For My Son, On His Eighteenth Birthday

I never had the courage to tell you this in person.   I suppose even telling you about it now in a letter is courageous, but I feel like a coward all the same.

It's about your father.   Your real father.   I never tried to deceive you, to make you believe that the man I married was your father, but I never told you who gave you the other 23 chromosomes that make you who you are today.   I suppose I was too ashamed to tell you.   I was afraid that you would think less of me, or yourself.   You have just become a man, and you are about to learn what it is to be in the world.   I didn't want to have you look in the mirror on your birthday and hate what you see, hate the part of you that is him.   But I think I have no choice.   You'll find out eventually, once you join the police academy, so I might as well tell you before you hear about it from someone else.  

I was just eighteen myself when it happened.   I was walking back from my dorm room when I was attacked by a stranger.   He dragged me into an alley and he attacked me.   Nine months later, you were born.  

I want you to know, sweetheart, that I never hated you.   I never blamed you for what happened, and I never will.   I tried with all my heart to give you the kind of love you deserved, to help you grow into the wonderful man you are.   I forgave the man who hurt me a long time ago, and I don't know if you'll be able to, but honey, I want you to try.   Please, sweetheart.   For me.

All the love in the world,

Mom