Chapter 9 - WHEN LUCY ASKED TO SEE HIM
Lucy was eleven when she asked:
“Can I see Dad?”
My body went cold.
Her therapist had warned this might happen.
Curiosity is not forgiveness.
Missing someone is not permission.
Love does not disappear because safety requires distance.
“What do you mean?”
“Like talk to him.”
“In person?”
She shook her head.
“Maybe video.”
“Why?”
“I want to ask something.”
We spoke with her therapist.
The prosecutor’s victim-services office.
My lawyer.
Eventually a supervised written exchange was considered safer.
Lucy wrote one question:
Did you know you were hurting me?
Gavin’s first response was rejected by the therapist because it contained excuses.
His second:
Yes.
Then:
I told myself I was controlling how much danger there was. I was wrong. There was no safe version of what I did.
Lucy read it.
Then put it down.
“Okay.”
That was all.
“Do you want to write back?”
“No.”
“Are you upset?”
“A little.”
“What did you want him to say?”
“I don't know.”
She shrugged.
“I just wanted to know if he knew.”
She never asked again.
That surprised me.
Sometimes unanswered questions loom larger than painful answers.
May you like
Once answered, they lose power.
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