Thankfully, Marie hadn't moved any of the furniture in our old bedroom. We'd only lived there for a few months, but still I had no problem navigating from memory in the dark. I made my way to the desk on the other side of the room as quietly as I could and stripped off my shirt, hanging it over the shade of the desk lamp in hopes that Marie wouldn't notice the light creeping out under the doorway. I scavenged through the drawers for a pen and some paper, and sat down to write.

Dear Marie,


I know I should be telling you this in person, and I'm sorry for leaving it in a note like this. At the same time, though, I don't want to be any more of a disruption to you and Mr Dunsworth any more than I already have.

I just want to tell you that I'm really grateful to you for everything you've done for me and Holly over the years. I know, I'm not really the type to say "thank you" very often (that's usually Holly's job, right?) but I hope you know it's not because I'm not thankful. I am, really, it's just that I have a hard time showing my appreciation, even though I don't know why. Still, this is one of those times when I just have to stop THINKING and just SAY. So, thank you.

There's something I've wanted to say to you for a long time now, and I even tried to once. I stopped myself, because Holly was with us, and I didn't know how she would have reacted. But now, I have a chance to say it, so here it is: through all this time, you've been like a mother to me. Not the mother I was born to, who's rotting away in a hospital but right now, but the mother that she never got to bed. You loved us (unconditionally, as far as I can tell, and certainly more than I've deserved), when no one else wanted to take a chance on us, and I love you for that. I'm only sorry that I haven't had enough chances to show you that.

I know there's no way I can really pay you back for everything you've done for me ... and I know you well enough by now to know that if I told you that, you'd just laugh and wave your hand around and tell me there's nothing to pay back. I know you love me, and I know you don't expect anything in return for the love you give. The funny thing is, that only makes me feel worse about it. But I don't know, maybe that's just me.

Anyway, my point is, I love you, too. And I want you to be happy. I'm writing you this note because I know you'd never accept this if I told you face to face, but I think maybe you'd be a lot happier if you didn't need to worry about me and Holly. I heard you arguing with Mr Dunsworth tonight (or last night, depending on when you read this) and I know you tried to defend us, but he has a point. We shouldn't have to be your responsibility. Our (birth) mother isn't dead, she's in a coma. And until she wakes up, we do have a foster family. I guess I don't know them REALLY well yet, but they seem like they're really nice, and they're trying really hard to be like a real family for us.

I'm not trying to say that you're not like family to me ... you ARE family, my REAL family, and besides Holly, you're really my only family. I love you tons, and I know you love me (and if we were talking to each other right now, we'd be arguing over who loves who more), but I know that you love Mr Dunsworth, too, and I don't want to ruin that for you. You deserve to be happy more than anyone I know, but you should have that happiness with your husband, the man you loved enough to spend the rest of your life with, not some broken down little girls you met while you were reading stories to sick kids in the hospital. You deserve better than us.

When you find this letter, you don't need to worry about me. I know better than to walk all the way across town in the middle of the night, and I called a taxi to take me home (you were right about me always having emergency money). And don't worry about me and Holly, we'll get everything figured out between us, and we'll be okay. Just ... give Mr Dunsworth another chance. I know he said some things that you don't want to forgive, but he only said them because he loves you, too.

I know you're still going to have to visit Susan and Jerry's house (and I'm looking forward to it already), but I'm going to try and stay out of yours and Mr Dunsworth's hair for a little while.

I love you, "Mom."

Love,
Hannah.

There were too many tears to wipe away; my cheeks had turned into lakes, and the bits of shirt I pulled away from the lamp and the paper I was writing on were soaked through. Still, I pushed through the tears, folding the letter carefully, and writing Marie's name in big letters on the outside of it. I just had enough time to set it on my pillow before the taxi pulled up to the curb outside, and I moved as quickly as I could to turn out the lamp, put my shirt back on, and climb out the window to the fire escape.

The driver gave me an incredulous look when I got in the taxi. "Hey, I'm not aiding and abetting a crime or anything, am I?"

I tried to laugh, but it came out wrong. "No, don't worry," I said, scrubbing at my eyes with my sleeves and trying to smile through it. "I don't live here. I was supposed to stay the night, but I just want to go home, now. Nineteen-twelve Bishop Avenue?"

The cabbie shrugged his shoulders. "You're the boss, kid." The taxi ride was calm, in a way. Besides my first night at the Petersons', I don't think I'd ever been outside this late at night, but I decided I liked it. The streets were nearly empty, and all the lights peaking out in the darkness had a kind of beauty all their own. I watched the buildings whir by through the window, and I felt like I didn't just live in the city any more, but I was a part of it.

Unfortunately, the feeling was short-lived. It wasn't long before the car pulled up in front of Susan and Jerry's, and I paid the taxi driver and hopped out. I hadn't noticed before -- I was too busy ejecting brain matter through my tear ducts -- but the night was chilly, even in my windbreaker, and I jogged my way to the front door and its promise of warmth.

Thankfully, the house was quiet, and everyone seemed to be asleep. I tiptoed up the stairs and into Holly's and my bedroom, and crawled into bed as quietly as I could.

"Hannah? Is that you?" Holly sat up and turned on her bedside lamp.

"Hey," I said, trying my hardest to smile. "I thought you were asleep."

"I couldn't sleep. I've been laying awake for more than an hour now. I thought you were staying at Marie's house tonight?"

I shrugged. "I changed my mind."

Holly nodded. She stared at me for a long moment, and something in her eyes made my stomach quiver and my heart skip a beat. After a eternity went by, she said, "Are we going to talk about this?"

"Eventually," I said. "Can we talk in the morning, though?"

Holly nodded again, and I rolled over onto my pillows as she turned out her lamp. A moment later, I heard the rustle of sheets, and footsteps. "Can I come in there with you?"

"Of course," I said. I scooted to the other side of the bed to make room; the mattress lurched as she climbed in. I tried to sleep, but I felt her hand reach out from behind me and tug my sleeve. I smiled a little and rolled over, wrapped my arm around Holly's waist and pulled her close to me.

"Promise we'll talk tomorrow?" she asked.

I nodded, touched my lips to her forehead. "Tomorrow," I promised.