Chapter 7 - THE HOUSE WITHOUT HIM
Grant went to prison.
That sentence did not heal us.
It simply created distance.
Healing was less dramatic.
It looked like:
Changing locks.
Closing accounts.
Selling the kitchen table.
That surprised everyone.
“Why sell it?” Claire asked.
I stared at it.
“I don't want it.”
Fair.
We sold the house nine months later.
Not because Grant owned the memory.
Because none of us wanted to keep proving we could live there.
New house.
Three bedrooms.
Smaller.
Yellow kitchen.
No formal dining room.
Lily chose it partly because there was no long hallway.
Noah chose it because the basement could hold a gaming setup.
Children recover differently.
Lily underwent multiple procedures over the next two years.
Her teeth were repaired in stages.
Some scars faded.
Some did not.
She stopped covering mirrors.
Then started wearing lipstick.
Bright red.
The first time, I stared too long.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Mom.”
“You look beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes.
“That's not why I'm wearing it.”
Good.
She wasn't asking for reassurance.
She was reclaiming something.
She joined debate club.
Of course.
The girl punished for talking back discovered competitive arguing.
Her first tournament, I sat in the audience and nearly laughed at the universe.
She won second place.
Afterward:
“Dad would hate this.”
I stopped.
She looked guilty.
“No.”
“What?”
“You're allowed to say that.”
“Do you think about him?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
We stood beside the vending machines.
Then Lily said:
“I miss when he was nice.”
Truth.
Grant had been nice.
Sometimes.
He taught her to ride a bike.
Built a bookshelf for Noah.
Made pancakes badly.
Took us camping.
People want abusive people to be monsters twenty-four hours a day.
If they were, leaving would be easier.
“I miss parts too,” I admitted.
Lily stared.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Does that make us stupid?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Human.”
She nodded.
May you like
That answer became enough.
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