Chapter 6 - WHAT MY SISTER WANTED
My sister requested mediation.
Not reconciliation.
Information.
Her attorney.
Mine.
A neutral mediator.
No baby present.
I agreed because I needed to hear her without Theodora beside her.
She looked exhausted.
First thing:
“I wanted more time with Marcellus.”
I said nothing.
“I wanted you to trust me with him.”
Still nothing.
“I was jealous.”
That hurt.
Not because it surprised me.
Because she said it cleanly.
Then:
“I hated myself for being jealous.”
I believed that too.
“Did you want to be his mother?”
She cried.
“Sometimes I wanted to know what that would feel like.”
There.
Not a legal claim.
Not a plan.
A feeling.
Then:
“Did you want me to give him to you?”
“No.”
“Did you want overnights?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Mom kept saying if you let me do normal caregiving, maybe I would stop feeling like an outsider.”
“Did you think my baby owed you that?”
“No.”
“Then why did you block me?”
She covered her face.
“Because Mom told me you had accused me of trying to take him.”
I stared.
“I never said that before the party.”
“I know now.”
There.
“What exactly did she tell you?”
“That you planned to stand up during the party and announce I wasn’t allowed to hold him anymore.”
I had planned no announcement.
Then:
“She said she wanted to prove to you that you could let someone else care for him without controlling every second.”
“How?”
“She said she would hand him to me while you watched.”
“Over the fire?”
“No.”
“Did you know she would stand there?”
“No.”
“Then why block the narrow path when she did?”
My sister looked down.
“Mom whispered, ‘Don’t let her rush me.’”
“And you obeyed.”
“Yes.”
There.
No excuse.
Then:
“When you saw the fire?”
“I should have moved.”
“Yes.”
“I thought Mom was going to step away from it.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No.”
“Did you see her lift him over it?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you move then?”
“I froze.”
I hated that answer.
It could also be true.
Then:
“Did you know she would release him?”
“No.”
I believed her more than I wanted to.
Not enough for trust.
Enough for precision.
Then she said:
“I’m sorry I helped create the moment where she could.”
That was the first apology I accepted as real.
May you like
Not forgiveness.
Acceptance that the sentence named the harm accurately.
