After inheriting a broken-down farm from the father I never knew, I moved in hoping for peace—but when my odd neighbor copied my yellow fence, I had no idea she was the mother I thought I’d lost forever. I grew up in foster care, with kind people but no answers about my biological family. Life was a patchwork of odd jobs and hard luck—until a call came: I’d inherited a farm from my birth father. 

The place was rough, but it gave me something I’d never had—belonging. Then I noticed my neighbor, Linda, was copying everything I did. My fence. My mailbox. Even my yoga poses. Creepy? Yeah.

I confronted her… and instead of denial, she handed me letters—dozens, all addressed to me. One for every year of my life.She was my mother. Autistic, overwhelmed, and unable to raise me, she let my father place me in foster care. But she never forgot me. She lived next door, quietly caring for the farm, writing me letters she never had the courage to send—until now.I was stunned. Heartbroken. But as I read her words, I saw the love she never stopped trying to give.Now, we’re figuring it out. Slowly. Clumsily. With tea, yoga, and a whole lot of awkward grace. I used to hate that yellow fence. Now, I think it saved us.