Chapter 17 - The Apology I Never Thought I'd Get

I waited until Emma was asleep before reading Lauren's letter.

James sat beside me on the couch.

"Want me here?"

"Please."

I unfolded the pages.

Sarah,

I'm not writing because Mom asked me to.

I'm not writing because Dad threatened to stop talking to me.

I'm writing because I finally said out loud what happened at Christmas, and hearing myself say it made me sick.

I slapped Emma.

She was a baby. She was crying. She didn't do anything wrong.

I was angry because you told me no.

My eyes filled.

I kept reading.

I've spent most of my life thinking that when someone embarrassed me, I had the right to make them feel worse.

When you told me not to take Emma, I felt like you were humiliating me in front of everyone.

So I did something cruel.

Then I lied about it because I couldn't stand being the bad person in the story.

I swallowed hard.

The next paragraph was harder.

I know saying sorry doesn't fix anything.

I know Emma may never know me.

And I know I have no right to ask you to change that.

I'm sorry for hitting her. I'm sorry for blaming you. I'm sorry for what I did to James.

I'm also sorry for all the times I made you feel small when we were kids.

You weren't imagining it.

I lowered the letter.

For a long time, I couldn't speak.

James waited.

Finally, I whispered, "She actually said it."

He nodded.

"Yeah."

"Everything."

"Looks like it."

I cried then.

Not the desperate, terrified tears from Christmas night.

These were quieter.

Grief for the sister I thought I'd had.

Grief for the childhood I could no longer pretend was normal.

And maybe a little relief that Lauren had finally stopped blaming everyone else.

I read the final lines.

I've been getting help with my anger. I'm learning that feeling rejected doesn't mean someone has attacked me.

I don't expect a reply.

I won't come to your house or ask to see Emma.

I hope she's happy.

Lauren.

I folded the letter.

James touched my shoulder.

"You okay?"

"I think so."

"Do you want to answer?"

I looked toward the nursery.

"No. Not right now."

He nodded.

"Then don't."

For the first time, I realized I could believe an apology without granting access to my life.

Lauren might truly regret what she'd done.

She might become a better person.

I hoped she did.

But Emma's safety didn't have to become a test of Lauren's progress.

November arrived.

Then Thanksgiving.

We hosted dinner at our house.

My parents came.

Uncle Peter brought pie.

Emma, now a determined little toddler, spent most of the afternoon taking unsteady steps between furniture.

At one point, she knocked over a cup of water.

I reached for a towel.

Mom said, "Well, I guess somebody's learning how gravity works."

Everybody laughed.

Nobody yelled.

Nobody called her spoiled.

Nobody made a child afraid of an accident.

Later, while Dad helped James clear the table, Mom joined me in the kitchen.

"Sarah, I wanted to ask you something."

I stiffened slightly.

"What?"

"About Christmas."

I stopped washing a plate.

Mom looked nervous.

"Your father and I would love to come here again, if you'd have us."

I smiled.

"Of course."

She exhaled.

"And I want you to know we haven't invited Lauren."

I turned toward her.

"Mom, I didn't ask you to stop loving her."

"I know."

"You can have a relationship with her."

"I know that too."

"Then why are you telling me?"

She looked at Emma playing in the living room.

"Because I want you to know I'm not going to surprise you. Or pressure you. Or make your daughter responsible for keeping the family together."

My eyes burned.

"Thank you."

Mom reached for my hand.

"I spoke to Lauren last week."

I waited.

"She asked whether we thought she should come home for Christmas."

My heart tightened.

"What did you say?"

"I told her she was welcome to keep working on herself and that I loved her. But I wouldn't arrange a reunion with you or bring her around Emma."

I swallowed.

"How did she take it?"

"She was sad."

I looked down.

Mom continued.

"But she said she understood."

For several moments, neither of us spoke.

Then Mom said something I hadn't expected.

"I spent years thinking a happy family was one where everyone came to dinner."

She glanced toward the living room.

"Now I think maybe it's one where everybody feels safe enough to be themselves."

I squeezed her hand.

Outside, the first cold wind of the season rattled the windows.

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Christmas was coming again.

And for the first time, nobody was asking me to sacrifice my daughter's safety to make the table look complete.