More than anything

Saoirse steps in, a shy look on her face that turns grateful at the offer, but she shakes her head. In her right hand is a carefully folded piece of pink paper. Bits of red, teal, and yellow are visible between the folds. She steps in and shuffles her feet shyly, then lifts the paper to her.

Inside, she's pasted child-cut paper flowers of varying sizes, and between them in her careful, six-year-old penmanship, are words.

I know we lied to the nurse lady at hospital, but you are a good mum. I never knew my mum but I pretend she must have been like you. Thank you for helping me. I love you.

Love, Saoirse