After her mother’s funeral, Anna went to the hospital to collect her belongings: when the nurse handed her the clothes of the deceased mother, a note suddenly fell out of the pocket of the robe 
Anna unfolded the paper, immediately recognized her mother’s handwriting, and after reading what was written, was seized by real horror 
After the funeral, Anna returned to the hospital once again to pick up her mother’s things. She had put off this moment until the very last, but she understood that she could delay it no longer. Five days had passed since her mother was buried, yet the feeling that everything had happened just moments ago never left her. There was a constant heaviness in her chest, breathing was difficult, and her thoughts were tangled.
Anna stood in the corridor of the city hospital, clutching a simple plastic bag to her chest. Inside it was everything that remained of her mother after the long months of treatment. To outsiders, they were just belongings; to her, they were an entire life.
The nurse from the oncology department, a heavyset woman with tired eyes, looked at Anna with sincere compassion and quietly said that there was still a robe and a pair of house slippers left in the bedside table. She added that Anna’s mother had been very patient and kind, and that everyone who had worked with her and cared for her had grown fond of her.
Anna nodded silently. She was afraid to speak, because any word could have turned into tears. Not long ago, her mother had been right there — joking, trying to support her, making plans for the future and saying that everything would be fine. But the discharge never came.
At home, Anna placed the bag on the kitchen table and stood there for a long time simply staring at it. She could not bring herself to untie the knot, because she knew that once she did, there would be no turning back. The things smelled of her mother, of her home, of her life.
Gathering her strength, Anna began carefully taking the contents out of the bag. The favorite blue robe, the embroidered slippers, the book of poems her mother had reread during her final weeks. Everything was in its place, just as she liked it.
When Anna lifted the robe to fold it back up, a sheet of paper folded into quarters suddenly fell out of the chest pocket. It seemed strange, because her mother had always been neat and never left anything in her pockets.
Anna slowly unfolded the note. The handwriting was familiar and dear, making her heart tighten at once. She began to read — and in that very moment, she froze at what was written on the paper Continued in the first comment 
Anna read the note, and with each line her fingers grew numb.
“If you are holding this letter in your hands, it means I never managed to tell you the truth while I was alive. Every day I prepared myself, every day I told myself I would tell you tomorrow, but I was always afraid of losing you.”
Anna sank onto a chair, continuing to read, feeling her heart pounding somewhere in her throat.
“You were not born from me, but from the very first day you became my daughter. I did not choose you by chance or out of duty. I chose you with my heart. I held you in my arms and realized that without you I would no longer be able to breathe.”
The letters blurred before her eyes, but Anna forced herself not to stop.
“I was afraid that the truth would hurt you, and so I stayed silent. But know this: no day in my life was more important than the days I spent by your side. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”
At the end of the letter, the mother seemed to sense that Anna would not be able to hold back her tears.
“If it feels to you now that you are alone, that is not true. I have always been your mother and I always will be. Not by blood, but by love. And if I were given the chance to choose once again, I would choose you again.”
Anna pressed the note to her chest and, for the first time since the funeral, allowed herself to cry. Now she understood that she had lost her mother, but had never lost the love she carried with her throughout her life.
