Subtitle: My daughter married an African man at 21 and moved away. She left us. But every year, she sends us the same message.
My name is Theresa, and I am sixty-three years old.
I became a widow while I was still young. From the day my husband died, it was just me and my daughter, Mary Lou, facing the world together. I worked extra shifts, skipped vacations, and sacrificed more than I can remember to give her the opportunities I never had.
And she made me proud.
Mary Lou was smart, kind, and beautiful. Everyone who knew her said she was destined for great things. For a while, it looked like they were right.
Then, when she was twenty-one years old, she met Kang Jun, a Korean man nearly twenty years older than she was.
The Beginning
I objected. Not because of his background, but because of the age difference and the distance. I couldn't bear the thought of her being so far away.
But she was determined. She had a look in her eyes that I recognized—it was the same look I'd had when I'd married her father against my family's wishes.
We had a simple ceremony. A small gathering. Just a few close family and friends.
After the wedding, they moved to South Korea. At the airport, I hugged Mary Lou and cried. I didn't know when I'd see her again.
The Distance
