Chapter 13
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The restraining order was served to Emily two days later. It was a massive, iron-clad legal document that prohibited her from coming within five hundred feet of my apartment, my car, or the clinic. If she violated it, her parole would be instantly revoked, sending her straight back to a state penitentiary. The anonymous phone calls stopped. The letters on my windshield ceased entirely. The silence returned, and my hard-won peace was restored.
However, toxic families rarely surrender without deploying every weapon in their arsenal.
Three weeks after the parking lot ambush, I was checking my mail in the lobby of my apartment building. Nestled between a utility bill and a catalog was a crisp, expensive cream-colored envelope. There was no return address, but I recognized the elegant, looping cursive handwriting instantly.
It was from my mother.
I walked up the stairs to my apartment, my stomach tying itself into a familiar, painful knot. I threw my keys onto the butcher-block counter, poured a glass of cold water, and stared at the envelope sitting on my kitchen island.
I could have thrown it away unopened, but the clinical, analytical part of my brain needed to know what angle she was playing. I grabbed a butter knife, sliced the premium paper open, and unfolded the letter.
“My dearest Sophia,
I pray this letter finds you well. I hear you are doing wonderfully at the clinic. I miss you more than words can express. I am writing to you because our family is facing a critical moment. Your father has his first early parole hearing in exactly one month. His lawyer believes that if you submit a letter of forgiveness and support to the parole board, citing family reunification, the judge will grant his release.
Sophia, he has suffered enough. We have all suffered enough. Please, find it in your heart to let go of this anger. We are blood. We need to be a family again. Be the bigger person and bring your father home.
With all a mother's love, Mom.”
I read the letter twice. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, identifying the precise scent of her signature floral perfume lingering on the paper.
She wasn't asking how I was. She wasn't apologizing for standing by while my father destroyed my credit and my sanity. She was doing exactly what she had always done: demanding that I sacrifice my well-being to protect a monstrous man from the consequences of his own actions.
May you like
I opened my eyes, grabbed the cream-colored letter, and walked over to my paper shredder. I fed the heavy paper into the machine, listening to the satisfying, mechanical whir as my mother’s manipulative, toxic words were instantly destroyed into meaningless strips of confetti.
"I am the bigger person," I whispered to the empty room. "Which is exactly why he is staying in a cage."
