Chapter 19 - ESTELLE’S FIRST REAL LETTER
My mother wrote Lila repeatedly.
Most letters did not reach her.
Court order.
Therapist review.
The early ones were bad.
I was trying to protect the family.
Your mother misunderstood finances.
Your father overreacted.
No.
Stored.
Not delivered.
Years later:
I made you serve guests because I was angry that you kept defending your mother.
Better.
Then:
I delayed your meals because I wanted you to feel that obedience had consequences.
Ugly.
True.
Then:
I told myself a child would forget.
There.
Lila was fourteen when therapist allowed her to choose whether to read.
She read the last one.
Not earlier versions.
She asked:
“Did Grandma love me?”
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
I did not say love is complicated.
Too easy.
“I think she loved you while also believing she had a right to control you.”
“That’s bad love.”
“Yes.”
“Can love be bad?”
“Behavior can.”
She nodded.
Then:
“Do I have to forgive?”
“No.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
Elena looked at me.
Later asked:
“Really?”
“I don’t know what forgiveness means anymore.”
“Good.”
We had stopped requiring emotional labels.
Safety.
Truth.
May you like
Boundaries.
Enough.
