Chapter 25 - THE FIRST MEETING
June was almost three when Margaret asked again.
By then June talked constantly.
Not princess baby anymore.
Curly hair.
Obsessed with yellow rain boots.
Called dinosaurs “dragons” regardless of correction.
She knew she had a grandmother Margaret from photos? We kept age-appropriate.
“Daddy’s mommy.”
No story yet.
Wesley and I discussed with child therapist.
Not because Margaret had legal right.
Because family relationships can be considered if safe.
What had Margaret done since release?
Compliance.
Therapy.
No boundary violations.
No financial control.
No surprise gifts.
No showing up.
No messages through relatives.
Could one supervised meeting be safe?
Probably.
Did I want it?
No.
Could June someday benefit from making her own decision?
Maybe.
We scheduled thirty minutes at family center.
Not my house.
Not Margaret’s.
June walked in holding Wesley’s hand.
I stayed nearby.
Margaret sat.
She began crying immediately.
Therapist said:
“Margaret.”
She stopped.
Good.
June stared.
“You’re Grandma?”
“Yes.”
“Daddy’s mommy?”
“Yes.”
“Why you cry?”
“I’m happy to meet you.”
Not:
Because your mother kept you from me.
Good.
June showed her rain boots.
Margaret admired.
Then brought out no gift.
Excellent.
Twenty minutes later June asked for snack.
Meeting ended.
No hug required.
Margaret asked therapist, not June:
“Can I see her again?”
Therapist said process later.
Margaret accepted.
I was shaking afterward.
Wesley noticed.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to handle next one?”
That question mattered.
Not:
Mom deserves.
Not:
You’re overreacting.
Handle.
“Yes.”
He did.
Slowly, Margaret had occasional supervised contact.
No alone time.
Then one afternoon June drew a black circle in preschool and said:
“Grandma necklace?”
My heart stopped.
Why?
Had Margaret mentioned collar?
No.
Teacher clarified:
They were drawing necklaces from dress-up box.
June knew Grandma wore necklace at last visit.
My brain had filled blank with fear.
Trauma made innocent circles dangerous.
I went back to therapy.
Again.
No shame.
Then I asked Naomi about the evidence box.
Cases complete.
Appeals over.
Could we dispose adult collar?
Yes after counsel confirmed no retention need.
I took it out.
Black leather.
Still smelled faintly of new hide.
I expected rage.
Mostly felt tired.
I did not burn it.
Fire would make it important.
I cut the buckle off so nobody could use it.
Then threw the leather away.
Ordinary trash.
The velvet box too.
May you like
No ceremony.
Control does not deserve relics.
