Chapter 12 - THE LAST LETTER FROM MARGARET
Winter arrived early in Chicago.
The lake turned gray.
The trees along Michigan Avenue lost their leaves.
And Loretta began the slow process of separating her life from Oliver's.
The divorce proceedings were contentious.
Oliver disputed the division of assets.
He challenged several financial disclosures.
He continued claiming that Loretta had humiliated him deliberately.
She had.
But the humiliation was not the source of his legal problems.
His actions were.
One evening, while reviewing old foundation archives, Loretta discovered another recording from her mother.
It was stored on a small digital recorder inside a box of correspondence.
The label read:
For Loretta — Foundation Anniversary.
Loretta pressed play.
Margaret's voice filled the study.
"Well, darling, if you're listening to this, I've either become sentimental or you've finally learned how to operate this ridiculous machine."
Loretta laughed through sudden tears.
Her mother continued.
"I wanted to tell you something I've never been particularly good at saying."
A pause.
"I'm proud of you."
Loretta covered her mouth.
"Not because of the foundation. Not because of the money. Not because you can walk into a room full of difficult people and make them behave."
Margaret laughed softly.
"I'm proud of you because you care about what happens after the applause."
Loretta closed her eyes.
The recording continued.
"People will always tell you what you should become. Some will want you smaller because your confidence makes them uncomfortable. Others will want you useful because your generosity makes their lives easier."
Margaret paused.
"Don't confuse being needed with being loved."
Loretta began crying.
For eleven years, she had confused the two.
Oliver needed her connections.
Her money.
Her mother's name.
Her access to the foundation.
And she had mistaken his dependence for devotion.
Margaret's voice softened.
"Find people who love you when you have nothing to offer them except yourself."
The recording ended.
Loretta sat in the quiet study.
Then she removed her mother's bracelet from its box.
For the first time since the funeral, she fastened it around her wrist.
The clasp clicked shut.
May you like
She looked at herself in the dark window.
And smiled.
