My mom left me for another man when I was 11. My dad raised me. Last week, out of the blue, she called and said she was dying. She asked, “It’d mean a lot if I could stay in the home I raised you in.”

I said no.

Yesterday, the police showed up at my door and told me… my mom had passed away the night before. I froze. My chest tightened as guilt hit me like a truck. The officer handed me a sealed envelope and said, “She asked us to give this to you.”

With trembling hands, I opened it. Inside was a letter in her handwriting:

“My sweet child, I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. I left because I was foolish and selfish, but I never stopped loving you. Every birthday, every milestone, I thought of you. I just wanted to see the home where you laughed, where I once held you, one last time. If you said no, I understand. Please know, I am proud of you. I’ve always been proud.”

Tears blurred my vision as I flipped the page. Behind it was a property deed with her signature. She had left me her house—free and clear.

The letter ended with: “This is yours now. Live in it, sell it, burn it—just remember, I loved you.”

I dropped to my knees, sobbing. All those years of anger, all the things I wanted to say, and now she was gone. I thought denying her would give me closure. Instead, it left a hole that will never heal.

If you love someone—even if they hurt you—don’t wait until it’s too late. Sometimes, forgiveness is the only thing that can save you from a lifetime of regret.