Chapter 16 - THE CHRISTMAS CARD
The original card survived.
Dirty shoe print.
Bent corner.
Red glitter mostly gone.
I kept it in a drawer.
At seven, Lily found it.
“What’s this?”
I froze.
She recognized her handwriting before the picture.
“Oh.”
I sat beside her.
“Do you want me to put it away?”
“No.”
She touched the shoe print.
“Grandpa stepped on it.”
“Yes.”
“Did he say sorry?”
“Not to you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s bad at sorry.”
“Yes.”
She looked at the drawing of Hart House.
“Why did I make it huge?”
“You thought it was a castle.”
“It’s not.”
“No.”
“It has too many bathrooms.”
“That is objectively true.”
She laughed.
Then:
“Can I throw this away?”
The card.
For years I thought it was evidence of what happened.
It was not court evidence.
Just memory.
“If you want.”
She tore it in half.
Then four pieces.
Dropped it into recycling.
No ceremony.
No fire.
No framed keepsake.
Paper became paper.
I almost stopped her.
Why?
Because mothers become archivists of their children’s pain.
Sometimes children are healthier than archives.
Later Daniel asked:
“Where’s the card?”
“Gone.”
His face changed.
“Lily threw it out.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
May you like
No nostalgia.
Good.
