My breath caught in my throat as I read that first line again.

“For 20 years, I watched you adapt, grow stronger, build a life despite everything. You became more resilient than I ever imagined. And every single day, I carried the guilt of what I took from you—the chance to try.”

I pressed the letter to my chest, sobbing now.

“I don’t know if it’s too late. I don’t know what’s possible anymore. But I’ve left everything you need in the folder in my desk—medical records, specialist contacts, everything I should have given you years ago.”

My heart pounded louder with every word.

“You may hate me for this. I wouldn’t blame you. But please know this: every decision I made, right or wrong, came from loving you more than anything in this world.”

My vision blurred again as I read the final lines.

“You were never a burden. You were my purpose. My daughter in every way that mattered. And if there’s even the smallest chance you can stand again… I need you to take it.”

“I’m so sorry, Hannah.”

“I love you.”