Dear Gracie girl,

   Since you're reading this, I must be gone. Whether that be dead gone, or just away gone, it doesn't matter. I'm not there. Kind of like the old note; 'I was here, but you were gone. Now you are here, and I am gone.'
   By now you've been told one of my biggest secrets. There are so many secrets to tell really, but you know the main one now. Zoë is my daughter, and shortly you will find out who the father is as well. No, it is not Mr. Walker either. I was weird and messed up, but not that badly.
   Before we met up (you remember the time when we did, right?) I was in a hospital for a while recovering. From what, you're wondering. Manic-depressive, bipolar, and drug and alcohol addiction.
   Suffice it to say after one of my foster fathers took too much interest in me, I sort of lost it. Life was already so hard enough and that is what broke me. I managed to win a major lawsuit from him and his family, other foster children stepped forward and we were able to file suit.
   For a while I was being the cliched trailer trash and I managed to get myself pregnant. I knew that though I had money, I could not raise my child. Especially not alone, no job or career, and especially with no educational background. I had nothing and knew that I needed to put her up for adoption.
   You will learn all about that later on, but for now, I wanted to let you know, I gave you control of Cassidy's account simply because I knew you'd love her as much as I do. I don't want her to know about me yet, probably not until she's twenty-one because I know she is loved, and that her life should not be so harshly disrupted now, or while she's going through the hardship of pre-teen and teenage years.
   You were my best and dearest friend; you never took what I couldn't give. Didn't ask for more than what I have, and I knew I had to give you the greatest part of myself, a part of my daughter.
   Take care, my friend.

Sincerely,
     Emma Jacqueline Riley

   Seeing the ink run in sporadic places, Grace wiped at her swimming eyes. Searching for the Kleenex box on her nightstand, she blew her reddened nose and dabbed at her now red-rimmed and puffy eyes. She could already see the splotches appearing on her face from the mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door.
   Crying was always messy.
   Carefully folding up her letter and stuffing it gently back in the envelope she thought wildly over the turn of events. And shuddered at the knowledge that there was still more to come.
   Pulling her pillow out from under her comforter, she folded it, curled up on her side and laid on it.
   Emotionally exhausted, she closed her eyes and fell asleep shortly after with the mental images of Emma and Zoë burning in her mind.