“You sent letters for three years. What about the next seventeen?”
She flinched.
“I thought you read them.”
“Seventeen years, Vanessa. Why didn’t you come to my door?”
Nobody rushed to comfort her.
She looked at our daughters.
“Because eventually it hurt less to believe you’d rejected me than to admit I was too ashamed to knock.”
“Carol stole a choice from me. She doesn’t get to carry yours too.”
Vanessa nodded.
Nobody rushed to comfort her.
“Finding the letters changed one thing.”
Ava finally spoke.
“Finding the letters changed one thing.”
Vanessa looked at her.
“What?”
“I don’t think you forgot we existed.”
“But remembering us isn’t the same as raising us.”
Vanessa cried harder.
Claire added, “But remembering us isn’t the same as raising us.”
June moved beside me.
“Dad is still Dad. Nothing changes that.”
Vanessa nodded.
Vanessa almost smiled, but didn’t.
“I’m not asking you to call me Mom.”
“Good,” June said.
Vanessa almost smiled, but didn’t.
“Could I ask for something smaller?”
Claire crossed her arms.
“Coffee. A phone call. Learning who you are now.”
“Like what?”
“Coffee. A phone call. Learning who you are now.”
Ava looked at her for a long moment.
“Maybe.”
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