Blooming Penelope Featherington

Forever.

"Happiness is holding someone in your arms and knowing you hold the whole world." – Orhan Pamuk.

Eight Months Later...

Penelope was getting ready for the book party for tonight. Her book launch was so successful, the numbers that were coming through were more than anyone had hoped for or expected for a first-time author. She went straight into the book charts, and even ended up on the New York Time's Best Seller List.

It was all a bit of a whirlwind.

Colin and Penelope were also going from strength to strength, they had finally figured out how to manage life together. They had moved out of that small flat in Piccadilly and bought a home in Chelsea just over a month ago. Colin said he wanted somewhere that belong to the both of them.

With the book's success, Colin had organised a book 'celebration' party in their new home. He invited the whole family, a few friends, and Penelope's sisters. Her relationship with them became somewhat friendly, it was strange, really strange, but it was welcomed. She was finally building those relationships, and getting to know her little nieces and nephews? Well that was magic, she loved those little rascals.

Penelope dug through some boxes that had been pushed to the back of her dressing room, they still had a few things to 'unpack'. She was digging around looking for her heated rollers to put in her hair to give it some 'volume' for tonight, but then a piece of paper slipped out of an old shoe box. She picked it up and saw her mother's writing, it was the letter.

A letter she had pushed so far out of her mind, she never thought about it again.

She sat down on her dressing room floor and placed the letter in both hands.

Should she open it?

Should she burn it?

Christ, just fucking open it.

____________

Dear Penelope,

I know this may seem out of the ordinary as if you are reading this, then I seem to have passed away. Which is quite daunting to think about, however your father is adamant we leave letters with our lawyers 'just in case'. So here goes nothing.

I want you to know one thing if something was to happen to me, I love you. I always have. I know I may have a funny way of showing it, but the reason I'm so hard on you is because you need to be the strong one. I see the way you look at that boy, you know which one, and I don't want you to waste your life loving someone from afar.

Don't waste yourself. Do not live for someone else. It sounds simple my darling but please live for yourself. Just live Penelope.

Also, please forgive your sisters. I know my influence hasn't been great over the years, but they need you... much more than you need them.

Always,

Your mother, Portia.
____________

Penelope took a deep breath and wipe a tear that escaped her eyes. She looked at the letter and then filed it back away, not before kissing it. These past eight months had healed her heart, she had forgiven her mother through months of therapy and most importantly she had forgiven herself. But it was still nice to hear her mother, even if it was from the grave.

She laughed at herself a little knowing Portia would be loving all this fanfare over the new book, no doubt she'd be bragging about it and shoving it in everyone's faces, and not forgetting she'd be obviously claiming that Penelope got all her talent from her.