Chapter 12 - ROSE ASKED WHERE HER FATHER WAS
Rose was five.
She had my eyes.
Evan's chin.
Victoria's terrifying ability to notice expensive jewelry.
Genetics is rude.
We were in the kitchen making cupcakes when she asked:
“Do I have a daddy?”
I dropped frosting.
There it was.
I had prepared.
Therapists.
Books.
Advice.
Still impossible.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“He lives somewhere he isn't allowed to leave right now because he broke serious laws.”
“Jail?”
Children have no patience for euphemism.
“Prison.”
She thought.
“Did he kill someone?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Then:
“Did he hurt you?”
I breathed.
“He helped make choices that put me and you in danger before you were born.”
Her face changed.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he cared too much about money and control.”
She stared at the cupcake.
“Does he love me?”
Harder.
“I think he does.”
“Do you love him?”
“No.”
Simple.
“Did you before?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you stop?”
I thought.
“Because love is not enough if someone isn't safe.”
She nodded as though filing it away.
Then:
“Can I see him?”
Not yet.
Her therapist recommended letters first.
Evan had been writing yearly birthday letters held in a secure file until Rose was old enough.
I showed her the first.
Dear Rose,
You were born early, and I was not there. That was because of choices I made before you were born. None of those choices were your fault.
She looked at me.
“Did he know I was a girl?”
“Yes.”
“Grandma Victoria knew first?”
I froze.
How did she—
Celeste.
Of course.
Family stories travel.
“Yes.”
Rose frowned.
“That’s rude.”
I laughed so hard I nearly cried.
“Yes.”
“Did you get mad?”
“Very.”
She continued.
Evan wrote about prison.
Not details.
Responsibility.
He told her he loved reading.
He asked nothing from her.
At the end:
If you ever choose to know me, I will answer your questions honestly. If you do not, I will respect that.
Rose folded it.
“I want to write back.”
“Okay.”
Her first question:
WHY DID YOU LET GRANDMA BE MEAN TO MOM?
Excellent.
Evan's answer:
Because I was afraid of my mother and selfish enough to let your mother pay the price for that fear.
I read it twice.
Accountability.
May you like
Late.
Still.
