Chapter 17 - The Letter
Six weeks after the twins came home, a letter arrived.
From Linda.
Ethan almost threw it away.
Then he handed it to me.
“You decide.”
I shook my head.
“No. It's addressed to you.”
He opened it.
The letter contained no excuses.
That surprised us.
Linda wrote that she had spent her entire life confusing possession with love.
She admitted that what she did at the party was violence.
She admitted I hadn't caused it.
She admitted Ethan hadn't caused it.
She didn't ask to meet the babies.
She didn't ask him to visit.
She wrote only:
I hope they grow up never being afraid of someone who says they love them.
Ethan read that sentence twice.
Then folded the letter.
“Do you forgive her?” I asked.
“I don't know.”
And for once, uncertainty was allowed.
Forgiveness didn't need a deadline.
Reconciliation wasn't guaranteed.
Healing didn't require pretending.
We placed the letter in a drawer.
Not destroyed.
Not displayed.
Simply put away.
Then Noah began crying upstairs.
Ethan smiled.
“My shift.”
He disappeared toward the nursery.
I followed several minutes later.
He was standing between the cribs holding Noah against his chest while Emma slept.
The room was illuminated by a tiny moon-shaped night-light.
Ethan looked at me.
“You know what's weird?”
“What?”
“I spent years thinking keeping Mom happy was how you kept a family together.”
May you like
He looked at our children.
“Turns out keeping a family together starts with making it safe.”
