As you lay in your sterile hospital bed, surrounded by medical equipment and the scent of your own sick, a spark of hope flickered in your weary eyes as an unfamiliar figure stepped into the room, carrying a bouquet of vibrant flowers that promised a world beyond those sterile walls.

For a moment, the ethereal figure nearly deceived you as you mistook her for someone else through your tinted view. But it wasn't her.

“Excuse me, is this the right room?” the woman asked. “I’m looking for a Grace Magdelene.”

You barely nodded as your breath grew more laboured. “Yes…this is her.”

The woman greeted you with the bow of her head and carefully set the flowers in a vase on the stand next to you. She had gentle hands, careful with the plant as if it would rip open and bleed. “I got these for you, ma’am. I’ll put them here. I’m sure you’re too unwell to do it yourself.”

Now that she’d gotten closer and the light etched her face sun-kissed with freckles, you realized the true colour of the woman’s eyes. From afar, they seemed brown but there was no doubt that they were, in all actuality, a forest green. And her hair was gloriously gold, almost blinding you.

You tilted your head. “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”

“Perhaps you do. Perhaps you don’t,” she said. “It isn’t uncommon to cross those you’ve met before.”

As the golden-haired woman danced on her toes and glanced about, a moment of silence clung in the air. She looked up, pressing her lips together, and then she stuffed her hand into the pocket of her long, fur coat. She revealed a worn and frayed paper that appeared to be once white but was now covered in the fingerprints of time. But even as old as it seemed, it still looked preserved to the best of its ability as if it were clenching its last thread of hope.

She reached her hand out. “Someone had given these to me. I believe these belong to you.”

You stared at the paper with furrowed brows, an inextinguishable ignition starting inside of you as you attempted to decipher the unfamiliar yet familiar feeling suspended in the air. Oddly enough, hope kindled in the depths of your emerald eyes. Curiosity covered you like myrrh and its intoxicating scent weaved through your senses. Revelations that transcend beyond the flesh had fallen you, and though your eyes perceived the physical, your spirit discerned the intangible, the secrets whispered by the spirit of the Lord Himself.

You drew in a breath, taking in the faded ink before you. It was a letter. No, it was your letter.

Dear Theophania,

You may not know me, but I know you. January 13, 1898, I gave birth to you, my beautiful daughter. I cannot fathom nor explain what I felt the moment I held you in my arms. Even though you just entered the world, you’ve already begun to smile. Your smile is so beautiful. And so is your golden hair and your wonderous, forest, green eyes. It reminds me so much of your grandmother. I’ve spent so little time with you, yet I love you more than anything in this world. Never in my life did I think I’d be blessed tremendously and then you came out of nowhere, a beam of light in my darkness.

I’m writing this letter to you, Theophania, because my time with you is indeed short. No matter what you may think or what anyone tells you, know that I wanted to keep you, but I couldn’t. My circumstance is not one appropriate for any child. I have had sleepless nights where I’ve cried and prayed. As much as I don’t want to let you go, I believe the Lord will protect you, and one day, I’ll see you again. Until then, know that I’ve never forgotten you. I have to stop writing because I don’t have time. But, please, always know this:

I love you, My Dear Theophania.

Your shoulders trembled with the weight of your emotions; your heart reawakened with each word. Tears streamed down your face like delicate rivulets of sorrow, as your quivering lip struggled to contain the emotion cascaded from the depths of your soul.

You snuffled. “W-who gave you this?”

“My neighbour,” said the woman. “They found it in an abandoned house they bought and planned to fix. They were renovating and said they stumbled across it and, well, I’ve always had a thing for literature, so they showed me before throwing it away.”

You shook your head and smiled wryly. “These letters, they’re special to me. They were…for my daughter,” you wept bitterly. “Oh, my beautiful daughter! I really believed that I’d one day see her again!”

Heaving a sigh, you wiped your face clean. “I was so confident that my prayers would be answered,” you murmured, your voice laced with a mix of fragile hope and resignation. The weight of shattered hopes and dreams clung to your words.

“Though I suppose this is enough. After all, I lost this letter, and somehow, it’s found me. Perhaps to mock me. Perhaps I’ve done something wrong, and this is my judgment.”

You adverted your gaze to the woman before you. “You seem quite young, dear,” you said, your voice tinged with a sense of curiosity. “What’s your name?”

The woman’s smile blossomed, emitting a warmth that felt strangely familiar yet enigmatic. In that fleeting moment, a jolt of supernatural knowledge surged through your veins, lighting up the shadows of your mind like lighting and illuminating vaulted memories. It was at that moment that you realized who she resembled, that ethereal figure that you’d nearly mistaken her for when she was standing at the entrance. The fragmented pieces eerily aligned, and the truth whispered secrets into your awakened consciousness. Your flesh couldn’t perceive it, but your spirit knew something.

The woman brushed her palm against her cheek. “My name is Theophania. Theophania Magdalene.”