Chapter 9
Nathan wrote to me from prison.
He said he had begun therapy.
He said he understood that his mother had shaped him through fear and guilt.
He said he was ashamed.
I read the letter once.
Then I placed it in a drawer.
I did not answer immediately.
Healing did not require me to comfort him.
Months later, I sent one short reply.
I hope you become better for Grace’s sake.
That was all.
Melissa wrote too.
Her letter was different.
She admitted she hated me because I had something she never believed she could have: independence.
She said Patricia had taught her that women survived by attaching themselves to men and taking whatever they could.
I felt sad when I read that.
Then I remembered the kitchen door locking.
I remembered her sighing while I begged for help.
Understanding someone’s pain did not mean giving them access to mine.
I wished her healing.
From far away.
Grace took her first steps the week before her first birthday.
She crossed the living room toward me in a wobbly pink dress, laughing as if the world had never been cruel.
I dropped to my knees.
She fell into my arms.
And I held her so tightly that she squealed.
May you like
“You are going to be so loved,” I whispered into her hair.
She already was.
