Chapter 8 - THE FIRST TIME LUCY SAW KENDRA AGAIN
Two years passed.
I turned seventeen.
Lucy turned four.
She stopped sleeping with her stuffed rabbit every night.
Then started again during thunderstorms.
Normal.
Beautifully normal.
Kendra completed her sentence and continued court-ordered counseling.
She wrote letters.
Dad saved them.
None went to Lucy without approval.
Kendra did not demand access.
That mattered.
Eventually Lucy asked:
“Where Kendra?”
She remembered.
Not everything.
But enough.
Dad answered:
“Kendra lives somewhere else right now.”
“Why?”
“She made choices that weren’t safe.”
Lucy frowned.
“Mad at me?”
“No.”
“Mad at Maya?”
I looked away.
Dad said:
“No. Kendra had problems with grown-ups and made you part of them. She shouldn’t have.”
Simple.
True.
Months later, therapists agreed a short supervised meeting could be considered.
Dad asked me.
“You don’t have to go.”
“I know.”
I went.
Not for Kendra.
For Lucy.
The meeting took place at a family center.
Kendra sat at a small table.
She had changed.
Not magically.
She still looked like herself.
Just quieter.
Lucy entered holding my hand.
Kendra immediately cried.
That frightened Lucy.
The supervisor gently said:
“Take your time.”
Kendra wiped her face.
“Hi, Luce.”
Lucy stared.
Then:
“You had purple hair.”
Kendra laughed through tears.
“I did.”
Apparently that was what Lucy remembered.
Not the iron.
Not the bedroom.
Purple hair.
Children sometimes preserve mercy without trying.
Kendra brought no gifts.
Good.
She sat on the floor.
Lucy played blocks.
After ten minutes, she handed Kendra one.
Kendra accepted it.
At the end, Kendra did not ask for a hug.
Also good.
Outside, Dad asked me:
“How was it?”
“Weird.”
“Good weird?”
“No.”
“Bad weird?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“Middle weird.”
“Exactly.”
That became our category for complicated things.
Not healed.
Not broken.
Middle weird.
May you like
Sometimes that is enough progress.
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