Days turned into weeks, yet the guilt refused to loosen its grip. Back at university, surrounded by peers who admired my intelligence and ambition, I felt hollow. Every achievement seemed tainted. Every accolade rested upon her sacrifice.
I began visiting her grave often. I spoke to her as though she could hear me. I told her about my classes, about the professors I admired, about the struggles I faced. I confessed my regrets. I begged for forgiveness—even though, deep down, I knew forgiveness was something she had already granted me in silence.
One evening, my aunt handed me a worn envelope.
“She wanted you to have this,” she said quietly.
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