Part 11
Four years passed like a beautiful, peaceful dream.
Our daughter, Chloe, was the light of our lives. She had Ethan’s dark, expressive eyes and my curly hair. Every single day, our house was filled with the sound of her bright, musical laughter and the pitter-patter of her little feet running down the hallway.
We never spoke of my biological family. To Chloe, her grandparents didn't exist, and she had no aunts. We had built a fortress of love around her, completely erasing the monsters of my past from our narrative.
One sunny afternoon, while Chloe was playing with her blocks in the living room and Ethan was preparing dinner in the kitchen, the mail carrier dropped a thick envelope through our mail slot.
I picked it up. There was no return address, just a postmark from a correctional facility in Colorado.
My heart tightened slightly, a ghost of an old anxiety flaring up. I opened the envelope. Inside was a handwritten letter from my mother, along with a newspaper clipping.
I unfolded the letter. The handwriting was shaky, elegant but weak.
Emily, the letter began. I don't know if you will ever read this, but I am writing to you because I have no one else left. Your father passed away in the prison hospital last week from a heart attack. I couldn't even afford to give him a proper funeral. The state buried him.
I read the words coldly, feeling absolutely nothing. No grief, no anger. Just a profound indifference.
Madison was involved in a violent altercation with another inmate last month, the letter continued. She was severely injured and will never walk properly again. She spends her days crying in the infirmary, asking why you did this to her. She still doesn't understand.
I am an old, sick woman now, Emily. I live in a tiny room, and I barely have enough money for food. I know we made mistakes. I know we weren't perfect. But we are still your family. Please, Emily. Have mercy on your poor mother. Send me something. Let me see my grandchild before I die. Don't be so heartless.
I stared at the letter. "Mistakes." "Not perfect." Even now, after everything, she still couldn't admit the absolute horror of what they had done and enabled. She still viewed herself as the victim.
Ethan walked into the living room, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. He saw the envelope and the expression on my face.
"What is it, baby?" he asked softly, kneeling beside my chair.
I handed him the letter. He read it quickly, his eyes narrowing slightly, but his demeanor remained calm and unshakable. He looked up at me. "What do you want to do?"
I looked over at Chloe. She had built a tall tower of blocks and was clapping her hands gleefully, shouting, "Daddy, look! I did it!"
Ethan smiled warmly at her. "I see it, sweetheart! Beautiful job!"
I turned back to the letter in my hands. I didn't want this toxic garbage in my beautiful, clean home. I didn't want their darkness to touch even a single corner of the life Ethan and I had fought so hard to build.
"Do you have a lighter?" I asked Ethan quietly.
Ethan’s eyes softened with a deep, proud admiration. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small lighter he used for the backyard grill, and handed it to me.
I walked over to the fireplace. I flicked the lighter, holding the flame to the edge of my mother's desperate, manipulative letter. The fire caught quickly, the black ink curling and dissolving into bright orange sparks. I dropped the burning paper into the hearth, watching as it crumbled into harmless, silent gray ash.
The past was completely gone. It held no power over me anymore.
I walked back to the couch, sitting down on the floor next to my daughter. She leaned her small, warm body against mine, handing me a blue block.
"Play with me, Mommy?" she asked sweetly.
May you like
I smiled, kissing the top of her head, inhaling the sweet, clean scent of her hair.
"Always, my beautiful girl," I whispered, pulling her into a tight, protective embrace. "Always."
