Chapter 22 - THE LETTERS
Agatha wrote once a year through counsel.
No direct contact.
The first letter began:
I am sorry events became so extreme.
I stopped reading.
Not apology.
At thirteen, Merrick asked to see one.
I chose the newest.
He read silently.
I was wrong to remove your wheelchair.
Better.
I believed I was challenging you to discover ability. I understand now that I took away your freedom to decide how you moved.
Better still.
Then:
I also allowed money and my fear for the family business to influence what I called care.
Merrick stopped.
“Did she know about the money?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
I gave him age-appropriate numbers.
Not every audit page.
He understood enough.
“So she wanted me at St. Alden because the company needed paperwork?”
“Partly.”
“That’s gross.”
“Yes.”
“Did Dad know?”
“Some.”
He nodded.
Then continued.
At the end Agatha wrote:
You were never weak because you used a chair. I was weak because I needed your body to prove I was right.
Merrick stared at that for a long time.
“Do I answer?”
“Only if you want.”
He didn’t.
At sixteen, he answered one sentence.
My chair was never yours to take.
Agatha replied:
I know.
Nothing else.
That restraint mattered.
No campaign for access.
No guilt.
May you like
She never saw him in person again.
That was his choice.
