Chapter 7 - MATTHEW ASKS THE QUESTION I FEARED
Matthew began therapy.
Not because he was broken.
Because children deserve places where adults are trained not to make their feelings about themselves.
He liked his therapist, Ms. Jordan, because she had LEGO.
Reasonable standard.
One afternoon, he asked:
“Was Daddy bad?”
I froze.
We were driving home.
“Why would you ask?”
“Grandma said he stole.”
There it was.
Words children carry.
“No.”
I answered carefully.
“Your dad made some mistakes.”
“What kind?”
“He kept some secrets from me because he thought he was protecting me.”
“Like you didn’t know about 417?”
“Yes.”
“Was that bad?”
“Not the same as stealing. But I wish he had told me.”
Matthew thought.
“Grandma lied?”
“Yes.”
“Is Grandma bad?”
Harder.
“No.”
I paused.
“She did bad things.”
He frowned.
“She hit me.”
“Yes.”
“Bad people hit kids.”
“Sometimes people who love you still do things that are wrong.”
That was complicated.
Maybe too complicated.
He looked out the window.
“Do I have to love her?”
My chest tightened.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You don’t?”
I thought.
“I love parts of who Grandma has been in my life.”
“Like what?”
“She taught me to cook.”
“Badly?”
I laughed.
“Very badly.”
He smiled.
“She used to sit with me when thunderstorms scared me.”
“Then why did she hurt me?”
There is no answer a six-year-old deserves.
“Because she was scared and chose to control you instead of handling her fear properly.”
“Like putting me in the pantry?”
“Yes.”
He went quiet.
Then:
“I don't want to see her.”
“Okay.”
No guilt.
No “but she’s your grandmother.”
Just okay.
That night, I called my mother.
“Matthew doesn’t want contact.”
She started crying.
“You poisoned him against me.”
“No.”
“He’s six.”
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t understand.”
“He understands being hit.”
Silence.
“You’re taking my grandson.”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“You lost access through your actions.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It isn’t.”
She hung up.
For months, she sent gifts.
I returned them.
Then letters.
I stored them unopened.
Matthew could decide later.
My mother was furious.
May you like
Then quieter.
Consequences sometimes start as noise and become reflection only after noise stops working.
