Chapter 14
Eliana asked about the scar on my abdomen when she was six.
We were changing after swimming.
Her finger hovered near the pale line above the cesarean scar.
“Did I do that?”
“No.”
“Was it from when I was born?”
“Partly.”
She waited.
I had learned from therapy that children do not always need every detail the moment they ask.
“Your father hurt me when you were inside my body,” I said.
Her face changed.
“Did he hurt me?”
“He put you in danger.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted control over money and people.”
“Did he not want a girl?”
“He said cruel things about having a boy. That was about his beliefs, not your worth.”
“Julian is a boy.”
“Yes.”
“Did he want Julian?”
“He wanted what he thought Julian represented. Wanting an heir is not the same as knowing how to love a child.”
Eliana touched the scar gently.
“Did Grandma Celeste clap?”
The question startled me.
She had heard pieces from older cousins.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she had taught herself that hurting us protected her family.”
“But we were family.”
“Yes.”
“Then she was bad at family.”
Children simplify what adults complicate to protect status.
“Yes,” I said. “She was.”
“Do I have to visit her when she gets old?”
“No.”
“Can I?”
“When you are older, informed, and safe, you may make choices with help.”
Eliana nodded.
Then asked whether we could have ice cream.
May you like
Trauma did not occupy every minute of her life.
That was one of the greatest victories.
