be temporary became something real. She walked into my home and somehow into my heart at the same time.
Life didn’t unfold the way I wish it had. Letting her go is the regret that still sits with me, quietly but constantly. I think about her every day, but today the weight of it feels different.
I hope she’s safe. I hope she’s loved. I hope she’s becoming exactly who she wants to be. And I hope, someday, I hear how she’s doing—or maybe even hear from her.
If she ever sees these words: I’m sorry. I love you. You mattered then, and you matter now.
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